Stitch and Bitch

"Hate is a strong word, one that implies a certain level of energy invested to a situation or person. Energy that I have no surplus of, so I divide it up carefully. The Vice Legate does not get a share of something so precious," the woman offered from a table near a pair of Junior Magistrates who had been far too loud with their discussion and gossip. Tyrian Tattler in hand, she idly perused the pages without looking up at the pair for her continued response.

"She said what?" Quinn rolled her eyes, "Unbelievable. I know exactly who that is coming from. Apparently it's easier to villify messenger than to face the truth and put down the Kurzick Delights. She went up a dress size between our fittings, there was nothing for me to tell her but that her measurements had changed since we originally took them."

Quinn strode up next to the clucking hens at the bar, scooping up her martini. She turned and smile to the pair, raising a glass their direction.

"Clearly you don't know anything about Suraa or you'd know that time with her is anything but boring," and as she turned to leave she offered a parting thought with a wink, "Though I know you're the foremost experts in the subject of being bored, as evident by your chattering. Oh and because I've seen your husbands."