( It's the kind of morning where a five am run doesn't feel that important, or where she feels like it's okay to get into the clinic at eight instead of six. A relaxing one, where the knowledge that it's probably her birthday by now doesn't even enter her mind until she gets in and sees the package on the table.
She blinks at the note, and again at the gifts, running fingers over material gently as she turns them over in her hands and the source of the material comes to mind, vague as the memories of Henry's original armour are by now.
...Right. )
Drinks tonight?
( There's the slightest of smiles on her face as she sends that message. )
( Let's get something straight right now, Hotspur: She said drinking. Not celebrating. Maybe she just wants to get shitfaced and forget that she's halfway through her thirties, or that her last two birthdays have involved a multidimensional hellcity.
But whatever the case, there's booze involved, so she texts him a time to meet at the Speakeasy, and is there just on time as well - running in from the shore, halfway through pulling her hair out of its bun and grimacing as the bobble goes flying across the street.
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action → text;
She blinks at the note, and again at the gifts, running fingers over material gently as she turns them over in her hands and the source of the material comes to mind, vague as the memories of Henry's original armour are by now.
...Right. )
Drinks tonight?
( There's the slightest of smiles on her face as she sends that message. )
no subject
Certainly.
[So she wants to celebrate after all. Of course he is happy to.]
no subject
But whatever the case, there's booze involved, so she texts him a time to meet at the Speakeasy, and is there just on time as well - running in from the shore, halfway through pulling her hair out of its bun and grimacing as the bobble goes flying across the street.
Well, fuck. )
Better not ask how old I am.