When he's acknowledged York steps into the room, heading for the chair she's freeing up and circling around her desk to offer her the bouquet. A flush rises to his face as their fingers brush when she takes them -- a raucous arrangement of color and shapes that neither of them have probably seen before.
"I passed a market with flowers on the way here -- first I've seen them in this world, I couldn't not get you some. Brighten up your office."
He sits, then, folding one leg up, ankle over his knee. "How's your day been?"
The flowers are offered to her and her smile brightens even further, teeth flashing and shoulders drawing up as they're scooped graciously from his hand and brought to her face without a modicum of fear— she should be wary with alien flora, perhaps, but they already smell lovely and her nose is lost to sky blue petals, soft lavender brushing one cheek and white against the other with splashes of sunny yellow peppered throughout in charming puffs of unopened buds. They almost smell of citrus and honey and some are even spicy, trying not to hug them to her chest. It hadn't taken much to fluster him, but she isn't particularly trying to tone it down, either. Angela is observant beyond her years and the color in his cheeks only corroborates what she's noticed before; she's fairly certain he may be courting her.
"They're beautiful, thank you süässli. I haven't seen any since we left the midway hub with the thistle plants. Let me get some water for them."
Her office is formally an exam room with an added desk, and the glass pitcher gathered up from the opposite end is filled with water from the tiny sink while he arranges himself, taking her time to snip the ends at an angle beneath the running water before placing them in the pitcher. They're arranged with care to maintain the bouquet's color balance, and she returns to set it on her desk with a fond smile, returning to her chair (stool, really, as all doctors seem to favor) as she edges closer. The cross of one leg over her other nearly brings them knee to knee, holding a hand out for one of his to squeeze appreciatively.
"And they'll do just that. It's significantly better with your company, as always. The clinic's been quiet so I've been able to catch up on some research. How about yours?"
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no subject
"I passed a market with flowers on the way here -- first I've seen them in this world, I couldn't not get you some. Brighten up your office."
He sits, then, folding one leg up, ankle over his knee. "How's your day been?"
no subject
"They're beautiful, thank you süässli. I haven't seen any since we left the midway hub with the thistle plants. Let me get some water for them."
Her office is formally an exam room with an added desk, and the glass pitcher gathered up from the opposite end is filled with water from the tiny sink while he arranges himself, taking her time to snip the ends at an angle beneath the running water before placing them in the pitcher. They're arranged with care to maintain the bouquet's color balance, and she returns to set it on her desk with a fond smile, returning to her chair (stool, really, as all doctors seem to favor) as she edges closer. The cross of one leg over her other nearly brings them knee to knee, holding a hand out for one of his to squeeze appreciatively.
"And they'll do just that. It's significantly better with your company, as always. The clinic's been quiet so I've been able to catch up on some research. How about yours?"