Jean & Terry | The Gingers Reunite
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xp_logsTerry surprises Jean and then they head into the city for doughnuts and conditioner. (Backdated)
Terry'd been wandering the mansion for a little while now, just getting acquainted with the place and the way it echoed. She liked listening to new places, head tipped slightly to the side as she walked. It wasn't difficult to avoid people when she could hear them coming from so far off, so she'd been carefully trekking the halls. The decor was tasteful, all around. She liked the feel of the place, the way the walls trapped the sounds being made and distorted them until the vibrations came to a natural end.
She'd paused to admire the view from a window on the third floor as she considered heading back to her suite, but she caught the unmistakable Doctor Who intro music and, after paying a bit more attention, a familiar set of vocal chords humming along. A grin spreading across her face, Terry padded her way along the hallway, bare toes sinking into the plush carpet. It took her almost no time at all to find Jeanie in one of the recreational rooms, the ridiculously large television showing the newest Doctor.
"About time they made a lady Doctor," Terry said, propping one shoulder up against the door frame, her grin still firmly in place.
Jean stopped at the sound of a familiar voice, so wrapped up in it that she didn't recognize the mental signature of...
"Terry?!" she said, spinning around as she hopped up from the couch to give her a hug.
"Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"
"Surprise!" Terry said, laughing as she returned the hug. "I wasn't sure when I'd be gettin' in, either. But I found m'way."
Jean grinned. "I see that," she said, then spread her arms wide, as if to show off the room.
"So what do you think of the place so far?"
"It's lovely," Terry said. "I was just thinkin' how nice the carpet is," she gestured down at her sockless feet. "Nice walls, as well. Makes settlin' noises all on its own, like a proper old buildin' ought." Then she raised her eyebrows at her friend and asked, "Is this what y'plan t'do for the rest o' your day? Watchin' telly?"
"...Yes?" Jean said, with a laugh. "That was the plan. I hadn't had a day off without someone getting hurt in a long time. But since you're here I'm definitely up for some catching up. I'd be happy to show you around, both here and in Salem Center, the closest town."
"What's fun, d'y'think? Something y've not done in a long while?" Terry was only mildly worried about the bit where Jean said she'd had no days free without someone being injured. Such was life, after all -- especially when you dealt with the world changing in the way it was. "Ridiculous or delightful. Somethin' t'make y'laugh."
"How about both?" Jean said.
"Are you up for something to eat? There's a donut place in town that serves donuts with unique flavors. We can also walk main street. They have a lot of cute little shops there."
"Y'know 'both' is m'favorite answer t'any either-or question, Jeanie," Terry said, grin spreading over her face again. "I'll eat any sweet, 'specially if it's unique. And I can do with a bit o' shoppin'. Not sure m'shampoo survived the flight. M'conditioner certainly didn't."
Jean's eyes widened. "Oh no," she said with a hushed whisper, covering her mouth with her hand
"Did it explode all over your bag?"
"Aye," Terry said, shaking her head. "I'd put it in a plastic bag and everythin', but that didn't help. I've not had the heart to check if the shampoo's mixed in or not. But it's no' the worst that could've happened. So, tell me about the unique doughnuts."
"That happened to me once on a trip to Beirut," Jean said, shaking her head in sympathy.
"Completely ruined my makeup too."
She motioned for Terry to follow her, then headed toward the garage.
"The donut place is called Count Donutulas, which means they go a little crazy around Halloween. Each week they have at least two or three offbeat flavors like margarita with a lime salt ring around the donut, or wasabi flavored. Depends on the mood. Sometimes they let people submit new flavors as well," she explained as she opened the door to the garage.
"I don't know if I told you about my car but...I figured we'd take her," she said, showing her a gold, 1960s era Pontiac Firebird that appeared to have been restored.
"Well," Terry said, eyeing the car. "No, that's certainly no' something you'd mentioned. But I've no worries about you drivin' us about, as I've no car t'my name here. D'they have a website'r somethin' that'd tell us the flavors?"
"They usually put it on their Facebook page," Jean said, noticing Terry's look and comment about the car.
"What? Do you not like it?"
"Och, I love it," Terry said, grinning. "I'm a mite jealous, t'be honest. She's a beautiful thing. When'd y'get her?" She already had her phone out as she sidled up to the passenger's side door and got in, searching for the shop's Facebook page so she could check what they had on offer for the day. Of course, she got distracted as soon as she settled into the seat. "Mm... brilliant."
"A couple of years ago. She did not look this good, then. I let some of the people here restore her and now she's good as new," Jean said proudly as she hopped into the driver's seat.
"Find any donut flavors that jump out at you?"
Terry snorted. "They've an Irish Car Bomb Doughnut this week," she said, rolling her eyes. "Stout cake, Jameson in the filling, and Bailey's in the glaze. I think I'll not be havin' one of those. "The Strawberry Margarita sounds nice, though -- tequila and salt in the glaze. If y'want t'clog your arteries, there's the Dead Elvis. It's filled with cream, then topped with bacon, bananas, peanut butter, and jelly."
Jean made a face. "The doctor in me is crying," she said with a laugh.
"I have to try both of them. With a giant glass of milk."
"Both of which? The Margarita and the Elvis? Let's get one o'each, that way we can halve them and possibly no' have heart attacks before we're thirty-five."
"Yes, the Margarita and the Elvis. Besides, everything in moderation is important," Jean mused. "A sensible diet and exercise will offset the drastic amounts of sugar. Or at least that's what I tell myself as I'm bouncing off the walls."
Jean squinted. "I'm only a couple of years out from 35. If I get that bad there's something wrong," she laughed.
Laughing, Terry leaned her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes for a moment. "You an' me both, Jeanie. You an' me both." Then she opened her eyes again and glanced at her friend. "Tell me, though. How's your sister? Your mum and da?"
"Sara's good. She and Paul took the twins to Orlando for a week for the first time back in July so that's all they want to talk about," Jean said with a grin. "Disney World and Harry Potter."
She started up the car, then hit the garage door opener.
"And Mom and dad are great. They moved back to the States earlier this year to be closer to us. Dad was able to get his job back at Bard College and Mom got a job at a publishing house in the US with her list of contacts. I'm sure they'd love for you to come by next time I go to visit."
"Brilliant," Terry said, beaming. "Think your mum'll make those little egg tarts o'hers? Been ages and I still can't make 'em quite right, m'self."
"If I tell her that? She'll probably make you enough to take home," Jean said with a laugh.
"The next time I'll be able to go up is closer to Thanksgiving. Hopefully Paul won't have to work so he can come this time. He got stuck at the police station last year."
"Och, that's no good," Terry said, tsking softly. "It's meant to be all about family and the like these days, aye? Though I heard last year loads o'people made a push to call it somethin' t'do with Indigenous People's Day, which... I can't really fault 'em for."
"Yeah, I heard about that too. And then you get the purists who have an outcry about that....the same ones who are upset about red Starbucks cups," Jean said with a furrowed brow as they made their way past the mansion gate and out toward the highway.
"Peace and understanding remains ever elusive. But..." she smiled. "We can still dream."
"Aye," Terry said, nodding her agreement. "Nothin' wrong with keepin' hope alive an' all that. Speaking of, though -- I've got plans for m'time here. Moira suggested I speak to a couple people and the Professor said I'd have an office. Are y'feelin' morally grey enough t'help me out with a few things an' keep it under the radar, Jeanie-girl?"
Jean laughed. "That is my last name, isn't it?" she mused with a grin.
"Depends on what you need help with but...yeah, I can probably help."
"Nothin' firm yet," Terry said. "Need t'speak t'the people first. I'll let y'know how how the talks go."
"Great," Jean said, "Something to do with your line of work, I take it?"
"Aye," Terry said, nodding. "Something t'do with mine -- and yours, maybe." She looked at her friend and smiled. "Don't worry, I'll tell y'when it's time t'start savin' lives."
Terry'd been wandering the mansion for a little while now, just getting acquainted with the place and the way it echoed. She liked listening to new places, head tipped slightly to the side as she walked. It wasn't difficult to avoid people when she could hear them coming from so far off, so she'd been carefully trekking the halls. The decor was tasteful, all around. She liked the feel of the place, the way the walls trapped the sounds being made and distorted them until the vibrations came to a natural end.
She'd paused to admire the view from a window on the third floor as she considered heading back to her suite, but she caught the unmistakable Doctor Who intro music and, after paying a bit more attention, a familiar set of vocal chords humming along. A grin spreading across her face, Terry padded her way along the hallway, bare toes sinking into the plush carpet. It took her almost no time at all to find Jeanie in one of the recreational rooms, the ridiculously large television showing the newest Doctor.
"About time they made a lady Doctor," Terry said, propping one shoulder up against the door frame, her grin still firmly in place.
Jean stopped at the sound of a familiar voice, so wrapped up in it that she didn't recognize the mental signature of...
"Terry?!" she said, spinning around as she hopped up from the couch to give her a hug.
"Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"
"Surprise!" Terry said, laughing as she returned the hug. "I wasn't sure when I'd be gettin' in, either. But I found m'way."
Jean grinned. "I see that," she said, then spread her arms wide, as if to show off the room.
"So what do you think of the place so far?"
"It's lovely," Terry said. "I was just thinkin' how nice the carpet is," she gestured down at her sockless feet. "Nice walls, as well. Makes settlin' noises all on its own, like a proper old buildin' ought." Then she raised her eyebrows at her friend and asked, "Is this what y'plan t'do for the rest o' your day? Watchin' telly?"
"...Yes?" Jean said, with a laugh. "That was the plan. I hadn't had a day off without someone getting hurt in a long time. But since you're here I'm definitely up for some catching up. I'd be happy to show you around, both here and in Salem Center, the closest town."
"What's fun, d'y'think? Something y've not done in a long while?" Terry was only mildly worried about the bit where Jean said she'd had no days free without someone being injured. Such was life, after all -- especially when you dealt with the world changing in the way it was. "Ridiculous or delightful. Somethin' t'make y'laugh."
"How about both?" Jean said.
"Are you up for something to eat? There's a donut place in town that serves donuts with unique flavors. We can also walk main street. They have a lot of cute little shops there."
"Y'know 'both' is m'favorite answer t'any either-or question, Jeanie," Terry said, grin spreading over her face again. "I'll eat any sweet, 'specially if it's unique. And I can do with a bit o' shoppin'. Not sure m'shampoo survived the flight. M'conditioner certainly didn't."
Jean's eyes widened. "Oh no," she said with a hushed whisper, covering her mouth with her hand
"Did it explode all over your bag?"
"Aye," Terry said, shaking her head. "I'd put it in a plastic bag and everythin', but that didn't help. I've not had the heart to check if the shampoo's mixed in or not. But it's no' the worst that could've happened. So, tell me about the unique doughnuts."
"That happened to me once on a trip to Beirut," Jean said, shaking her head in sympathy.
"Completely ruined my makeup too."
She motioned for Terry to follow her, then headed toward the garage.
"The donut place is called Count Donutulas, which means they go a little crazy around Halloween. Each week they have at least two or three offbeat flavors like margarita with a lime salt ring around the donut, or wasabi flavored. Depends on the mood. Sometimes they let people submit new flavors as well," she explained as she opened the door to the garage.
"I don't know if I told you about my car but...I figured we'd take her," she said, showing her a gold, 1960s era Pontiac Firebird that appeared to have been restored.
"Well," Terry said, eyeing the car. "No, that's certainly no' something you'd mentioned. But I've no worries about you drivin' us about, as I've no car t'my name here. D'they have a website'r somethin' that'd tell us the flavors?"
"They usually put it on their Facebook page," Jean said, noticing Terry's look and comment about the car.
"What? Do you not like it?"
"Och, I love it," Terry said, grinning. "I'm a mite jealous, t'be honest. She's a beautiful thing. When'd y'get her?" She already had her phone out as she sidled up to the passenger's side door and got in, searching for the shop's Facebook page so she could check what they had on offer for the day. Of course, she got distracted as soon as she settled into the seat. "Mm... brilliant."
"A couple of years ago. She did not look this good, then. I let some of the people here restore her and now she's good as new," Jean said proudly as she hopped into the driver's seat.
"Find any donut flavors that jump out at you?"
Terry snorted. "They've an Irish Car Bomb Doughnut this week," she said, rolling her eyes. "Stout cake, Jameson in the filling, and Bailey's in the glaze. I think I'll not be havin' one of those. "The Strawberry Margarita sounds nice, though -- tequila and salt in the glaze. If y'want t'clog your arteries, there's the Dead Elvis. It's filled with cream, then topped with bacon, bananas, peanut butter, and jelly."
Jean made a face. "The doctor in me is crying," she said with a laugh.
"I have to try both of them. With a giant glass of milk."
"Both of which? The Margarita and the Elvis? Let's get one o'each, that way we can halve them and possibly no' have heart attacks before we're thirty-five."
"Yes, the Margarita and the Elvis. Besides, everything in moderation is important," Jean mused. "A sensible diet and exercise will offset the drastic amounts of sugar. Or at least that's what I tell myself as I'm bouncing off the walls."
Jean squinted. "I'm only a couple of years out from 35. If I get that bad there's something wrong," she laughed.
Laughing, Terry leaned her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes for a moment. "You an' me both, Jeanie. You an' me both." Then she opened her eyes again and glanced at her friend. "Tell me, though. How's your sister? Your mum and da?"
"Sara's good. She and Paul took the twins to Orlando for a week for the first time back in July so that's all they want to talk about," Jean said with a grin. "Disney World and Harry Potter."
She started up the car, then hit the garage door opener.
"And Mom and dad are great. They moved back to the States earlier this year to be closer to us. Dad was able to get his job back at Bard College and Mom got a job at a publishing house in the US with her list of contacts. I'm sure they'd love for you to come by next time I go to visit."
"Brilliant," Terry said, beaming. "Think your mum'll make those little egg tarts o'hers? Been ages and I still can't make 'em quite right, m'self."
"If I tell her that? She'll probably make you enough to take home," Jean said with a laugh.
"The next time I'll be able to go up is closer to Thanksgiving. Hopefully Paul won't have to work so he can come this time. He got stuck at the police station last year."
"Och, that's no good," Terry said, tsking softly. "It's meant to be all about family and the like these days, aye? Though I heard last year loads o'people made a push to call it somethin' t'do with Indigenous People's Day, which... I can't really fault 'em for."
"Yeah, I heard about that too. And then you get the purists who have an outcry about that....the same ones who are upset about red Starbucks cups," Jean said with a furrowed brow as they made their way past the mansion gate and out toward the highway.
"Peace and understanding remains ever elusive. But..." she smiled. "We can still dream."
"Aye," Terry said, nodding her agreement. "Nothin' wrong with keepin' hope alive an' all that. Speaking of, though -- I've got plans for m'time here. Moira suggested I speak to a couple people and the Professor said I'd have an office. Are y'feelin' morally grey enough t'help me out with a few things an' keep it under the radar, Jeanie-girl?"
Jean laughed. "That is my last name, isn't it?" she mused with a grin.
"Depends on what you need help with but...yeah, I can probably help."
"Nothin' firm yet," Terry said. "Need t'speak t'the people first. I'll let y'know how how the talks go."
"Great," Jean said, "Something to do with your line of work, I take it?"
"Aye," Terry said, nodding. "Something t'do with mine -- and yours, maybe." She looked at her friend and smiled. "Don't worry, I'll tell y'when it's time t'start savin' lives."
