Chapter Text
“Absofuckinglutely not.”
Vel’s passion echoes out of the kitchen, bounces down the hallway, and finally rings through the library / office / workroom space where Cinta is curled up in her overstuffed chair with a book.
The vague noises of conversation have grown over the last ten minutes, and now sound positively fervent.
Sighing, Cinta looks toward the ceiling, and listens for the words of retort which will certainly trail close on the heels of Vel’s protestations.
“I promise you do not have, and cannot find, sufficient evidence to convince me otherwise,” Kleya’s register is lower and her words more deliberately enunciated and punctualized, but she sounds no less intense.
that tears it. Cinta levers herself up out of her chair and stalks down the hall into the kitchen, where last she saw, Vel and Kleya were having a perfectly innocent chat over their mid-morning caf.
Her girlfriends’ habit of arguing for sport occasionally grew more disruptive, with certain contentious discussions lasting hours on end, interrupting Cinta’s plans for peace and quiet and pursuit of leisure such as reading.
Only the week before, Cinta had decided on a plan of action for the next time a heated disagreement arose and they all had a few hours to spare.
This occasion provides all of the above.
As Cinta enters the kitchen, Vel and Kleya both pause, waiting to see if Cinta is incidentally passing through, or could perhaps be persuaded to side with one or the other; her face does not suggest willingness to get dragged into argument.
“What’s this then?” Cinta asks.
Always more impulsive, Vel manages to get her first words out before Kleya. “She’s arguing the initiative around punishment for raiding of historical artefacts should include mandatory prison time.”
Kleya rolls her eyes. “You are well aware that is a representation of my argument designed to prejudice Cinta against my position.”
“But does it inaccurately represent your argument?” Vel asks.
“It is not wholly and entirely accurate; which is to say, it is inaccurate.”
“It may not be comprehensive, but that does not mean it is incorrect.”
Kleya shakes her head sharply, once to each side. “The synonym does not deflect; you could hit a target ‘correctly’ and your shot still be inaccurate, especially if you were aiming for another . . . ”
Distracted by Cinta’s actions, Kleya’s protest drifts off.
Ignoring the other two entirely, Cinta crosses to the cabinet and brings down three glasses. She carries the glasses to the sink and fills them all with water.
“Follow me,” is all Cinta says, as she turns on her heel and walks down the hallway without so much as looking over her shoulder at the other two.
Vel and Kleya meet each others’ eyes, where each sees her own puzzlement reflected. For a moment, they sit stunned, then in unison, they both abandon their disagreement, and scramble to follow Cinta as she leads the way down the hall toward the spare bedroom.