fandomtownies | Arms Hotel Lobby, Wednesday

There were some things that, when approached, really took away the need for a formal greeting, because one found that all they could do was tilt their head to one side and wonder if they really wanted to know what was going on.

When Turtle came in with her usual lunch for Jeff as saw him behind the desk fidgeting around, it was a fine example of one of those moments. "Jeff?"

"Hi, Turtle!" Jeff yelled back at her, as if trying to make his voice carry over music only he could hear. "I'm working on my choreography!"

"Oh." Turtle's shoulders sagged in instant relief, hand over her heart. She went ahead and approached the front desk now that she knew it was safe, setting the bag of lunch on it. "I thought that might be it, but I also thought that you were possibly having a seizure."

Jeff's dancing (if it could be called dancing at all) slowed, then finally stopped, as he found himself way too preoccupied with scrambling for the bag to see what it held. "No," he said, "If it had been a seizure, there would've been more noises."

That made quite a bit of sense, in the way that Turtle wondered why she hadn't reasoned that herself, and she hopped onto the desk to have a seat while Jeff rooted through the bag, where he'd find a few jam sandwiches, a couple apples, and some chips. "How's the choreography going, then?" she asked. "Good?"

Jam sandwiches! Even after last week, Jeff hadn't quite lost heart for them. He happily pulled the treat out of the bag and began to stuff his face with it. "I might be hitting--" Bite, chew, "--a bit of a lull--" swallow, "--in the creative progress. I should talk to Andrew."

He dropped the sandwich back on the bag so he could attempt a very jammy kiss to Turtle's cheek.

Despite the twisting of Turtle's face at the over-jamming of such a kiss, it was still appreciated and met with a smile after she'd wiped her hand across her cheek. Although now she had a sticky cheek as well as a sticky palm, and so she tried to rub her hand on her jeans to at least solve one of those problems.

"I'd offer to help, too," she said, "but I'm no good at anything artistic, and I've got to worry about student council elections coming up. It really does suck that you're not in my class, Jeff. I need all the votes I can get..."

"I could campaign manage again," Jeff offered, "I mean, there's no study hall this term, but I can still wear the t-shirt!" He patted his jam sandwich with all his conviction. "And you're Turtle! You'll soar into the skies like a... turtle."

Okay, his comparison didn't work well there. "...If a turtle could fly," he added, tactfully. "You'd be a prize flying one."

And, while, yes, the metaphor was definitely lost in reality, it was still a very sweet sentiment and Turtle, smiling happily for it, leaned over to give Jeff a kiss on the cheek, though one with much less jam than his earlier one. "Thanks, Jeff," she said. "I think the t-shirt would be great, if you don't mind. And you can just sort of nudge some of the juniors toward me a little if you talk to any of them. I'm working on some posters to put up and I was thinking maybe some literature, too. You know, just a little something so that they know the sort of experience I have in this sort of thing, and the brochure would also include a nice little coupon for the store or something,just to, you know, thank them for considering Wexler for Representative."

"Coupons are good," Jeff said. He knew this mostly because his mother had always told him that, loudly, and at the top of her voice, but that was a moot point. "Give them some percentages. Or magazines! Maybe you should get a model in, too, people love models."

He hadn't even needed to learn that from mister Deadpool. "I'll try some nudging, but I can't make any promises. Sometimes that goes a bit wrong."

A bit? Turtle rethought this strategy quickly. "Nothing too big," she clarified. "Just a namedrop, is all, so people know who I am, maybe. No need to get too indepth. And what the heck could a model do for the campaign?"

Besides, you know, make Turtle look bad and average and, yeah, that was only going to be detrimental.

Jeff shrugged one shoulder. "People like looking at them. You'd be the candidate who brings the models."

It was definitely an angle that Turtle would have never considered, but that was perhaps exactly why she should consider it. Of course, it wouldn't be her only platform, but it was something to maybe bolster her other standing points, if it weren't for one thing.

"...I don't think I know any models," she admitted, ruefully.

Shoving his lunch bag away purposefully, Jeff pulled open one drawer of the desk, took out a magazine, and held it up high. "They're out there, Turtle," he said. "They're out there. And we will find them."

"I know they're out there," Turtle said, eying the magazine as if with a little bit of spite. "I just haven't decided how worthy of an investment it would be to go out of my way obtaining them in the greater scheme of things. You shouldn't just jump into models, you know."

"Of course not," Jeff said, snickering a little, "That might be rude!"

He paused as he realised his actual audience.

Then clammed up.

"Problem with models," Turtle mused, the interior workings of her campaign angles allowing her to completely miss Jeff's sudden clamming, "is that it runs the risk of seeming superficial, you know? Like you expect your audience to be so swayed by the media's perception of beauty that they start to think that you look down on them, or it could make them feel insignificant by comparison, and you don't want that. Not in democracy. You want to exude the impression of complete equality..."

"But what if the other side also has models?" The moment had passed unpunished, and so Jeff came back a little... well, strong wasn't the word. More like smartly, and a little lamely, and with his hands dangling somewhere again. "You don't want to be out-maneuvered on the models."

"So far," Turtle pointed out, "the opposition has only had posters and pie, but I'll definitely keep my eye out for any signs of models and, if that's how they'll play, I'll try to beat them to the punch, okay? But I don't think we should resort to models unless it looks like we have to."

That wasn't a disappointed expression on Jeff's face at all. "So," he said, "Posters in the room again?"

Turtle might have felt bad about the disappointment if it weren't for the fact that it was over models. She nodded. "I made some at work the other day, but one can never have too many posters, and I would rather like your help."

"I'll bring the blue bits!"

No, he didn't know what they were called.

"You'll be excellent." He gave her a thumbs up. She needed that sometimes.

"Thanks, Jeff." She smiled back, because she did. She really did. She leaned in again for a light kiss. "Your support means a lot, you know that?"

"You're the most excellent female person I've ever met," he informed her, after the whole kissing back issue had been dealt with (ooh, nice), "Actually, you're the most excellent any person I've met, so that's the full 100%!"

It made sense. He leaned back for another one.

Turtle couldn't help grinning a little at that. "Most excellent any person, huh?" she asked, quietly, before meeting Jeff's lean and lightly kissing him back before he could really answer. She was fairly certain it was just exaggeration from Jeff's excitable self, but that didn't stop it from being very nice to hear.

And then they made out.

A lot.

Jeff, in particular, was a lot like jam.

Arms Hotel Lobby, Wednesday

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