Give him twenty seconds to stand there glowering out at her while trying to come to terms with the fact this is, in fact, happening. And then he'll give up on texting and just let her in. ]
Did you read the part where I told you I don't practice anymore?
[ You know that if you fall from a height, he's not going to be able to keep you alive long enough for the ambulance to arrive, right? ]
[ She hops her skirts free of the balcony's banister, shaking them out with both hands as she whips the bonnet off her head. There's less a reason to hide around people who've known her Prior to the Manor, if only because lying and misleading them is a fool's errand. Someone like Stephen's known her at her bloodiest, so she'll meet him sans mask. Well. Sans the mask she's worn for him, special. ]
Come on, Stephen. You know I'm not going to incriminate myself in writing. They can have "ate a koi fish" and "aha, she's actually sarcastic and not at all a wallflower" as my secret identity.
[ it's ok she won't fall ( unless it's into your arms pal ) ]
You know the real deal. It's business.
[ A heavy pause, and then incredulously: ] Did you really quit practicing?
[ Well, at least she's doing him the courtesy of honesty - and going out of her way for it, too, though he imagines it feels good to drop the facade for a minute. A lift of one hand shows the scars that trail his fingers, angry pink lines mapping the bones beneath the skin. His hand tremors where it's held up for her to see. ]
People don't want me rooting around in their heads anymore. Can't imagine why.
[ It means he'll no longer be coming down from on high whenever she invokes his name in the emergency department. His hand drops, satisfied he's made his point. ]
[ With Stephen, she can afford to be bolder than usual. She's known him on and off for some time, and various injuries upon her have been attending to as if she were a superhero with an "in" to the best medical care a masked avenger could ever get without sacrificing their identity and loved ones.
To see his hands shake evokes a morose feeling inside of her: that's a lifeline gone, never mind his entire career and how he must feel about it. All the same, she lifts a hand to palm the tips of his fingers briefly. Curious and morbid as ever, in her investigations. ]
de Scaeva's rotten. Everyone knows it, but he's rotten on a level that's outpaced his ability to keep it together. I'm here to get allies, so I can end him.
[ She looks up, her maid's uniform looking more costume-y by the minute. ]
[ A slight flinch at the touch, through his hand and up into his expression, unused to contact these days and never quite sure how to feel about it. But she keeps speaking, and it covers over his discomfort enough to avoid him jerking away. Brows raise and eyes widen instead. So many years, and it finally comes to this.
He's about to ask more, but she has a question of her own, and with it his mouth screws up again. That would be nice, wouldn't it? If it had been done to him, instead of - ]
A cliff. [ Wry as he make it to cover up the bitterness beneath, a dare for anyone to call it what it was: his own stupid fault. ] Car accident.
So I'd appreciate it if you didn't go after my assailant.
[ Half a joke, because that's him - half not a joke, intrigued by his own feeling that under the question might have been the intent to deliver consequences. ]
Oh I don't know, Stephen. I think I have access to enough explosives to turn that cliff into a prairie for you.
[ It's a joke. Maybe.
He's always been good to her. Rough, arrogant, but she understands that because she's the same way. She'd never expect someone with the training and skill that Stephen has to be humble about it. It's not like she knows what he does, so when he would open his mouth in the ER and hit her with a whammy of an insult, it was fine. Gave her the tingles and everything. ]
[ A cough of a laugh, not expecting it. He should be maybe, but the reply surprises him enough that he has to turn away, wander further into the room to find a couple of glasses, something to drink, going through the motions of staring down into the bar cabinet for options.
He's pulling out wine and whiskey, turning the conversation back to his questions. ]
How's it all going? Recruited the President of the United States yet? [ Glasses clink together where he sets them down, and it finally occurs to him to ask, bottle of red raised: ] You want some of this?
Why would I want to do that? He's nothing special. I only like one American boy, and he's offering me drinks.
[ Presidents are temporary, anyways. At best, they're eight years of arrogance as power goes straight to their little brains and they give everyone else a headache. Also, she's Italian.
While Stephen busies himself with the drinks, she slips the lacy little bonnet off her head and sets it aside neatly. The drape of her apron follows suit, then her white gloves. Best not to leave anything on her person that could get messy, even if she was fastidiously tidy when she put her mind to it. Her heels are quiet as she crosses the room in his wake, before she plucks the bottle of whiskey out of his hand and necks a portion of it. ]
The handful of hackers, yes. Unlike the brainless legion of wealthy dilettantes with sad eyes and daddy kinks and the alpha-bro tycoons flaunting their muscles and dicks, they have use. I mean — use besides scratching itches. [ She smiles, tight and mean. ] What brings you, anyways?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Sorry to disappoint.
no subject
Look out your window, btw.
[ she's crawling over the edge of the balcony, all dark hair and ring-esque limbs 8) ]
no subject
Give him twenty seconds to stand there glowering out at her while trying to come to terms with the fact this is, in fact, happening. And then he'll give up on texting and just let her in. ]
Did you read the part where I told you I don't practice anymore?
[ You know that if you fall from a height, he's not going to be able to keep you alive long enough for the ambulance to arrive, right? ]
no subject
Come on, Stephen. You know I'm not going to incriminate myself in writing. They can have "ate a koi fish" and "aha, she's actually sarcastic and not at all a wallflower" as my secret identity.
[ it's ok she won't fall ( unless it's into your arms pal ) ]
You know the real deal. It's business.
[ A heavy pause, and then incredulously: ] Did you really quit practicing?
no subject
People don't want me rooting around in their heads anymore. Can't imagine why.
[ It means he'll no longer be coming down from on high whenever she invokes his name in the emergency department. His hand drops, satisfied he's made his point. ]
What business this time?
no subject
To see his hands shake evokes a morose feeling inside of her: that's a lifeline gone, never mind his entire career and how he must feel about it. All the same, she lifts a hand to palm the tips of his fingers briefly. Curious and morbid as ever, in her investigations. ]
de Scaeva's rotten. Everyone knows it, but he's rotten on a level that's outpaced his ability to keep it together. I'm here to get allies, so I can end him.
[ She looks up, her maid's uniform looking more costume-y by the minute. ]
Did someone do this to you?
no subject
He's about to ask more, but she has a question of her own, and with it his mouth screws up again. That would be nice, wouldn't it? If it had been done to him, instead of - ]
A cliff. [ Wry as he make it to cover up the bitterness beneath, a dare for anyone to call it what it was: his own stupid fault. ] Car accident.
So I'd appreciate it if you didn't go after my assailant.
[ Half a joke, because that's him - half not a joke, intrigued by his own feeling that under the question might have been the intent to deliver consequences. ]
no subject
[ It's a joke. Maybe.
He's always been good to her. Rough, arrogant, but she understands that because she's the same way. She'd never expect someone with the training and skill that Stephen has to be humble about it. It's not like she knows what he does, so when he would open his mouth in the ER and hit her with a whammy of an insult, it was fine. Gave her the tingles and everything. ]
no subject
He's pulling out wine and whiskey, turning the conversation back to his questions. ]
How's it all going? Recruited the President of the United States yet? [ Glasses clink together where he sets them down, and it finally occurs to him to ask, bottle of red raised: ] You want some of this?
no subject
[ Presidents are temporary, anyways. At best, they're eight years of arrogance as power goes straight to their little brains and they give everyone else a headache. Also, she's Italian.
While Stephen busies himself with the drinks, she slips the lacy little bonnet off her head and sets it aside neatly. The drape of her apron follows suit, then her white gloves. Best not to leave anything on her person that could get messy, even if she was fastidiously tidy when she put her mind to it. Her heels are quiet as she crosses the room in his wake, before she plucks the bottle of whiskey out of his hand and necks a portion of it. ]
The handful of hackers, yes. Unlike the brainless legion of wealthy dilettantes with sad eyes and daddy kinks and the alpha-bro tycoons flaunting their muscles and dicks, they have use. I mean — use besides scratching itches. [ She smiles, tight and mean. ] What brings you, anyways?