And both, frankly. I hardly see why I have to choose one or the other. though people have a tendency to peg me into one role or another, depending on what they want to see.
Unfortunately, that is the nature of man, be they human or otherwise. It is often easier to generalize a person they see instead of taking into account the complexities.
[Let us assume, for the sake of narrative convenience, that he has told her his address. Because in the next instant there she is, clad in a silk nightgown, her hair tumbling around her. She very clearly smells of tequila and mint (and maybe a hint of something else, because Stephen Strange is an ass who just comes into someone's room and kisses them and then leaves).
[There is a long pause as he looks at Rosalind in the middle of what he'd been doing. The canvas of his parents are, thankfully, covered in a sheet so he can tend to that later, but his fingers are covered in charcoal and paint. And so he's sitting, looking at Rosalind, thinking of what to say.
She looks very pissed off.
So he does the only reasonable thing, and that's definitely turning into a bat so he can fly out the fucking window.]
[But there he goes, out the fucking window, but joke's on him, because she's in his house. And he'll have to return here sometime.
She does not, actually, snoop. She very much wants to, but she won't break his trust so easily. Instead: she goes to his closet, pulling out a shirt and donning it; it's much more comfortable and covers a lot more than her nightgown. She rummages around until she can find something to read. And then she settles on his bed, her long, bare legs stretched out before her, and waits for him to return.]
[He does, very very very reluctantly return, because he does have a sneaking suspicion that she's stubborn enough to make sure she's going to be there, waiting, even if it's hours and hours. Which it could have been, he could have fled to Trevor's cottage (he did) and stayed the night (he did not).
So he does, and he just knows where she's going to be.]
You never let up, do you. [why do you always have to be right???]
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That's quite a bit of frustration you've let out. Feel better?
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how many times is this going to be sent out
in any case NO i'm not but thank you for asking, i'm rather more frustrated now, if possible
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Did you actually want to talk about your frustrations? I certainly don't mind.
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anyway hush, you're too quick to apologize
and no
stephen strange is simply frustrating, as always. it's nothing new.
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Should I apologize less? You do seem to like a bit of fight to these things.
Hm. I haven't had the pleasure. ...If it was a pleasure?
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& yes frankly
& yes it was but also no
he's very
confident
[Tequila is a lot, for the record.]
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You like the confidence. Not surprising. But I think you also like putting that kind of man into place, yes?
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i'm glad to know it.
And both, frankly. I hardly see why I have to choose one or the other. though people have a tendency to peg me into one role or another, depending on what they want to see.
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Unfortunately, that is the nature of man, be they human or otherwise. It is often easier to generalize a person they see instead of taking into account the complexities.
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a bit more profound if it wasn't about "step on me madam lutece" versus "i'm going to bend you over something", but you're still right.
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[Second, but whatever.]
its not as insufferable as it was at home
and its not that i dislike such things
i simply
would care to be asked rather than assumed
especially when the assumption comes in the form of some man yelling in the street
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I think that I do understand, to some degree. Certainly not as you have, of course. Does Stephen take such assumptions with you?
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those are two separate complaints
he's just arrogant
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So if I want you to step on me then, shall I ask prettily?
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Yes.
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She does not look amused.]
Do you want to ask that again, Adrian?
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She looks very pissed off.
So he does the only reasonable thing, and that's definitely turning into a bat so he can fly out the fucking window.]
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[But there he goes, out the fucking window, but joke's on him, because she's in his house. And he'll have to return here sometime.
She does not, actually, snoop. She very much wants to, but she won't break his trust so easily. Instead: she goes to his closet, pulling out a shirt and donning it; it's much more comfortable and covers a lot more than her nightgown. She rummages around until she can find something to read. And then she settles on his bed, her long, bare legs stretched out before her, and waits for him to return.]
im screaming
So he does, and he just knows where she's going to be.]
You never let up, do you. [why do you always have to be right???]
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fuckinggg dreamwidth
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