[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???]
[Good news: she's a little more sober than when she arrived. Bad news: that doesn't mean a whole lot in the face of tequila. Definitely won't throw up, but she's still pretty tipsy. Her nightgown lies on the floor, which suggests she's only wearing his shirt, because she'd gotten irritated with the duel sensation of cotton and silk.]
But no. I never do, not in anything. Sit down, Adrian.
[is she going to work his name into every sentence, maybe so]
[Logically: Rosalind cannot actually do Alucard any physical, long lasting harm, and he can probably take whatever she's going to say or do.
However: she is still her, a strong woman in many ways, and while he absolutely respects that about her, it is still mildly terrifying, much in the way Sypha would only have to look at him or Trevor to earn an apology when they'd done wrong.
[She isn't actually all that mad. Annoyed, maybe, at the start of the night, but even that was more playfully irritated than truly furious. But she rather likes the trepidation with which he regards it. It's good for a woman's ego, seeing that leery fear.]
Do we have something to say, Adrian? Some request? Some invitation, perhaps, so sarcastically delivered?
[She crosses one leg over the other, sitting up a little. Truth be told, she doesn't know quite what she wants, not yet; she has a bad feeling that if she fucked him tonight, it wouldn't be . . .
She'd be thinking of someone else. And that's hardly fair, when she enjoys him as a partner for his own sake.]
Perhaps. But come here, why don't you. You don't have to look so at-attention, I'm not going to yell at you.
[She watches him as he approaches-- and when he's near enough, reaches up. But rather than the slap he might be expecting, her fingers slide up against his cheek.]
Relax. I'm annoyed at Stephen, not you. You simply happened to try and tease the wrong night, and even then. I didn't mind, not truly. But if you tease me, you're going to have to be prepared to deal with the consequences.
[The smile he wears is warm, and he nods. He doesn't intend to make any demands of her, but he certainly doesn't mind it when she orders him around.
Alucard comes in closer, leaning in and pressing his lips softly to hers. Not because he thinks of her as fragile, but rather he does enjoy a more gentle approach part of the time.]
[She tips her head, returning the kiss just as gently. There's a time for roughness, and god knows she likes it that way, but there's something wonderful about softness as well. Her fingers slide over his cheek, and when they part, she smiles up at him.]
Mm. Not tonight, I think. But I'm staying in your bed, if you'll let me.
[But he's definitely going to be cozying up to lay down next to her. A pause, then he holds out his arm if she'd like to come in for some snuggling. He's never really opposed.]
[She hesitates for a few seconds. But . . . there's no real harm in it, not really, and she shifts, climbing into his arms. Her head tentatively rests against his chest.]
You really don't have to apologize to me so often, you know. It's very sweet, but you don't have to.
[She raises her head, staring up at him for a few seconds. She isn't certain if that's meant to be a dig at her, but just in case: he gets the raised eyebrows. But that only lasts for a few seconds; then she's back to resting on his chest.]
I suppose that's something. Better than certain people . . . I'm still angry with him.
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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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[Good news: she's a little more sober than when she arrived. Bad news: that doesn't mean a whole lot in the face of tequila. Definitely won't throw up, but she's still pretty tipsy. Her nightgown lies on the floor, which suggests she's only wearing his shirt, because she'd gotten irritated with the duel sensation of cotton and silk.]
But no. I never do, not in anything. Sit down, Adrian.
[is she going to work his name into every sentence, maybe so]
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However: she is still her, a strong woman in many ways, and while he absolutely respects that about her, it is still mildly terrifying, much in the way Sypha would only have to look at him or Trevor to earn an apology when they'd done wrong.
So he sits, frowning.]
All right. Sitting.
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Do we have something to say, Adrian? Some request? Some invitation, perhaps, so sarcastically delivered?
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[She crosses one leg over the other, sitting up a little. Truth be told, she doesn't know quite what she wants, not yet; she has a bad feeling that if she fucked him tonight, it wouldn't be . . .
She'd be thinking of someone else. And that's hardly fair, when she enjoys him as a partner for his own sake.]
Perhaps. But come here, why don't you. You don't have to look so at-attention, I'm not going to yell at you.
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[The Disappointment is enough honestly.
But he does approach as she orders, curious but wary.]
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Relax. I'm annoyed at Stephen, not you. You simply happened to try and tease the wrong night, and even then. I didn't mind, not truly. But if you tease me, you're going to have to be prepared to deal with the consequences.
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I will bear it in mind. And I admit, it was rather ill-timed.
But no less genuine, should the desire be there for both of us.
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Why don't you come kiss me, and we'll see where we go from there?
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Alucard comes in closer, leaning in and pressing his lips softly to hers. Not because he thinks of her as fragile, but rather he does enjoy a more gentle approach part of the time.]
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Mm. Not tonight, I think. But I'm staying in your bed, if you'll let me.
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Of course. Stay as you'd like, then.
[But he's definitely going to be cozying up to lay down next to her. A pause, then he holds out his arm if she'd like to come in for some snuggling. He's never really opposed.]
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You really don't have to apologize to me so often, you know. It's very sweet, but you don't have to.
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Suppose I haven't noticed that sort of thing. I was raised with manners, after all.
[Not that he equates that with apologizing so much, but he also doesn't want to think about why he has done that a lot.]
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I suppose that's something. Better than certain people . . . I'm still angry with him.
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What exactly about it angers you?
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fuckinggg dreamwidth
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