closed RP: in which there is rampant stupidity (Steff and Lezard)
((Here is your warning: possibly will become NSFW in various ways, and definitely will be a dysfunctional mess.))
Steff had written: I'll be in your lab in five minutes. Figure out what the fuck you're going to do about it.
Lezard had been stalking the compy lab, invisible and discorporate, in order to monitor Steff's comings and goings ever since she'd made that humiliating and utterly unnecessary compy post about him. When she typed that answer, he'd been watching her type it. He'd seen her face as she read what he'd written; he'd seen her reaction. He hadn't needed to access the compy network again -- five minutes, she'd said; and one of the side benefits of being an obscenely overpowered god-mage was that he could materialize immediately in the location she'd specified.
His dorm room/laboratory/Lair of Doom. The scene of the original crime, as it were; an intimate setting, to say the least. Why was he doing this, again? He ought to head straight over to Sparklypoo for some promised facetime with the mysterious Miss Swan. Technically speaking, he had a date with that estimable lady, who seemed very clear regarding her gender boundaries. Men should look like men.
Besides which, he couldn't forgive Steff for -- a number of things, the compy post being only the most recent and most public of these.
But here he was, just inside his laboratory, leaning against the door and looking ceilingward, trying to compose himself. Waiting -- for a knock, or a shout, or for Steff to kick the door in. Waiting, he supposed, to find out what he would do when she did.
Steff had written: I'll be in your lab in five minutes. Figure out what the fuck you're going to do about it.
Lezard had been stalking the compy lab, invisible and discorporate, in order to monitor Steff's comings and goings ever since she'd made that humiliating and utterly unnecessary compy post about him. When she typed that answer, he'd been watching her type it. He'd seen her face as she read what he'd written; he'd seen her reaction. He hadn't needed to access the compy network again -- five minutes, she'd said; and one of the side benefits of being an obscenely overpowered god-mage was that he could materialize immediately in the location she'd specified.
His dorm room/laboratory/Lair of Doom. The scene of the original crime, as it were; an intimate setting, to say the least. Why was he doing this, again? He ought to head straight over to Sparklypoo for some promised facetime with the mysterious Miss Swan. Technically speaking, he had a date with that estimable lady, who seemed very clear regarding her gender boundaries. Men should look like men.
Besides which, he couldn't forgive Steff for -- a number of things, the compy post being only the most recent and most public of these.
But here he was, just inside his laboratory, leaning against the door and looking ceilingward, trying to compose himself. Waiting -- for a knock, or a shout, or for Steff to kick the door in. Waiting, he supposed, to find out what he would do when she did.