It's funny how much a little bit of hypnotism can change your perspective, even if all you thought you were getting out of it was attacked by a giant wasp
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After patching up a combatant or two earlier, Hawkeye had decided how the rest of the night was going to go.
One: a martini, dry like the Sahara. Maybe two. Two: a comfortable chair by the fireplace. Three: a completely incomprehensible medical reference journal from the infirmary library, written in a language that Hawkeye certainly can't read, but that seems to contain the finer points of werewolf anatomy. Four: throwing peanuts at anyone who looks like they're even thinking of getting into a duel, honorable or not.
Number five, however, is entirely open, and, at the moment, involves a glance up from his seat to spot the nearby woman with the sketchpad. A pause, and then one side of his mouth lifts and he says, "My left profile's the better one." He tilts his head to that side, helpfully; a man in a red kimono and a lei over army greens.
Angela looks up, considering this quite seriously for a moment, and then grins and nods.
"You know, it really is," she says.
[OOC: Sorry! I didn't see this before I went to bed last night. But I'm about this evening, and if slowtime's good for you, I'd love to see what these two make of each other.]
Hawkeye preens, in the way that suggests he's doing it for entertainment value more than out of any actual severe narcissism. "You're clearly a lady of discerning taste, madam." He drops (some of) the act, setting the medical journal on the coffee table in front of him and leaning forward with his forearms on his knees, at ease.
'At ease' doesn't mean that that smile has let up, though.
"I'd offer to buy you a drink to celebrate your eye for aesthetics, but I see you're already a step ahead of me." (You know, with the glass of wine already in hand.)
Comments 31
One: a martini, dry like the Sahara. Maybe two.
Two: a comfortable chair by the fireplace.
Three: a completely incomprehensible medical reference journal from the infirmary library, written in a language that Hawkeye certainly can't read, but that seems to contain the finer points of werewolf anatomy.
Four: throwing peanuts at anyone who looks like they're even thinking of getting into a duel, honorable or not.
Number five, however, is entirely open, and, at the moment, involves a glance up from his seat to spot the nearby woman with the sketchpad. A pause, and then one side of his mouth lifts and he says, "My left profile's the better one." He tilts his head to that side, helpfully; a man in a red kimono and a lei over army greens.
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"You know, it really is," she says.
[OOC: Sorry! I didn't see this before I went to bed last night. But I'm about this evening, and if slowtime's good for you, I'd love to see what these two make of each other.]
Reply
'At ease' doesn't mean that that smile has let up, though.
"I'd offer to buy you a drink to celebrate your eye for aesthetics, but I see you're already a step ahead of me." (You know, with the glass of wine already in hand.)
[OOC: Not a problem! I live on slowtime.]
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"Angela Montenegro," she supplies.
She nods towards the journal. "Interesting reading?"
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