It's been a few hours. No, the tea didn't help; he's nervous, twitchy, can't keep still. Obviously the thing to do is wall himself up in a kitchen and cook with ridiculous amounts of onions.
[[OOC: private to
stripesandheels. Adult content further down.]]
Higher than a fucking kite, would be the expression.]
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[She has to eat something if she wants to sober up. She heads for the fridge, to find herself something. There's... kind of not much. A tomato? Okay, that works. Havarti cheese, very good. She bets she can find raisins, too, or crackers, if she goes through the cupboards.]
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[As if he's read fanfic. He knows enough to draw the net of badly-written smut, and that's all.]
I can't say I was ever into doujinshi. Too variable.
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I did for a week or two, but it was too silly for me.
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[Pouring the onions into the bowl, stirring all the while.]
You know the sort of thing, then. There was always more to read. Real things, better things. Astrophysics and radio astronomy.
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This room will be fun, though.
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[Hiss, spit. He's more adept with that pan than you might expect - well, when he's not dropping it.]
It sounds like it's going to be profoundly mentally scarring. I suppose that could be fun.
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[And now that they've got the magic safety zone semi-established, it's almost comfortable. Familiar. If she wants to try and punish him with weird drugged-out porn readings, that's her call.]
Did you get into the NSA?
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[And Matt launches to an in depth, technical explanation of something that probably isn't even possible in real life, but Death Note geniuses notoriously bend the line of what is and is not logically sound in our world, like recovering from major burns in a non-sterile environment without succumbing to infection, or leaping to insane, correct conclusion after conclusion with no demonstrable chain of logic. So, she goes over this imaginary genius hacking process in great, enthusiastic detail.
Long story short, she's actually running out of breath by the time they make it to the fanfic room.]
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Wow. I can't believe they forgot to secure sendmail. That's really not at all intimidating.
-uh, is this it?
[Peering through the door, at the mountain of papers.]
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[Finally, starting to pick at her stir-fry. She's coming down off her high- not by much, but enough to make a little more sense.]
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[But begrudging as he sounds, he does reach out and pick up a bundle of pages bearing crude illustrations.]
... uh. Who's Watari?
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