xp_logs | Remix - Doug and Marie-Ange.

I am resisting the urge to use Rush lyrics as a cut tag despite the appropiateness. Doug gets Marie-Ange out of the apartment. It takes effort. Doug is, as we'll hear many times, persistant and methodical. (Warning: Discussion of sexual topics.)

Doug rapped sharply at Marie-Ange's door with one hand, holding a bottle of wine in the other. Angie had been holed up in her room since returning from the retreat, and Doug had decided to go in after her. He had a plan, after all. "I know you're in there, Angie," he called.

She was regretting having given him a key -already-. But she was going to be damned if she was opening the door like -this-. Or answering. Or doing much of anything. So silence was the only answer Doug received, other than the muffled sounds of the television.

Doug would have thrown up his hands in frustration, except for the wine bottle. So he settled for stamping his foot indignantly before pulling out his key and letting himself in. "You," he expostulated from the doorway, "are taking yourself entirely too seriously. Emo muppetry means you have to do a shot." Maybe wine wasn't going to be strong enough to do the trick. Thankfully Angie kept her apartment somewhat stocked.

"That would require me to be -female- at the moment." It was a weak defense, but it was better than nothing. "That is a rule for girl's night out, and as I am neither out, nor a girl at this time, I am doubly immune." Marie-Ange didn't even bother to lift her head from her position stretched out on her sofa, legs dangling over one armrest.

"Well, I'm a girl, and that means I can change the rules, dammit." Doug stamped his foot again, this time for emphasis. "So get up and quit feeling sorry for yourself. We're going to talk about this, even if I have to get you drunk to do it." Which would further his plans, but that was neither here nor there.

"Why do I need to talk about it?" If Marie-Ange could've thrown a pillow at Doug, she would have. But she was resting her head on it, and getting up the energy to sit up and throw the pillow seemed a lot like effort. "I do not feel sorry for myself. I am just not going outside until this wears off."

Doug felt no such compunctions about throwing, and picked up a pillow from one of Marie-Ange's chairs for the express purpose of lobbing it at her head. "Have you even changed clothes?" he asked, wrinkling his nose at her.

Technically, she had. So Marie-Ange had no guilt in saying "Yes.", when in reality, she'd only gotten out of them long enough to have a shower and throw the shirt in the washer. The jeans could stand a few days of not being washed. "And even if I had not, it is not as if I have anything else that fits."

"I'll rephrase. Have you done anything other than put those same clothes in the washer while you shower?" Doug crossed his arms over his breasts and raised an eyebrow. "Besides, I told you you could borrow anything of mine." He crossed to the kitchen and began opening cabinets in search of glassware. He could never remember where she kept them.

"Your shirts are too big and the jeans that you left here are not at all comfortable." Not that the ones she was wearing really were, but she felt -wrong- putting on more clothes that did not fit. "It does not have to make sense. And they are in the cabinet over the stove."

"So? You could have gone shopping or something. I could have even done it with you over the Internet, since you're being a big chicken about going out." Doug reached up for the cabinet...and came up short. He swore in Mandarin and stamped his foot again. He'd been doing a lot of that lately. "Angie, I can't reach," he called pitifully. "Can you come get them for me?" he asked in a wheedling voice.

She didn't -want- to get up, but if she didn't, it would just mean Doug would start moving around furniture to climb on chairs. Marie-Ange let out a fitful grumble and unfolded from the sofa with a considerable lack of anything like grace. "And then what would I do with them later?" she asked. The extra six or so inches of height had thrown off her balance entirely, and if possible, having a male body seemed to mean even -longer- legs.

It did mean, she realized as she took the glasses out of the cabinet, that reaching high places was a lot easier. Maybe she'd use it as a chance to change the kitchen lighting fixtures. If she could get the nerve to leave the apartment.

"Donate them to charity. Give them to someone at the mansion who they fit. Just do -something- besides sitting around like a lump." Doug took the glasses from Marie-Ange as she handed them down, then took the opportunity to wrap his arms around her waist and hug her before she could get away. "Thank you," he murmured.

"Why are you... " Marie-Ange gestured down at Doug, taking in the longer blonde hair and curves. "Why are you so accepting of this? How can you move around so naturally in a body that is not -yours-?" Even moving her arms felt wrong. They were too long and heavy and it felt like her elbows were hinged wrong.

"Because it's temporary, and the alternative is to sit around and be miserable while waiting for it to wear off, like you're doing." Doug uncorked the wine and poured a healthy glassful for Angie. "Drink," he instructed her while pouring a smaller glass for himself and taking a sip.

It wasn't like she was going to turn down the drink. At some point, Doug had either found a good wine list, found -her- wine list, or had picked up some knowledge of how to find a good red. Or got lucky.

It was another three glasses later before she could bring herself to ask questions. And perhaps the wine was why she was even thinking of the questions, but that didn't matter much. "How did you get clothes?" Marie-Ange asked, setting the new empty glass down carefully. "That is a cute shirt. On you. It would not be cute on me, even if I was female right now. I cannot wear a neckline like that."

"I bribed Wanda to take me clothes shopping," Doug answered as he topped off Angie's glass, which did interesting things to the neckline in question. "I figured of everyone, she was least likely to laugh at me. It was embarassing enough in spots without having to deal with someone laughing at me."

Marie-Ange's reaction to the 'interesting things to the neckline' was to cover her eyes with one hand and finish the entire glass in one long swallow. "Stop doing that please. I am having enough problems with being male without having to be reminded that my body thinks I am male!" This would have all been so much easier if her brain would cooperate and remind her currently male body that she did not find women attractive.

"Hm?" Doug asked innocently. "Oh, that," he continued, looking downward. He'd picked the shirt with that in mind, so that when he shrugged diffidently, as he did right then, his neckline would do the same thing. Plans were proceeding apace. "Yeah, I've been a little confused at times, but then I decided it wasn't worth getting too upset about."

"This is..." Marie-Ange made what, in her normal female body would have been a frustrated noise, that came out nearly as a growl. "This is so frustrating! My legs are nine hundred miles long, I sound like my father when I talk and I have hair in places I -ought not to have hair-, and I do not know where the hair on my head went but if it does not come back when the rest of me does, I am going to go have words with that terrible... man.. woman.. person, who did this."

"Like I said, you take yourself too seriously," Doug said gently, reaching over to take Marie-Ange's hand in his. "I guess I've always wondered a little bit what it'd be like to be female, and now I have the chance. Seems a shame to waste it." He rubbed his thumb gently over the back of her hand.

Marie-Ange had the sneaking suspicion that Doug had a plan up his... her... up the sleeve of that shirt. It wasn't helping at all that the shirt was low-cut and despite any mental exercises in denial, her body and hormones were at war with her rational knowledge that at no point previously had she been attracted to women. Or that there was a definite physical reaction to the shirt.

"So I should just accept this, learn to use the bathroom while standing up and... and.. and how do you deal with -this-.?!" Marie-Ange took her hand away from Doug's and pointed towards her lap with a distinctly frustrated expression.

Doug had thought he might have to resort to spilling wine on his shirt, or her pants, or something blatant like that. But she'd left herself totally wide open. He took a sip of his own wine to steel himself. "I...could help you with it..." he offered with a wicked grin.

"Oh God..." Marie-Ange groaned. And blushed, berry red from the neck of the borrowed t-shirt all the way to her hairline. "Please do not say things like that. I am not capable of coping with being male well at all without the thought of having sex while male. With my boyfriend. Who is a woman!" She rolled over towards the back of the sofa, and then turned right back over. "Ow."

Doug set his wine glass down, then reached across and took Marie-Ange's from her hands and set it on the table next to his. Then he crawled across the couch towards her with a particular gleam in his eye. He leaned down and kissed her gently. "Should I kiss and make it better?" he asked mischievously.

"No!" He was possesed. That had to be it. "You are never allowed to be embarassed about anything ever again." Marie-Ange couldn't blush any more then she already had, and the -problem- wasn't going away with embarassment. If possible, it was just making it worse.

Doug could have pushed the issue, because Marie-Ange wasn't pushing him away, and she'd fallen back on nonsensical protests, a sure sign that she'd run out of excuses to throw at him. But he didn't want to pressure her into anything, his careful planning aside. "Talk to me?" he asked, leaning back on his side of the couch. "What are you so embarrassed about?"

"I feel wrong." Marie-Ange explained. "Everything is different, my face, my hair. My -feet- are different. And I do not know how to act." She pulled her legs up to her chest, and pulled off the socks she'd borrowed. All six inches of extra height had gone to her legs. "My -toes- have hair on them." she said, with an air of disgust. "I do not know how to be male. Even for a week. I thought if I just stayed in the apartment that I could just wait it out and not have to worry."

"Why do you have to act differently?" Doug asked. "Aren't you still Marie-Ange Colbert? I'm still Doug Ramsey. I am under no illusions about whether or not I'm acting like a woman or not. I'm just using this whole experience as an opportunity to learn some things I wouldn't have any way of learning about otherwise." He ducked his head, a bit embarrassed. "It's possible that I'm overintellectualizing the whole thing."

Marie-Ange took a long moment to look at Doug. "So, you are telling me that you are accepting this because you are -curious-?" She pinched the bridge of her nose, refused to think about how weird even doing -that- felt, and doubly so, refused to think about the furry caterpillars that her face now had for eyebrows, and shook her head. "If that was all that was necessary, I would have had some sort of... of.. hedonistic sexual expierence already."

"You mean to tell me you aren't the least bit curious at all?" Doug asked, disbelievingly. "And yeah, I guess I'm accepting of it because I'm curious, and because I know it's temporary. If it were permanent, I might have had a harder time dealing with things." He pouted just a bit. "No hedonistic sexual experience at all?"

Before she answered, Marie-Ange sat up, picked up the glass of wine, and finished it. "A bit, yes. Anyone alive would be. But... " She covered her face with her hand, and did -not- look anywhere near Doug. "I ... I have already taken your virginity once. I am not sure I could do ... that... a second time. Not like this. I do not know what I am doing and I would hurt you." There. She'd said it, and she could feel her ears and neck heating up from the embarassed blush.

Marie-Ange was not the only one who was blushing, as a patch of red arrowed down the neckline of Doug's shirt. "Um, not a problem," he murmured. "I may have already done some...extensive...testing," he said, having a difficult time looking at Marie-Ange himself.

It was impossible not to laugh. And what would normally be an embarassed giggle, had Marie-Ange been female was an deeper throaty chuckle. "Oh, I see. And now I suppose I am to be subject to your need for scientific inquiry as well?" But instead of the resigned tone from earlier, Marie-Ange sounded as if she were teasing.

"Well, that was kind of the point of invading your apartment with a bottle of wine and a low-cut top, yes," Doug answered, still blushing and looking away. "I feel rather intensely silly now, though."

Doug blushing and being shy -now- only had one possible response. Marie-Ange picked up the throw pillow she'd been leaning against and lobbed it towards Doug's head. "Now who is taking themselves too seriously, yes?"

"Well, I kinda came in here with the intention of seducing you, and it kinda sorta didn't turn out at all like I'd planned," Doug told Marie-Ange. "And now I feel silly, because sometimes I get these plans all built up in my head, and then I feel dumb when they don't happen that way."

"Oh, you had -plans-?" Why it was so different now that Doug was blushing, Marie-Ange didn't know. But it was. "Would you care to elaborate on these supposed... plans... of yours?"

Okay, now she was definitely teasing him. Doug shrugged and looked back at Marie-Ange. "It'd be easier to show you," he said with a grin, leaning forward.

And after the discussion, and anything else that may have happened that is off-screen and unwritten, they go out for burgers.

She didn't remember the hamburgers being so -small-. But then, her hands hadn't been so big before. Or her appitite, and Marie-Ange had never had a dainty appitite to begin with. "Doug? Are you going to finish those?" She asked, pointing to the pile of uneaten french fries on the side of Doug's plate. "I think my stomach has a mind of it's own."

"Ugh," Doug grunted in an unladylike fashion. Well, he wasn't really a lady in the first place, so it was automatically unladylike, but his grunt was -particularly- unladylike. He pushed the plate across the table. "Help yourself. I've already discovered that a smaller body mass means less appetite. Also less alcohol tolerance."

"Perhaps you should not have had so much of the wine?" Marie-Ange wasn't sure how much Doug had drunk in the first place, having had more than a few glasses by the time she noticed that Doug was drinking at all. "Or more water after... ah..." She looked towards the ceiling so as to avoid looking -at- Doug. "Dare I ask why... or... how... that particular idea got into your head?"

Doug blushed. "Like I told you, I get plans in my head sometimes. I guess I've always been a little curious about experiencing things from a female perspective. Especially, um...that." He ducked his head and took a long drink of his water, trying to will the heat in his cheeks to die down.

If she could've hidden behind her hair, she would have. Except that the male body had come with a very male haircut, short and swept back, with no extra hair to hide -behind-. "That? You wondered about -that-?" Marie-Ange looked back down at the plate of food and ate another french fry, just to distract herself. "... you.. but you never... I ... Oh God."

"I dunno, it's hard to explain." Doug looked up at Marie-Ange, even though he was still blushing. "I mean, I haven't really wondered about doing anything like that as a guy, more that I just kinda...always wondered what sex was like as a woman." He leaned back and stared at the ceiling. "I just never imagined that the opportunity would, y'know, present itself."

"I am not quite sure that what we did counts as 'sex', Doug." Marie-Ange said. And thanked God that they'd been seated in a corner booth, because this was not a conversation she wanted overheard. "What on earth would you have done had I not acquiesced?"

"Oh, we're going to Monica Lewinsky our way out of it?" Doug asked with a cheeky grin. "Sex is sex, whether there's penetration or not, babe." He shrugged. "And if you hadn't acquiesced to my request...why do you think I brought the bottle of wine with me?" He chuckled and leaned back in his chair. "I am persistent and methodical."

Marie-Ange had only just picked up her glass of water when Doug made the comment about Monica Lewinsky, and was very glad that she hadn't taken a drink yet. But none the less, it deserved revenge. "I noticed that. Unless you were referring to your plan to get me out of the apartment rather than your budding skills at fellatio?"

Doug's glass, on the other hand, was up at his mouth, and he spit-taked, spewing water halfway across the table. "Yes," he answered unhelpfully after he finished coughing.