Doug and Emma (backdated)
Jul. 30th, 2008 09:16 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsHorribly backdated due to forgetting this was still in my inbox. Not long after the events in Pakistan, Emma stops by to check in on Doug.
Doug twirled his office chair from side to side, curling one leg underneath him as he frowned at the monitors on his desk. He tapped occasionally at keys with one hand, twirling a pen in the other, occasionally tapping it against his lips in concentration. He was deeply engrossed in whatever latest project occupied his attention, oblivious to the rest of the world around him.
Emma paused behind the Centre's resident IT guru, enjoying the strangeness of his thoughts. Doug, when he was most engrossed in an IT project, thought in a way that was almost machine-code, barely human. Emma found it fascinating. "Doug," she said, reluctantly breaking into that train of thought. "Has Marie-Ange mentioned that marmosets make excellent pets?"
~For (count = 0, 10, count++) // cout >> "Hello, Auntie Em"; ...wait, Emma?~ Doug's thoughts not-so-gracefully shifted gears from 'coding' to 'socialization'. And then his thoughts promptly went sideways again into a snatch of music. Certain people at Xavier's and Snow Valley tended to have musical 'stings' associated with them in Doug's head, a byproduct of the days of People Covered In Fish. Forge, for example, was Oingo Boingo's "Weird Science". Emma, on the other hand, got Freddy Mercury. ~She keeps Moet and Chandon in a pretty cabinet // 'Let them eat cake', she says, just like Marie Antoinette...~
Doug shook his head to clear his thoughts, and turned to face his visitor. "Um, hello, Emma," he said in reply, frowning slightly at the mention of marmosets. He was studiously not talking about the events of Oslo, and having them referenced, even obliquely, made him the slightest bit cranky.
Emma laughed throatily. "I'm sorry, Douglas," she said, with a charming lack of sincerity and something that, in someone else, may well have been described as a twinkle in her eye. "I'm feeling obvious today, I have to admit." She frowned suddenly, cocked her head as if listening to something on the edge of hearing. "Insatiable an appetite?" she said and laughed again. "Oh, if only you knew. But yes, indeed, I am guaranteed to blow your mind. Your way or," and she reached out and blew the slightest psychic kiss directly onto the pleasure centres of Doug's mind, "mine."
Doug gripped the edge of his desk and grunted softly in reaction to Emma's playful telepathic touch. He felt a momentary twinge of embarrassment at the visceral physical response it provoked, but then caught hold of himself. It wasn't as though it lessened his attraction to Marie-Ange in any way. Besides, it was just Emma being Emma, really. She could probably turn a boy into a man just by walking through the room. He quickly shut a particularly erotic thought away behind his mental shields, a series of layered green symbols that cascaded at random between Emma's mental 'presence' and the thoughts he'd rather she not see. Not that he thought she'd be shocked by them, more that it would be a bit...awkward.
Emma smiled at Doug's reaction, letting him escape behind his symbols, always amused by the different things people chose to hide their most private thoughts behind. For some reason, a quite remarkable number of people chose elephants.
She closed her eyes for a moment, let her thoughts intersect and drift through Doug's, touching the cascade of symbols, tasting the machine thoughts that still ran through the part of his brain that was thinking of his project, the whispers of languages and codes and patterns that seemed a continual quiet murmur around his every thought, not finding any hint of what she sought, but enjoying the seeking. When she opened her eyes again, her expression was almost languorous with pleasure. "You don't have a dictionary," she said.
The expression and almost sensual purring quality of Emma's voice sparked another wave of erotic thoughts, but Doug frowned, confused by her words. He looked over to the small bookcase where he kept a few handy reference books and cocked his head. "I...huh?" he asked.
"I completely failed to learn to speak Pashto while I was in Pakistan," said Emma, her expression sharpening as she returned to the reason she had interrupted Doug. "Which became complicated when I was trying to read the thoughts of Pashtun mercenaries. It all placed me in some rather unnecessary danger which I'd prefer not to repeat." She frowned suddenly. "Unfortunately, none of them was bilingual, which meant I couldn't take their dictionaries out of their heads." Emma shrugged. "You speak every language. I thought I might be lucky enough to find the universal dictionary in your head. Judging by what's in your head, your power doesn't work that way. Not," and the smile was suddenly back on her face, "that you don't have an absolutely delicious way of looking at the world."
Even after quite some time of experience with Emma, she never failed to make him blush at the drop of a hat, it seemed. "Ah, I guess my power simply translates at the moment I need it rather than storing anything in my head," he mused, intrigued at the insight into the way Emma 'learned' to speak the variety of languages she spoke.
Emma sighed. "There's good and bad in that, Doug," she said. "The bad part is that I don't get to have a handy-dandy universal dictionary in my head. The good part is that I'll just have to make plans to keep you close to me and that can never be a bad thing."
Doug's blush deepened. "Um, okay," he mumbled. He leaned back and stared intently at the ceiling, counting cracks in ceiling tiles just to have something to look at other than Emma.
"Oh, my dear boy," said Emma and laughed. "I should let you go back to your project. We all have important, world-changing, life-saving things to do. Or so Betsy keeps telling me, anyway." She turned to go back to her office, paused and turned back. "But if you ever you and Marie-Ange would like to try some Moet & Chandon, there'll be a bottle with your name on it, in my office. Look in the pretty cabinet." If she had been pressed, she probably would have admitted that the extra swing in her hips as she sashayed away from Doug's desk was entirely intentional.
Doug twirled his office chair from side to side, curling one leg underneath him as he frowned at the monitors on his desk. He tapped occasionally at keys with one hand, twirling a pen in the other, occasionally tapping it against his lips in concentration. He was deeply engrossed in whatever latest project occupied his attention, oblivious to the rest of the world around him.
Emma paused behind the Centre's resident IT guru, enjoying the strangeness of his thoughts. Doug, when he was most engrossed in an IT project, thought in a way that was almost machine-code, barely human. Emma found it fascinating. "Doug," she said, reluctantly breaking into that train of thought. "Has Marie-Ange mentioned that marmosets make excellent pets?"
~For (count = 0, 10, count++) // cout >> "Hello, Auntie Em"; ...wait, Emma?~ Doug's thoughts not-so-gracefully shifted gears from 'coding' to 'socialization'. And then his thoughts promptly went sideways again into a snatch of music. Certain people at Xavier's and Snow Valley tended to have musical 'stings' associated with them in Doug's head, a byproduct of the days of People Covered In Fish. Forge, for example, was Oingo Boingo's "Weird Science". Emma, on the other hand, got Freddy Mercury. ~She keeps Moet and Chandon in a pretty cabinet // 'Let them eat cake', she says, just like Marie Antoinette...~
Doug shook his head to clear his thoughts, and turned to face his visitor. "Um, hello, Emma," he said in reply, frowning slightly at the mention of marmosets. He was studiously not talking about the events of Oslo, and having them referenced, even obliquely, made him the slightest bit cranky.
Emma laughed throatily. "I'm sorry, Douglas," she said, with a charming lack of sincerity and something that, in someone else, may well have been described as a twinkle in her eye. "I'm feeling obvious today, I have to admit." She frowned suddenly, cocked her head as if listening to something on the edge of hearing. "Insatiable an appetite?" she said and laughed again. "Oh, if only you knew. But yes, indeed, I am guaranteed to blow your mind. Your way or," and she reached out and blew the slightest psychic kiss directly onto the pleasure centres of Doug's mind, "mine."
Doug gripped the edge of his desk and grunted softly in reaction to Emma's playful telepathic touch. He felt a momentary twinge of embarrassment at the visceral physical response it provoked, but then caught hold of himself. It wasn't as though it lessened his attraction to Marie-Ange in any way. Besides, it was just Emma being Emma, really. She could probably turn a boy into a man just by walking through the room. He quickly shut a particularly erotic thought away behind his mental shields, a series of layered green symbols that cascaded at random between Emma's mental 'presence' and the thoughts he'd rather she not see. Not that he thought she'd be shocked by them, more that it would be a bit...awkward.
Emma smiled at Doug's reaction, letting him escape behind his symbols, always amused by the different things people chose to hide their most private thoughts behind. For some reason, a quite remarkable number of people chose elephants.
She closed her eyes for a moment, let her thoughts intersect and drift through Doug's, touching the cascade of symbols, tasting the machine thoughts that still ran through the part of his brain that was thinking of his project, the whispers of languages and codes and patterns that seemed a continual quiet murmur around his every thought, not finding any hint of what she sought, but enjoying the seeking. When she opened her eyes again, her expression was almost languorous with pleasure. "You don't have a dictionary," she said.
The expression and almost sensual purring quality of Emma's voice sparked another wave of erotic thoughts, but Doug frowned, confused by her words. He looked over to the small bookcase where he kept a few handy reference books and cocked his head. "I...huh?" he asked.
"I completely failed to learn to speak Pashto while I was in Pakistan," said Emma, her expression sharpening as she returned to the reason she had interrupted Doug. "Which became complicated when I was trying to read the thoughts of Pashtun mercenaries. It all placed me in some rather unnecessary danger which I'd prefer not to repeat." She frowned suddenly. "Unfortunately, none of them was bilingual, which meant I couldn't take their dictionaries out of their heads." Emma shrugged. "You speak every language. I thought I might be lucky enough to find the universal dictionary in your head. Judging by what's in your head, your power doesn't work that way. Not," and the smile was suddenly back on her face, "that you don't have an absolutely delicious way of looking at the world."
Even after quite some time of experience with Emma, she never failed to make him blush at the drop of a hat, it seemed. "Ah, I guess my power simply translates at the moment I need it rather than storing anything in my head," he mused, intrigued at the insight into the way Emma 'learned' to speak the variety of languages she spoke.
Emma sighed. "There's good and bad in that, Doug," she said. "The bad part is that I don't get to have a handy-dandy universal dictionary in my head. The good part is that I'll just have to make plans to keep you close to me and that can never be a bad thing."
Doug's blush deepened. "Um, okay," he mumbled. He leaned back and stared intently at the ceiling, counting cracks in ceiling tiles just to have something to look at other than Emma.
"Oh, my dear boy," said Emma and laughed. "I should let you go back to your project. We all have important, world-changing, life-saving things to do. Or so Betsy keeps telling me, anyway." She turned to go back to her office, paused and turned back. "But if you ever you and Marie-Ange would like to try some Moet & Chandon, there'll be a bottle with your name on it, in my office. Look in the pretty cabinet." If she had been pressed, she probably would have admitted that the extra swing in her hips as she sashayed away from Doug's desk was entirely intentional.
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