Monet and Angelo, Tuesday morning.
Feb. 10th, 2009 12:10 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsOOC: Backdated because I'm a flake who has a non-existent memory.
Monet swore at her computer. And then at the papers in front of her. "That's it. I'm going. These people are too stupid to exist." She grabbed her coffee cup and mobile and stalked out of the boathouse to lean against one of the jetty supports, staring across snowy mansion grounds and scuffing one bare food against a drift of snow. She'd left her shoes under the desk inside.
Angelo, still being in at least nominal charge of the office while Nathan was... less than himself... had felt duty bound to follow her.
"If you quit, I'll make Yvette guilt-trip you with those eyes of hers 'til you come back", he told her, only half-serious. "Who's stupid an' what did they do?"
"That's cruel and unusual punishment." Monet dragged a hand through her hair and glared at the sky. They'd forcast sleet and she just dared the weather to try it. "Those reports you had me looking at? Everyone involved is too fucking stupid to live."
"Yeah, we get that reaction a lot." He pulled out his cigarettes, since it seemed appropriate, lit one, and offered her the pack. "Why'd you think Nathan keeps insultin' bureaucrats down the phone?"
"Because he's bad at anger management?" Monet shook her head and waved the pack away. "No, thanks."
"...okay, that too", he conceded. "But also it's 'cause they kind of are too dumb to live a lot of the time. We just get to keep ploughin' through."
"I'd prefer to just get a gun and go deal with some of them personally." The mental image was appealing. Monet grinned at Angelo and sent him it: herself, forty feet tall and looking fabulous, tearing the roof of a shack, stamping on people and holding a ludicrously small gun between two fingers.
Angelo cracked up at the image. "Now that could be fun. We could go hunt slavers if you could really do that."
"So, where do we find someone who can make me taller? It all falls apart without that."
He gave this due consideration. "There must be a mutant out there somewhere who could do it. We just have to find them."
"What about that Sinister guy? He does that, doesn't he?"
Angelo's amused smile vanished at that. "Anyone but him. You don't want to mess with Sinister."
"So I don't get to be a 40 foot tall mutant monster? Dammit." Monet sighed. "Ange, mate, you mind if I finish off my hours tomorrow? I'm still fucking pissed at those dudes."
"Yeah, course you can", he said easily. "No sense you bein' here if you're not feelin' up to doin' the work."
Monet swore at her computer. And then at the papers in front of her. "That's it. I'm going. These people are too stupid to exist." She grabbed her coffee cup and mobile and stalked out of the boathouse to lean against one of the jetty supports, staring across snowy mansion grounds and scuffing one bare food against a drift of snow. She'd left her shoes under the desk inside.
Angelo, still being in at least nominal charge of the office while Nathan was... less than himself... had felt duty bound to follow her.
"If you quit, I'll make Yvette guilt-trip you with those eyes of hers 'til you come back", he told her, only half-serious. "Who's stupid an' what did they do?"
"That's cruel and unusual punishment." Monet dragged a hand through her hair and glared at the sky. They'd forcast sleet and she just dared the weather to try it. "Those reports you had me looking at? Everyone involved is too fucking stupid to live."
"Yeah, we get that reaction a lot." He pulled out his cigarettes, since it seemed appropriate, lit one, and offered her the pack. "Why'd you think Nathan keeps insultin' bureaucrats down the phone?"
"Because he's bad at anger management?" Monet shook her head and waved the pack away. "No, thanks."
"...okay, that too", he conceded. "But also it's 'cause they kind of are too dumb to live a lot of the time. We just get to keep ploughin' through."
"I'd prefer to just get a gun and go deal with some of them personally." The mental image was appealing. Monet grinned at Angelo and sent him it: herself, forty feet tall and looking fabulous, tearing the roof of a shack, stamping on people and holding a ludicrously small gun between two fingers.
Angelo cracked up at the image. "Now that could be fun. We could go hunt slavers if you could really do that."
"So, where do we find someone who can make me taller? It all falls apart without that."
He gave this due consideration. "There must be a mutant out there somewhere who could do it. We just have to find them."
"What about that Sinister guy? He does that, doesn't he?"
Angelo's amused smile vanished at that. "Anyone but him. You don't want to mess with Sinister."
"So I don't get to be a 40 foot tall mutant monster? Dammit." Monet sighed. "Ange, mate, you mind if I finish off my hours tomorrow? I'm still fucking pissed at those dudes."
"Yeah, course you can", he said easily. "No sense you bein' here if you're not feelin' up to doin' the work."
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