Doug and Angie
Sep. 3rd, 2020 09:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Doug and Angie lounge on the couch and make an incidental deal that keeps Jubilee safe.
"Oh my god this is bliss," Doug muttered to himself as he settled into his chair. He had ordered a custom fit heating pad that basically conformed to the shape of his desk chair, and it had arrived just that afternoon. The heated sand interior shifted slightly as he sank into it, and a sound very similar to a purr rumbled out of his chest as his eyes fluttered closed.
"You are exactly a cat." Marie-Ange had snuck in, somehow silent despite heeled boots that she could have stabbed a man with. "I also need you to give up energy drinks for at least a month." She sat down in the opposite chair, far less comfortable or warm than Doug's, and set a french coffee press down at his desk.
Doug's reply was instant and instinctual, without ever opening his eyes. "Fuck you, no." Then his brain caught up to the situation, who was asking, the fact that she almost certainly had a reason... He grunted and sat up more fully, opening his eyes after a long pause. "...why." It wasn't really a question, more like permission to Angie to explain herself more fully.
"If you do, we prevent Jubilee from being paralyzed. If you give them up, and are seen complaining about it, she will not get you one, and sometime in the next week or three, she will not miss some bit of information that will be important." Marie-Ange nudged the french press further across the desk. "Not all caffeine, just that for symbolic symmetry. Energy given, energy preserved. You are the only one who drinks them in any substantive quantity."
There was a loud snort. "Really? The laws of thermo-goddamn-ics apply to prophecy now?" Doug asked semi-incredulously. "Conservation of energy, just because they're called 'energy' drinks?" He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair raggedly. All of his griping aside, once Marie-Ange had told him the reason, there was no doubt as to his reply. Tapping the table weakly, he declared "Barack Obama it is law dot gif."
"That means yes, yes?" Marie-Ange asked, making steady and almost bold eye contact.
Of course whatever this was would require a non-meme assent. "Yes," Doug stated clearly. "So mote be it. Fiat eis."
Marie-Ange leaned back in the chair, and let the tension that had built up out with a little roll of her shoulders and neck. "Merci. I do not want to take chances. I am already doing so much guessing."
"Well, you know, it's what we do," Doug said with an expressive shrug. They had come a long way together, and at this point Doug didn't think Marie-Ange could ask anything of him that he wouldn't do. Sure, he might grumble about it, but he would walk into certain death if she asked it, sword at the ready.
Doug and Angie spend a lot of time on the couch these days.
"Huh." Doug was flopped on the couch browsing on his phone while Marie-Ange was quietly sketching. There was something nice about the quiet togetherness with no pressure, nothing that needed to be done, just being there.
He held out his phone over his head toward Marie-Ange. "Tarot blade. Like, imagining different powers from attaching different cards to the sword."
Marie-Ange stuck her pencil behind her ear, and peered over her sketchpad. "I.. do not think that is how my power works, but.." She took the phone anyway and tilted her head at it. "Oh, I see. Ah."
It was difficult to shrug when your shoulders were half buried in a couch cushion, but Doug somehow made it work. "Mostly it's some art meme on Twitter. Swordtember. You know me, I like swords." There was a beat, and then he muttered "welcome to Corneria".
"I do not know where that is." It was probably from the internet, and Marie-Ange very quickly changed the subject by squinting at the phone and pulling a sword quite similar to the art from nowhere. "Here then. Because I have already done the thing in the art."
"It's from the land of Doug Is Meme Trash," he cheerfully offered, as if his girlfriend was somehow unaware of this after over a decade of being in each others' lives in some capacity. "Pretty," he declared the image Angie had created. "Totally impractical, because the blade isn't even -attached- to anything, but that's what you get when internet artists start drawing magic sword concepts, I suppose."
His phone pinged with a reminder. "Ah. Also, because tarot cards, I think a package just arrived with the new set I ordered for you. From the people who made that cultist simulator game." It was rare that he found a tarot deck that Angie hadn't already encountered, so he tended to leap on the opportunity when it presented itself.
"You know, I do not understand how you can play that game, when if you wanted to simulate a cult we could just have you start one on the internet." Marie-Ange pointed out. "But thank you, I will go get it in a little bit. I have a makeup box arriving, and Hope and Quentin and I still sometimes swap. There is only so much color guessing those companies can do, and the swaps are fun." She handed the imaged sword out to Doug. "Really, this should be yours. I do not use them so much and really, I put a card into a sword ages ago and just left it there, and it has done quite well."
Doug made a tiny noise, something in the space between a squeak, a hum, and a sigh. "Look, how very dare you turn my 'thinking of you' gift into possibly one of the most romantic things you've ever said to me." The indignation was transparently false and puffed up to the point of ridiculousness, and he couldn't keep from smiling.
"If you do not want off the cuff poetic declarations, do not hand me these things." Marie-Ange fired back, gently and just as transparently false with her sarcasm.
Doug and Angie lounge on the couch and make an incidental deal that keeps Jubilee safe.
"Oh my god this is bliss," Doug muttered to himself as he settled into his chair. He had ordered a custom fit heating pad that basically conformed to the shape of his desk chair, and it had arrived just that afternoon. The heated sand interior shifted slightly as he sank into it, and a sound very similar to a purr rumbled out of his chest as his eyes fluttered closed.
"You are exactly a cat." Marie-Ange had snuck in, somehow silent despite heeled boots that she could have stabbed a man with. "I also need you to give up energy drinks for at least a month." She sat down in the opposite chair, far less comfortable or warm than Doug's, and set a french coffee press down at his desk.
Doug's reply was instant and instinctual, without ever opening his eyes. "Fuck you, no." Then his brain caught up to the situation, who was asking, the fact that she almost certainly had a reason... He grunted and sat up more fully, opening his eyes after a long pause. "...why." It wasn't really a question, more like permission to Angie to explain herself more fully.
"If you do, we prevent Jubilee from being paralyzed. If you give them up, and are seen complaining about it, she will not get you one, and sometime in the next week or three, she will not miss some bit of information that will be important." Marie-Ange nudged the french press further across the desk. "Not all caffeine, just that for symbolic symmetry. Energy given, energy preserved. You are the only one who drinks them in any substantive quantity."
There was a loud snort. "Really? The laws of thermo-goddamn-ics apply to prophecy now?" Doug asked semi-incredulously. "Conservation of energy, just because they're called 'energy' drinks?" He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair raggedly. All of his griping aside, once Marie-Ange had told him the reason, there was no doubt as to his reply. Tapping the table weakly, he declared "Barack Obama it is law dot gif."
"That means yes, yes?" Marie-Ange asked, making steady and almost bold eye contact.
Of course whatever this was would require a non-meme assent. "Yes," Doug stated clearly. "So mote be it. Fiat eis."
Marie-Ange leaned back in the chair, and let the tension that had built up out with a little roll of her shoulders and neck. "Merci. I do not want to take chances. I am already doing so much guessing."
"Well, you know, it's what we do," Doug said with an expressive shrug. They had come a long way together, and at this point Doug didn't think Marie-Ange could ask anything of him that he wouldn't do. Sure, he might grumble about it, but he would walk into certain death if she asked it, sword at the ready.
Doug and Angie spend a lot of time on the couch these days.
"Huh." Doug was flopped on the couch browsing on his phone while Marie-Ange was quietly sketching. There was something nice about the quiet togetherness with no pressure, nothing that needed to be done, just being there.
He held out his phone over his head toward Marie-Ange. "Tarot blade. Like, imagining different powers from attaching different cards to the sword."
Marie-Ange stuck her pencil behind her ear, and peered over her sketchpad. "I.. do not think that is how my power works, but.." She took the phone anyway and tilted her head at it. "Oh, I see. Ah."
It was difficult to shrug when your shoulders were half buried in a couch cushion, but Doug somehow made it work. "Mostly it's some art meme on Twitter. Swordtember. You know me, I like swords." There was a beat, and then he muttered "welcome to Corneria".
"I do not know where that is." It was probably from the internet, and Marie-Ange very quickly changed the subject by squinting at the phone and pulling a sword quite similar to the art from nowhere. "Here then. Because I have already done the thing in the art."
"It's from the land of Doug Is Meme Trash," he cheerfully offered, as if his girlfriend was somehow unaware of this after over a decade of being in each others' lives in some capacity. "Pretty," he declared the image Angie had created. "Totally impractical, because the blade isn't even -attached- to anything, but that's what you get when internet artists start drawing magic sword concepts, I suppose."
His phone pinged with a reminder. "Ah. Also, because tarot cards, I think a package just arrived with the new set I ordered for you. From the people who made that cultist simulator game." It was rare that he found a tarot deck that Angie hadn't already encountered, so he tended to leap on the opportunity when it presented itself.
"You know, I do not understand how you can play that game, when if you wanted to simulate a cult we could just have you start one on the internet." Marie-Ange pointed out. "But thank you, I will go get it in a little bit. I have a makeup box arriving, and Hope and Quentin and I still sometimes swap. There is only so much color guessing those companies can do, and the swaps are fun." She handed the imaged sword out to Doug. "Really, this should be yours. I do not use them so much and really, I put a card into a sword ages ago and just left it there, and it has done quite well."
Doug made a tiny noise, something in the space between a squeak, a hum, and a sigh. "Look, how very dare you turn my 'thinking of you' gift into possibly one of the most romantic things you've ever said to me." The indignation was transparently false and puffed up to the point of ridiculousness, and he couldn't keep from smiling.
"If you do not want off the cuff poetic declarations, do not hand me these things." Marie-Ange fired back, gently and just as transparently false with her sarcasm.
