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xp_logsBackdated because while we finished the log, we forgot to post it. I blame leather pants. Ask Twiller for a proper explanation of that, and don't forget to demand pictoral proof.
Doug and Angie, pre-leaving for the club. Doug's still sore in the ribs, Angie's still a little angry, and she does one heck of a Dru impression.
Marie-Ange paced outside the door, waiting impatiently. Admittedly, Doug had good reason to take a long time getting dressed, having only been able to get dressed for the last two days, but still. This was taking forever, and they still had to go find Amanda to get the last pieces of their costumes together.
Doug had a very good reason to take a long time getting dressed, and for that matter, even though he'd been able to get dressed the last two days, it had still involved a lot of help and time, and trying to raise his arms over his head to put on the form-fitting black T-shirt that was part of his costume was just too much for him. After about the third try at doing it on his own, he opened his door, clad only in his tight black leather pants. "Angie?" he asked, a note of frustration in his voice. "Can you...?" he asked, indicating the shirt in his hands.
Marie-Ange's first immediate reaction was to whimper quietly under her breath. Even with the tape and motteled yellow-green bruises on Doug's chest, he was just in a pair of leather pants. -Just- the pants, because she knew for a fact that one did not wear underwear under anything that tight. Then, shaking herself briefly, she took the shirt from Doug and pondered it for a moment.
Doug took in the spike of lust in Marie-Ange's body language and smiled to himself. He hadn't exactly intended on evoking that reaction, but sometimes, he pondered, you just lucked out. Stepping in close, he smiled down at Marie-Ange. "Something the matter, love?" he asked playfully, settling his hands on her hips.
Marie-Ange pouted. "Yes. If I try to get you out of those pants now, I will never get them back on you." And that was assuming Doug's ribs would take the abuse. "And we still need to find Amanda, and ... " she sighed. "Getting your hair to stay slicked back is going to take -forever-."
Doug gave a little half-chuckle, one that didn't strain his ribs quite so much. He'd gotten quiet good at chuckling, and crying, and doing many other things in ways that didn't stretch his ribs. Even with Amanda's healing, they still hurt like the dickens. "We could always be fashionably late..." he joked.
"And miss the van to the club and only be half in costume?" Marie-Ange asked dryly. "No. I think you need to get dressed. Besides, I do not want to hurt your ribs.." She frowned, a vague feeling of prickling, like a headache about to come on nagging at her thoughts. "I do not want to be late." She shook out the t-shirt in her hands and looked at it again. "How far can you raise your arms?"
Doug wrinkled his forehead in frustration. "About halfway. The pants were hard enough to get on, but I can't get my arms over my head to get the shirt on. The buttondown I can probably manage on my own, it's the t-shirt that's the problem." He half-sighed. "This sucks."
"Shh." Brushing her free hand over Doug's shoulder, Marie-Ange shushed him gently. "I could have helped with the pants too, love." She frowned, taking several moments to look between the shirt and Doug, then without warning, pulled it over his head. "Bend your arms up, at the elbows." Once he had, she tugged the shirt down, stretching it a little to tug his hands through, and then let it fall.
With a wince, Doug clutched at his ribs. "Ow..." he whimpered. But at least the shirt was on now. The red silk button-down shirt was easily taken care of after that. Doug looked in the mirror for a moment, and frowned. "I'm so sorry, love," he whispered quietly. He had a hunch he was going to be apologizing for a very long time.
"I know, Doug, but now is not the time to talk about it. " Marie-Ange said, just a touch coldly. They had talked enough already, and would certainly keep discussing it later, but for now, she wanted a night out, away from the events of the previous weekend.
Doug tried not to wince again at the coldness in Marie-Ange's tone. Once again, he felt like the phrase on one of his journal icons. 'Speaks every language, but still lost for words.' He stared down at his hands for a moment before looking back up at Marie-Ange. "So, we're supposed to get the glamor from Amanda, right?" he asked.
Marie-Ange nodded. "Once everything else is done, yes." She ran her fingers through the thick waves of Doug's hair. "Which means you need to sit down so I can do something with this." She paused for a moment, then gently ran her fingers down Doug's neck. "And I think, maybe take out your earring.. or.. I suppose I should help with that too.."
"Nah, I think I can manage..." Doug said, bending his arms at the elbows to reach up and remove his earring. Since he didn't have to raise his arms at all to accomplish that, it didn't hurt at all past the constant low-level twinge that he had been feeling ever since the previous weekend. He sat down at Marie-Ange's direction and waited patiently for her to fix his hair to her satisfaction.
A few minutes later, Marie-Ange wiped her hands clean of the excess hair gel, and then bent, to nuzzle Doug's neck gently. "Do you have any idea how hot you look like this?" She whispered breathily. "I am going to be -very- distracted all evening, I think."
The mirror reflected his image, so it was obvious that Doug was not a vampire, but with the peroxide-blond hair and the outfit, he was the spitting image of Spike. He draped his arm carefully around a black-haired Marie-Ange, careful not to dislodge the doll that she was carrying. "Ready to go cause some carnage there, Dru?" he asked in Spike's Cockney accent with a quirky grin.
Marie-Ange smiled quietly, and then blinked, eyes going unfocued for a moment. "Oh yes. Blood and fire and a lovely, lovely mess." She arched her head to catch Doug's mouth in a kiss, and then caressed his cheek. "You are going to look so silly when that dye grows out, but tonight.." She shivered. "Very hot."
Doug raised his eyebrows for a moment at just how good of a Drusilla impression Angie had done, but was then distracted by kissing. Kissing your girlfriend, especially when she was a hot French redhead, was a very effective distraction. "If you say so, love," he replied with a smile.
"I do." She said, smiling. "You always look good in black leather." Taking Doug's hand, she tugged on it gently, leading him out of the room. "Time to go find Amanda. Would you like to bet she and Manuel are occupied?" Marie-Ange asked, grinning impishly.
Doug grinned back. "No bet. I mean, if not for the ribs, _we'd_ be occupied." Taking her hand in his, he shut the door and they headed down the hall.
Doug and Angie, pre-leaving for the club. Doug's still sore in the ribs, Angie's still a little angry, and she does one heck of a Dru impression.
Marie-Ange paced outside the door, waiting impatiently. Admittedly, Doug had good reason to take a long time getting dressed, having only been able to get dressed for the last two days, but still. This was taking forever, and they still had to go find Amanda to get the last pieces of their costumes together.
Doug had a very good reason to take a long time getting dressed, and for that matter, even though he'd been able to get dressed the last two days, it had still involved a lot of help and time, and trying to raise his arms over his head to put on the form-fitting black T-shirt that was part of his costume was just too much for him. After about the third try at doing it on his own, he opened his door, clad only in his tight black leather pants. "Angie?" he asked, a note of frustration in his voice. "Can you...?" he asked, indicating the shirt in his hands.
Marie-Ange's first immediate reaction was to whimper quietly under her breath. Even with the tape and motteled yellow-green bruises on Doug's chest, he was just in a pair of leather pants. -Just- the pants, because she knew for a fact that one did not wear underwear under anything that tight. Then, shaking herself briefly, she took the shirt from Doug and pondered it for a moment.
Doug took in the spike of lust in Marie-Ange's body language and smiled to himself. He hadn't exactly intended on evoking that reaction, but sometimes, he pondered, you just lucked out. Stepping in close, he smiled down at Marie-Ange. "Something the matter, love?" he asked playfully, settling his hands on her hips.
Marie-Ange pouted. "Yes. If I try to get you out of those pants now, I will never get them back on you." And that was assuming Doug's ribs would take the abuse. "And we still need to find Amanda, and ... " she sighed. "Getting your hair to stay slicked back is going to take -forever-."
Doug gave a little half-chuckle, one that didn't strain his ribs quite so much. He'd gotten quiet good at chuckling, and crying, and doing many other things in ways that didn't stretch his ribs. Even with Amanda's healing, they still hurt like the dickens. "We could always be fashionably late..." he joked.
"And miss the van to the club and only be half in costume?" Marie-Ange asked dryly. "No. I think you need to get dressed. Besides, I do not want to hurt your ribs.." She frowned, a vague feeling of prickling, like a headache about to come on nagging at her thoughts. "I do not want to be late." She shook out the t-shirt in her hands and looked at it again. "How far can you raise your arms?"
Doug wrinkled his forehead in frustration. "About halfway. The pants were hard enough to get on, but I can't get my arms over my head to get the shirt on. The buttondown I can probably manage on my own, it's the t-shirt that's the problem." He half-sighed. "This sucks."
"Shh." Brushing her free hand over Doug's shoulder, Marie-Ange shushed him gently. "I could have helped with the pants too, love." She frowned, taking several moments to look between the shirt and Doug, then without warning, pulled it over his head. "Bend your arms up, at the elbows." Once he had, she tugged the shirt down, stretching it a little to tug his hands through, and then let it fall.
With a wince, Doug clutched at his ribs. "Ow..." he whimpered. But at least the shirt was on now. The red silk button-down shirt was easily taken care of after that. Doug looked in the mirror for a moment, and frowned. "I'm so sorry, love," he whispered quietly. He had a hunch he was going to be apologizing for a very long time.
"I know, Doug, but now is not the time to talk about it. " Marie-Ange said, just a touch coldly. They had talked enough already, and would certainly keep discussing it later, but for now, she wanted a night out, away from the events of the previous weekend.
Doug tried not to wince again at the coldness in Marie-Ange's tone. Once again, he felt like the phrase on one of his journal icons. 'Speaks every language, but still lost for words.' He stared down at his hands for a moment before looking back up at Marie-Ange. "So, we're supposed to get the glamor from Amanda, right?" he asked.
Marie-Ange nodded. "Once everything else is done, yes." She ran her fingers through the thick waves of Doug's hair. "Which means you need to sit down so I can do something with this." She paused for a moment, then gently ran her fingers down Doug's neck. "And I think, maybe take out your earring.. or.. I suppose I should help with that too.."
"Nah, I think I can manage..." Doug said, bending his arms at the elbows to reach up and remove his earring. Since he didn't have to raise his arms at all to accomplish that, it didn't hurt at all past the constant low-level twinge that he had been feeling ever since the previous weekend. He sat down at Marie-Ange's direction and waited patiently for her to fix his hair to her satisfaction.
A few minutes later, Marie-Ange wiped her hands clean of the excess hair gel, and then bent, to nuzzle Doug's neck gently. "Do you have any idea how hot you look like this?" She whispered breathily. "I am going to be -very- distracted all evening, I think."
The mirror reflected his image, so it was obvious that Doug was not a vampire, but with the peroxide-blond hair and the outfit, he was the spitting image of Spike. He draped his arm carefully around a black-haired Marie-Ange, careful not to dislodge the doll that she was carrying. "Ready to go cause some carnage there, Dru?" he asked in Spike's Cockney accent with a quirky grin.
Marie-Ange smiled quietly, and then blinked, eyes going unfocued for a moment. "Oh yes. Blood and fire and a lovely, lovely mess." She arched her head to catch Doug's mouth in a kiss, and then caressed his cheek. "You are going to look so silly when that dye grows out, but tonight.." She shivered. "Very hot."
Doug raised his eyebrows for a moment at just how good of a Drusilla impression Angie had done, but was then distracted by kissing. Kissing your girlfriend, especially when she was a hot French redhead, was a very effective distraction. "If you say so, love," he replied with a smile.
"I do." She said, smiling. "You always look good in black leather." Taking Doug's hand, she tugged on it gently, leading him out of the room. "Time to go find Amanda. Would you like to bet she and Manuel are occupied?" Marie-Ange asked, grinning impishly.
Doug grinned back. "No bet. I mean, if not for the ribs, _we'd_ be occupied." Taking her hand in his, he shut the door and they headed down the hall.
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