[For her part, Rosalind has settled into the corner of the couch, her legs stretched out in front of her, with some wine and a bowlful of pasta. Tonight is apparently about being utterly self-indulgent, and that means drinking on a weeknight yet again.]
I don't know, Tony, that sounds rather interesting. Or you could tell me what story you're working on now.
Let's just leave it at my estate manager took away the complimentary whiskey and threatened to have me put in a 12 step program.
[So. There was a lot of "Tony shut up" today. Not necessarily a bad thing, but kind of exhausting when being grilled why he's doing this and he can't exactly answer "because in six months I might not be me anymore". He helps himself to caponata and meatballs before taking a seat next to her. Not exactly the correct pairing according to fine dining, but it's just them, he'll get a little wild and freaky for tonight.]
Far as writing goes... [He taps his thumb against his fork. Always was a fidgeter. Can't be helped.] Ever heard of something called the Avenger Initiative?
[Oh, well, don't mind her as she stretches out her legs over his lap and reclines back on the arm of the couch. Friends don't mind it when you treat them like movable furniture, right? Well, they better not, because that's everyone's fate once they befriend her.]
No. Should I have?
[Maybe it cropped up in some other book of his. She reads some of them, but mostly the ones where she contributed in some fashion, because who doesn't like to see their work in print, hm?]
[A glance down at those legs. Last he checked his name wasn't Eve and they're lacking the rather critical garden, but apparently it's going to be that kind of night. Alright then.]
No because then I'd have to sue someone for manuscript theft. That's my next book. Save the world, be cool, don't be uncool; your typical power fantasy cliches.
[Leaning back he rests his plate on Rosalind's legs. She probably shouldn't get up in any hurry.]
The problem is —I'm far more interested in the world than the main character. A place where spies break in to tell you you're not playing by the secret superhero club rules? Classic. Wealthy male protagonist picks up a new career choice, enters a sub-culture world and makes good? The 1950s are banging on my door asking where the girl-next-door girlfriend is.
Still working on the supporting cast. I need a female teammate-slash-mentor. Any names you're fond of? Peggysue or variations thereof are instantly rejected, so you know.
[It doesn't take a genius to make the connection between his newest story and his recent memories, but she supposes inspiration has to come from everywhere. At least this way he knows for certain he's being absolutely original.]
Well . . . if she's a mentor, I suppose my inclination would be an older name. Julia, or . . . Anna . . .
[Mm. That name sticks out for some reason, but Rosalind ignores it.]
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no subject
I don't know, Tony, that sounds rather interesting. Or you could tell me what story you're working on now.
no subject
[So. There was a lot of "Tony shut up" today. Not necessarily a bad thing, but kind of exhausting when being grilled why he's doing this and he can't exactly answer "because in six months I might not be me anymore". He helps himself to caponata and meatballs before taking a seat next to her. Not exactly the correct pairing according to fine dining, but it's just them, he'll get a little wild and freaky for tonight.]
Far as writing goes... [He taps his thumb against his fork. Always was a fidgeter. Can't be helped.] Ever heard of something called the Avenger Initiative?
no subject
No. Should I have?
[Maybe it cropped up in some other book of his. She reads some of them, but mostly the ones where she contributed in some fashion, because who doesn't like to see their work in print, hm?]
no subject
No because then I'd have to sue someone for manuscript theft. That's my next book. Save the world, be cool, don't be uncool; your typical power fantasy cliches.
[Leaning back he rests his plate on Rosalind's legs. She probably shouldn't get up in any hurry.]
The problem is —I'm far more interested in the world than the main character. A place where spies break in to tell you you're not playing by the secret superhero club rules? Classic. Wealthy male protagonist picks up a new career choice, enters a sub-culture world and makes good? The 1950s are banging on my door asking where the girl-next-door girlfriend is.
Still working on the supporting cast. I need a female teammate-slash-mentor. Any names you're fond of? Peggysue or variations thereof are instantly rejected, so you know.
no subject
Well . . . if she's a mentor, I suppose my inclination would be an older name. Julia, or . . . Anna . . .
[Mm. That name sticks out for some reason, but Rosalind ignores it.]
Tell me more about her first.