Anthony Carter You are a greedy birthday girl Anthony Carter There are starving scientists in New England who don't have a particle accelerator or a Tony Carter in their lives you know Anthony Carter I'm just saying, think of your colleagues Anthony Carter Or my dignity
Edited (puts that article back in...) 2017-05-19 06:47 (UTC)
Rosalind Lutece Of course I'm greedy. I'm also selfish. Both have gotten me quite far in this field. Rosalind Lutece And as I do have a Tony Carter in my life, one who is very fond of me . . . Rosalind Lutece Your argument rather falls apart, you know, as it's the singing you're objecting to, not the scientific equipment. Rosalind Lutece But in deference to your dignity, I shan't make you agree to my demands in public.
I am just imagining all her students reading this LMFAO
Anthony Carter You know Anthony Carter I've got nothing Anthony Carter The black heels with the silver buckles Anthony Carter Making a formal request, want to see you wearing them
It's one thing for you to ask such a thing when we are out and alone, Tony, but half my class is on this stupid app, and I don't need them looking at their professor like-- like that.
Correct me if I'm wrong, it has been a while since I attended, but don't you need to be a legal adult to get into university? [Completely discounting the fact here age and maturity do not go hand and hand. BUT MOVING ON:] But fair enough. Are you trying to tell me I'm embarrassing you on the internet?
Whether or not they're legal adults has nothing to do with it.
[But there's a moment's pause. She hates to admit she's anything weak, much less embarrassed. And knowing Tony, she has an awful feeling admitting that won't lead to anything good. But he's precisely right, of course, she is embarrassed.]
You're not embarrassing me, I simply-- I don't want to have to field a hundred and one probing questions next Monday.
—Formal request. I can submit it in triplicate if paperwork is what does it for you. ...But alright. I'll tone it down. PG-13 from now on. Only wholesome mom and dad flirtations. What do you want for dinner?
[She doesn't miss that subtle request, but one thing at a time. Truth be told, she's inclined to take it, not only because she's fond of their outings but because she wants to check up on him.]
[He will do so and in roughly an hour there will be one Tony Carter at Rosalind's place, knocking lightly on her door. For once he's not wearing a suit. Though slacks and a dress shirt with rolled up sleeves isn't exactly much of a downgrade, but hey it's as "people of Walmart" as he gets.]
[For once, her apartment smells of something not just edible, but good. It's not like Tony not to want to put on a show, so if he wants to eat in, they're clearly going to have an evening more focused on comfort than anything else.
(Either that, or they're just going to end up watching trash television and eating pasta. It hardly matters. Either way, there's a lot of food. Pasta and pizza and a truly ridiculous amount of appetizers, mozzarella sticks and calamari and garlic knots and breadsticks. They're almost certainly not going to eat it all, but you know what, she's not a woman who cooks, and she could do with some good meals over the next week or so.
She's not precisely dressed up herself: just a dress, casual but flattering enough. She offers him a slight smile as she opens the door, but her eyes immediately go to his neck.]
[His neck looks fine though some observation might reveal the telltale signs of make-up; a bit of a powdery texture, skin tone not quite syncing with what can be seen of his chest. It doesn't hurt anymore, but bruises aren't exactly fast healing either. And last thing Tony needs is people trying to play Cinderella with the handprint on his throat.
He does, for his own part, give Rosalind the usual once over because hey he could use some normal. He does smile back though.]
Should have brought flowers. You'll just have to settle for— this.
[He holds out a formal announcement card to Rosalind. It's a printed, expensive thing, noting her approval for admittance to the Stannish Collection Research Library and listing her own personalized passcode. So that's something. Tony's not going to dwell on it though, rubbing his hands together.]
I haven't eaten all day. Smells good. ...And a lot. Definitely a lot. Did you order for giants? I'm flattered, but also confused.
[Her smile grows into a proper grin at that card, and she glances up at him, delighted despite herself. Tucking it into her pocket, she turns, leading him in.]
I ordered enough that I won't have to cook for a long while, actually. And I figured you and I could use some indulgence tonight. So. Pick what you'd like, get a drink if you'd like it, and come join me on the couch. We can talk or we can watch a movie, it's your choice.
[It's so weirdly reminiscent of chilling with Sofia on Friday nights during college, Tony can't help, but laugh. He won't lie— that's something he's missed. Just being able to relax. Not having to be in charge, putting out metaphorical fires, all that adult stuff he's been doing as long as he can remember because hell if his parents were ever capable of taking care of themselves in any healthy capacity. Troubled youth problems.
Anyway: he appreciates it. Which is understated by him taking off his watch and placing it in his pocket as he steps in. For once he won't watch the clock.]
Drink, yes. And movie's probably best unless you want to hear about the intricacies of me updating my last will and testament. For the record: I was told I cannot, in fact, having a performing polar bear at my funeral. Something about a violation of the Endangered Species Act.
[That all said he will be helping himself to both alcohol and food. It's been a long day.]
[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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Anthony Carter There are starving scientists in New England who don't have a particle accelerator or a Tony Carter in their lives you know
Anthony Carter I'm just saying, think of your colleagues
Anthony Carter Or my dignity
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Rosalind Lutece And as I do have a Tony Carter in my life, one who is very fond of me . . .
Rosalind Lutece Your argument rather falls apart, you know, as it's the singing you're objecting to, not the scientific equipment.
Rosalind Lutece But in deference to your dignity, I shan't make you agree to my demands in public.
I am just imagining all her students reading this LMFAO
Anthony Carter I've got nothing
Anthony Carter The black heels with the silver buckles
Anthony Carter Making a formal request, want to see you wearing them
*for the love of god* anthony
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City morgue. —What's up?
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[But there's a moment's pause. She hates to admit she's anything weak, much less embarrassed. And knowing Tony, she has an awful feeling admitting that won't lead to anything good. But he's precisely right, of course, she is embarrassed.]
You're not embarrassing me, I simply-- I don't want to have to field a hundred and one probing questions next Monday.
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[She is completely right, please tell him more about how you'd talk about him Rosalind inquiring minds want to know.]
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Yes, about you, you egomaniac. About you and why on earth you think you have a right to ask me to wear anything.
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[She doesn't miss that subtle request, but one thing at a time. Truth be told, she's inclined to take it, not only because she's fond of their outings but because she wants to check up on him.]
. . . and Italian. What time?
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(Either that, or they're just going to end up watching trash television and eating pasta. It hardly matters. Either way, there's a lot of food. Pasta and pizza and a truly ridiculous amount of appetizers, mozzarella sticks and calamari and garlic knots and breadsticks. They're almost certainly not going to eat it all, but you know what, she's not a woman who cooks, and she could do with some good meals over the next week or so.
She's not precisely dressed up herself: just a dress, casual but flattering enough. She offers him a slight smile as she opens the door, but her eyes immediately go to his neck.]
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He does, for his own part, give Rosalind the usual once over because hey he could use some normal. He does smile back though.]
Should have brought flowers. You'll just have to settle for— this.
[He holds out a formal announcement card to Rosalind. It's a printed, expensive thing, noting her approval for admittance to the Stannish Collection Research Library and listing her own personalized passcode. So that's something. Tony's not going to dwell on it though, rubbing his hands together.]
I haven't eaten all day. Smells good. ...And a lot. Definitely a lot. Did you order for giants? I'm flattered, but also confused.
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I ordered enough that I won't have to cook for a long while, actually. And I figured you and I could use some indulgence tonight. So. Pick what you'd like, get a drink if you'd like it, and come join me on the couch. We can talk or we can watch a movie, it's your choice.
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Anyway: he appreciates it. Which is understated by him taking off his watch and placing it in his pocket as he steps in. For once he won't watch the clock.]
Drink, yes. And movie's probably best unless you want to hear about the intricacies of me updating my last will and testament. For the record: I was told I cannot, in fact, having a performing polar bear at my funeral. Something about a violation of the Endangered Species Act.
[That all said he will be helping himself to both alcohol and food. It's been a long day.]
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I don't know, Tony, that sounds rather interesting. Or you could tell me what story you're working on now.
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[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?
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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?]
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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.
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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.