(No, she likes it. It is much, much better than the robe he decides to wear when she's over. Too bad she doesn't own any t-shirts, or he could have his revenge so, so easily. He also doesn't need to say anything, obviously, his face and his brain express his displeasure at the state of her room — but, look, his own is tidy, but equally chaotic, so does he really have room to bitch?)
Which you knew. I don't control the train, Quire.
(Eh, just to be bitchy back.
Once he's in, the door is closed, and her hands are free, she'll press her usual arrival kiss to his lips before she continues her process. It doesn't take long, the only thing that remains from her outfit (now somewhere unknown in pile A) is the make up. Once she's in her own comfy clothes, her hair is in a bun and her glasses are on her face, she plops next to him and reaches for the fries in the bag.)
Whose genius idea was it to put it in Snake Island, beats me.
Does it surprise you? Nothing in this goddamn place makes any sense.
[Quentin idly watches her get comfy, noting where she obtains her pajamas in the mess.
... Eh, fuck it. He crams a chicken nugget in his mouth and gets up, kicking off his shoes.]
Hey, where are your loosest PJs?
[Look, she comes to his room and wears his shit all the time. Might as well have it go both ways, yeah? Perks of only being a couple inches taller than the girl you're sleeping with.]
Course it does. If Auroura didn't bring it herself, it means someone went "I want a McDonald's knock-off in this island we put a gazillion snakes in", and that's fucked up.
(She isn't even going to have the chance to enjoy him in that nice outfit? Very rude.
With fries between her thumb and index, he circles her hand as she looks around the mess. Luckily for him, it should be in a similarly disorganized drawer, not in the void of the great surroundings.
Sophie send the image of what he should be looking for to him before those fries get dipped in ketchup.)
I'd judge myself, shush. Look around, do you think there is space for a t-shirt?
(No, he doesn't know 'all', okay, there are layers to the shirt thing!! But mostly, a matter of principle that she doesn't have her own.
Which makes her roll her eyes at the comment, but the annoyance is short-lived because she can hear him going to change, and 💡. Very interesting to her, as her brain lit up a little. She isn't looking right now, but she is going to in just a bit.)
[Yeah, that's right, he's calling her out. Deal with it.
That said, he does feel her brain light up when he starts undressing and glances at her curiously. Back in his room, they're usually either getting frisky by the time his clothes start coming off or he changes at the same time as her. It's... Hm.
Quentin finds the pajamas, grumbling some more rude things about the state of her room, and starts unceremoniously shucking off his own clothes.]
All I'm saying is wearing t-shirts is clearly not a problem, so why is buying them such a big deal?
Is this legit the hill you wanna die on today? I'm going to eat your damn nuggets.
(Do they have to have a real talk as to why she likes wearing his shirts? No? Good, because she isn't doing it. It's much more fun and not at all productive or vulnerable or whatever to have this dumb bantering every now and then. Keeps the romance alive, etc.
Also, stop bitching for just one second, she's busy right now. She knows he knows her interest sparked, hello telepathy, and it's not something she would want to hide. Obviously, she's into him, or else she wouldn't be sleeping with him nearly as much as she does, so is there any reason to be coy, really? Absolutely checking him out before she smiles to herself, pleased, averting the gaze solely not to make him uncomfortable.
But, well. Brain is very lit, so thank you.)
My room is not that bad, by the way. Should have seen Emma's.
"It could be worse" isn't the flex you think it is.
[It's still weird to have Sophie Cuckoo of all people openly ogling him. Sure, she sleeps with him, but that's different than finding him, well. Hot. Not that he's complaining. Quite the opposite, in fact.
Quentin replaces his pants with the ones she supplied, but when he gets to the shirt half he hesitates, considers, and passes up her shirt for putting his button-up back on. By the time he returns to the couch to claim his nuggets, he's got it buttoned back up to the third highest button. There. Now he's comfortable.]
I'm just saying there is a genetic component to my laziness.
(Not really, but okay.
She thought what she thought. He just never asked her, probably won't? At least she's not particularly shy on this subject, so hopefully, he doesn't have to wonder too much. On the other hand, she cannot relate. Freaking Sophie Cuckoo, it's a whole part of the brand.
The challenge, really, is letting him see her with her guard down and in gamer gremlin skin, but she's comfortable enough at this point with that part of showing herself. There are even glasses on her face, so. We are all evolving here, somehow.)
Not junk food specifically, I think I just wanted to eat something familiar that I haven't had in a bit, I guess, and these things have a set flavor profile.
(It's probably one of those moments Quire's secondary mutation sucks, because to her, it is releasing enough dopamine to count as the real deal. If it's off, it's probably some detail, she figures? No idea.
Hey, hey, why are you questioning her choices? Don't question her choices. She hates that.)
I guess. I was already going to spend today with you, so since I was getting myself food, might as well bring you some too. And we're here because I know you'd get all grumpy and fucking annoying if I made a mess in your room.
(Honest, it's just one of the little things she likes to do for him quietly. Not that she wants that pointed out, or that she wants him to add it to the list. Shut up.)
[Quentin raises a hand in a half-assed pacifying gesture.]
I'm just saying you do know more people than just me. And I'm also grumpy and fucking annoying anywhere, let's be honest.
[The point, of course, being the "comfortable" thing he mentioned. He has a strong hunch she doesn't exactly sit around in her comfiest loungewear and glasses with a long list of people. And he's feeling sassy enough today to poke at that hunch with a stick.]
The blush that overtakes her cheeks is... Well, she's not sure if it's embarrassment or irritation, but it is certainly creeping to her skin without a shred of her consent, and it's almost like they're back to square one with her being absolutely mortified with being Seen.
Bitch, seriously?)
I know half the planet, and this was a convenience thing. I can take it back, we can go to your room, I'll eat on your bed, how's that?
No, no, here's fine. I already changed clothes, and I'm pretty sure you don't want to change my sheets later, because I am not sleeping on crumbs.
[He's crossing his legs and propping his feet up on the coffee table again. Not going anywhere.]
Anyway, that's not really the point. I was just, you know, making observations. There's a lot of people you could invite over who like junk food. You can't argue with that.
[Quentin shrugs and sips his milkshake.]
Guess you just really wanted me to steal your clothes for once.
(At least he's not making it as bad as he could be, so he gets like, 0.01% of a point for it, since she's significantly pinker at the present moment. Not going to give him praise for it, there's still time, but so far, it's a placeholder point.
Her eyes roll as hard as they can, and she grabs her soda for a sip as she thinks of a rebuttal that never comes, because he says that and she nearly chokes in a laugh, a snort coming out of her as a result while her hand busies itself with hiding her face.
Kill her. Just kill her.)
Yes, that was 100% my biggest dream, now mind your business.
[Says the guy who minds his business almost never and especially not now. The smirk he gives her makes it clear he's not buying any of her bullshit, but he'll be satisfied with making her blush and choke on her soda.
For now.]
So what's the itinerary for today? I mean, since you've accomplished your biggest dream.
(For the smirk, there's that look that she gives him every now and then, of squinted eyes, half a roll, and a quiet smile of appreciation. He's so fucking irritating. Somehow, it works.
Somehow. There's an extremely weak kick that she gives his ankle as the last of what they'll say about it for now.)
Months in the making, I'm finally fulfilled. I do have a plan to climb you like a tree, but other than that? Who knows.
"Climb me like a tree", huh? Wow, and they say romance is dead.
[Quentin scoffs, but there's no actual vitriol whatsoever. Romance is very distinctly not the point of what they do, after all. Quite the opposite, and for very good reason. But look, he's Quentin Quire, and if he's not complaining he's dead.
That said, he also has a plan that involves scandalous activities in bed, but his relies more on the coma Sophie goes into after a particularly good, particularly exhausting round or two. Which is what he intends to give her once, you know, she's arbitrarily decided it's time.]
Well, my options here in the "other than that" category are pretty limited. Guess I could sit on your bed playing video games for two hours, just to mix it up a little. But that sounds a bit boring.
[He shrugs, continuing to wolf down his nuggets and milkshake, as well as steal quite a few of her fries.]
So I think what we should do is eat our junk food while you tell me who "tarnishedmoodring" is.
No, no, I'm also burning a single unscented candle for it, don't you worry.
(No, she's absolutely not. It's just to keep the conversation and the banter alive, but it'd just be super weird if they were... What, suddenly soft? Affectionate aside from the times they allow each other to be? God, no. It'd probably make both of them run to separate hills as fast as they can manage.)
Oh, you are not touching my Animal Crossing. You'll ruin my hard work and chase away all my villagers.
(They would not love Quentin Quire's aesthetic choices.
But she's also realizing that he's much more communicative outside his room, and she was unsure whether that was a good thing until he asked her... Well, what literally everyone asks her back home. The facepalm, the eyeroll that ensues, oh God.
Okay. Fine. She hates him, but fine. He can steal the fries, she's stealing a nugget before she hands him the remaining ones to grab her burger.)
You think I can talk about a guy for two hours?
(Stalling.)
He's a guy I met on Summoner's who kept my sanity in place when I left the hivemind. No idea of personal details or what he looks like, but we talked pretty much all day every day before I got here.
[Well, he wasn't planning on touching her Animal Crossing village until now. See, Sophie made the fatal error of telling him not to do something. Which means he now has a physical need to do that thing.
But that's for later. Right now he's got an apparent internet boyfriend(???) to interrogate her about.]
I dunno, you could probably talk about me for two hours. Not that I'm expecting you to talk about this dude for that long.
[She hands him the fries in favor of her burger, which of course means he's going to lean in front of her and grab her wrist holding the hamburger, holding it still while he helps himself to a bite of it. Satisfied with his burger theft, he lets go of her hand and moves back to his seat.]
Wow, your ego is out of control. What do you even think I'd talk about for two hours when it comes to you?
(How he's probably going to make her grow her first grey hairs? Annoying? Irritating? Her dearest insignificant other?
Two hours is a lot, interruptedly? Maybe forty-five minutes, no breaks, word vomit style.
She would definitely have denied him the bite for the audacity if she had seen it coming, but it's unexpected and it makes her laugh — but revenge comes as his nuggets and shake dance in the air above them.
God, what a question. If she likes the snarky, cynical, bitchy and talk-back-y mutant who was her rock in the weirdest time of her life? Yeah, absolutely. He won her on talking alone, and she's crazy about him without a shred of doubt. But it's been... Months.
Yeah. She does. It's... Gone cold. Fondness rather than anything else it is now, and she reads his messages every now and then for comfort. But also, no, maybe she's not into him the same way anymore.
Why is Quentin asking her those type of questions again?)
[Quentin's eyebrows quirk oddly at her answer. It probably would make more sense for him to feel... glad? Relieved?? That she isn't holding a candle for some other guy. But instead something about how she says "not the same way anymore" makes his chest feel weirdly hollow.
He's not going to ask if the change in her feelings is because of him. For one thing because no matter the answer, he wouldn't expect her to answer honestly. Sophie talks about her genuine feelings as little as physically possible, so usually just when he actively squeezes it out of her. But he's also not going to ask because even if she said yes, he wouldn't want to hear it.
Quentin... likes Sophie. Not the way he did when he was a stupid teenager, but he likes her a decent amount. He likes sleeping with her, both how he can make her feel and how she makes him feel. He likes making her blush and laugh and cringe. He likes pushing her to be better like she says she's trying to do. But is he into her? Debatable. Again, not like he used to be. Not like he was into Phoebe or Idie or even Gwen. She's... fun. Everything beyond that is held strictly behind the wall of their "rules," and for good reason.
Quentin plucks a nugget out of the container floating over his head.]
Tell me about him. For less than two hours, obviously. I don't have that kind of patience.
(Does she like Quentin? Yes. He wouldn't be able to pull half this shit if she didn't. None of this is usual Sophie Cuckoo bullshit — there's no girlboss, gatekeep, gaslight, mansplain, manipulate out of her in here. Just, well, her, as honest as she can be without short-circuiting, allowing a smidge of vulnerability to be seen.
Does she want him to like her more than he does? Debatable. If she had actual proof that he can be non-clingy and weird, then it's a huge maybe, but why mess with something that works? No need. Fine as it is. As for tarnishedmoodring, distance and time equal cooling off. Nothing she can do about that one. She never had any claim on him, anyway. It's not like she can be hoping he'll be there when she's out of this damn place, God knows when that will be. Doesn't even know if he liked her back. Way easier to think about it later, let it go for now.
Not that she is sharing any, absolutely any of that with Quentin. It's already uncomfortable as is, with him asking her so many questions that don't pertain to him, or so she thinks. Not answering makes it worse, so she has to take a moment to think.)
Mhm. Mutant, obviously, but I have no idea what his mutation is, anyway, I'm assuming it has something to do with empathy and colors, considering his username, but beats me. He's... Fun, I guess. Cynical, super bitchy, sarcastic as hell, and doesn't ever let me win without rematches, that I end up losing anyway, so I rematch, then I win, rinse and repeat. Hence why my rank is absurd. Alt-rock, hipster shit, and I guess that's all I'm saying. 40 seconds good enough for you?
[He doesn't miss the fact that her description is remarkably similar to him, minus all the stuff about gaming, but he'll let it go for now. Sophie's been a good enough sport about his intrusive bullshit, so she'll get some mercy.
This time.
Quentin shrugs and yoinks the last nugget from the floating container.]
I'm just going to take your rush to move on from that topic as a sign you're impatient to—what was it? Climb me like a tree?
[You know, since she isn't going to let him prod her for miscellaneous information that isn't his business.]
(Or so she hopes. She thinks? Come on. They literally fuck their problems away because when they tried talking about it, she nearly popped a vein, or choked, or kicked him out of her brain for literally breathing near her.
Why have that massive, sexy, high-speed brain if he doesn't use it? What a damn waste. She's not paying attention to his thoughts to know that he did, except just not in a way that is beneficial to her, but alas. Monkey paw curling, as it is.)
Well, I guess I could paint your nails, or some other beauty shit, it's literally the only thing I have in this room that might interest you. Or, well, you better put me in a coma for this schedule slip. Don't know if you can make me pass out for 10 hours, but there's a challenge.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Which you knew. I don't control the train, Quire.
(Eh, just to be bitchy back.
Once he's in, the door is closed, and her hands are free, she'll press her usual arrival kiss to his lips before she continues her process. It doesn't take long, the only thing that remains from her outfit (now somewhere unknown in pile A) is the make up. Once she's in her own comfy clothes, her hair is in a bun and her glasses are on her face, she plops next to him and reaches for the fries in the bag.)
Whose genius idea was it to put it in Snake Island, beats me.
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[Quentin idly watches her get comfy, noting where she obtains her pajamas in the mess.
... Eh, fuck it. He crams a chicken nugget in his mouth and gets up, kicking off his shoes.]
Hey, where are your loosest PJs?
[Look, she comes to his room and wears his shit all the time. Might as well have it go both ways, yeah? Perks of only being a couple inches taller than the girl you're sleeping with.]
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(She isn't even going to have the chance to enjoy him in that nice outfit? Very rude.
With fries between her thumb and index, he circles her hand as she looks around the mess. Luckily for him, it should be in a similarly disorganized drawer, not in the void of the great surroundings.
Sophie send the image of what he should be looking for to him before those fries get dipped in ketchup.)
Knock yourself out. I don't own t-shirts, though.
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Believe me, I know all about your T-shirt shortage. You realize you can just buy some, right?
[He pulls off his socks and folds them neatly into his shoes, then walks to the drawers she indicated, starting on undoing his belt.]
I mean, who the hell is gonna judge you? The bots? I'm just saying.
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(No, he doesn't know 'all', okay, there are layers to the shirt thing!! But mostly, a matter of principle that she doesn't have her own.
Which makes her roll her eyes at the comment, but the annoyance is short-lived because she can hear him going to change, and 💡. Very interesting to her, as her brain lit up a little. She isn't looking right now, but she is going to in just a bit.)
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[Yeah, that's right, he's calling her out. Deal with it.
That said, he does feel her brain light up when he starts undressing and glances at her curiously. Back in his room, they're usually either getting frisky by the time his clothes start coming off or he changes at the same time as her. It's... Hm.
Quentin finds the pajamas, grumbling some more rude things about the state of her room, and starts unceremoniously shucking off his own clothes.]
All I'm saying is wearing t-shirts is clearly not a problem, so why is buying them such a big deal?
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(Do they have to have a real talk as to why she likes wearing his shirts? No? Good, because she isn't doing it. It's much more fun and not at all productive or vulnerable or whatever to have this dumb bantering every now and then. Keeps the romance alive, etc.
Also, stop bitching for just one second, she's busy right now. She knows he knows her interest sparked, hello telepathy, and it's not something she would want to hide. Obviously, she's into him, or else she wouldn't be sleeping with him nearly as much as she does, so is there any reason to be coy, really? Absolutely checking him out before she smiles to herself, pleased, averting the gaze solely not to make him uncomfortable.
But, well. Brain is very lit, so thank you.)
My room is not that bad, by the way. Should have seen Emma's.
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[It's still weird to have Sophie Cuckoo of all people openly ogling him. Sure, she sleeps with him, but that's different than finding him, well. Hot. Not that he's complaining. Quite the opposite, in fact.
Quentin replaces his pants with the ones she supplied, but when he gets to the shirt half he hesitates, considers, and passes up her shirt for putting his button-up back on. By the time he returns to the couch to claim his nuggets, he's got it buttoned back up to the third highest button. There. Now he's comfortable.]
So why the sudden craving for fast food?
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(Not really, but okay.
She thought what she thought. He just never asked her, probably won't? At least she's not particularly shy on this subject, so hopefully, he doesn't have to wonder too much. On the other hand, she cannot relate. Freaking Sophie Cuckoo, it's a whole part of the brand.
The challenge, really, is letting him see her with her guard down and in gamer gremlin skin, but she's comfortable enough at this point with that part of showing herself. There are even glasses on her face, so. We are all evolving here, somehow.)
Not junk food specifically, I think I just wanted to eat something familiar that I haven't had in a bit, I guess, and these things have a set flavor profile.
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[Quentin shrugs, shoving a chicken nugget into his mouth.]
Gotta say, it does have a certain... je ne sais quoi.
[He chews thoughtfully and briefly curls his lip.]
The aftertaste is off, though.
[A pause, during which Quentin glances over at her. Specifically, at her choice of attire.]
And I'm guessing you invited me because you didn't want to be alone for this nostalgia trip but also wanted to be comfortable?
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(It's probably one of those moments Quire's secondary mutation sucks, because to her, it is releasing enough dopamine to count as the real deal. If it's off, it's probably some detail, she figures? No idea.
Hey, hey, why are you questioning her choices? Don't question her choices. She hates that.)
I guess. I was already going to spend today with you, so since I was getting myself food, might as well bring you some too. And we're here because I know you'd get all grumpy and fucking annoying if I made a mess in your room.
(Honest, it's just one of the little things she likes to do for him quietly. Not that she wants that pointed out, or that she wants him to add it to the list. Shut up.)
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I'm just saying you do know more people than just me. And I'm also grumpy and fucking annoying anywhere, let's be honest.
[The point, of course, being the "comfortable" thing he mentioned. He has a strong hunch she doesn't exactly sit around in her comfiest loungewear and glasses with a long list of people. And he's feeling sassy enough today to poke at that hunch with a stick.]
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The blush that overtakes her cheeks is... Well, she's not sure if it's embarrassment or irritation, but it is certainly creeping to her skin without a shred of her consent, and it's almost like they're back to square one with her being absolutely mortified with being Seen.
Bitch, seriously?)
I know half the planet, and this was a convenience thing. I can take it back, we can go to your room, I'll eat on your bed, how's that?
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[He's crossing his legs and propping his feet up on the coffee table again. Not going anywhere.]
Anyway, that's not really the point. I was just, you know, making observations. There's a lot of people you could invite over who like junk food. You can't argue with that.
[Quentin shrugs and sips his milkshake.]
Guess you just really wanted me to steal your clothes for once.
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Her eyes roll as hard as they can, and she grabs her soda for a sip as she thinks of a rebuttal that never comes, because he says that and she nearly chokes in a laugh, a snort coming out of her as a result while her hand busies itself with hiding her face.
Kill her. Just kill her.)
Yes, that was 100% my biggest dream, now mind your business.
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[Says the guy who minds his business almost never and especially not now. The smirk he gives her makes it clear he's not buying any of her bullshit, but he'll be satisfied with making her blush and choke on her soda.
For now.]
So what's the itinerary for today? I mean, since you've accomplished your biggest dream.
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(For the smirk, there's that look that she gives him every now and then, of squinted eyes, half a roll, and a quiet smile of appreciation. He's so fucking irritating. Somehow, it works.
Somehow. There's an extremely weak kick that she gives his ankle as the last of what they'll say about it for now.)
Months in the making, I'm finally fulfilled. I do have a plan to climb you like a tree, but other than that? Who knows.
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[Quentin scoffs, but there's no actual vitriol whatsoever. Romance is very distinctly not the point of what they do, after all. Quite the opposite, and for very good reason. But look, he's Quentin Quire, and if he's not complaining he's dead.
That said, he also has a plan that involves scandalous activities in bed, but his relies more on the coma Sophie goes into after a particularly good, particularly exhausting round or two. Which is what he intends to give her once, you know, she's arbitrarily decided it's time.]
Well, my options here in the "other than that" category are pretty limited. Guess I could sit on your bed playing video games for two hours, just to mix it up a little. But that sounds a bit boring.
[He shrugs, continuing to wolf down his nuggets and milkshake, as well as steal quite a few of her fries.]
So I think what we should do is eat our junk food while you tell me who "tarnishedmoodring" is.
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No, no, I'm also burning a single unscented candle for it, don't you worry.
(No, she's absolutely not. It's just to keep the conversation and the banter alive, but it'd just be super weird if they were... What, suddenly soft? Affectionate aside from the times they allow each other to be? God, no. It'd probably make both of them run to separate hills as fast as they can manage.)
Oh, you are not touching my Animal Crossing. You'll ruin my hard work and chase away all my villagers.
(They would not love Quentin Quire's aesthetic choices.
But she's also realizing that he's much more communicative outside his room, and she was unsure whether that was a good thing until he asked her... Well, what literally everyone asks her back home. The facepalm, the eyeroll that ensues, oh God.
Okay. Fine. She hates him, but fine. He can steal the fries, she's stealing a nugget before she hands him the remaining ones to grab her burger.)
You think I can talk about a guy for two hours?
(Stalling.)
He's a guy I met on Summoner's who kept my sanity in place when I left the hivemind. No idea of personal details or what he looks like, but we talked pretty much all day every day before I got here.
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But that's for later. Right now he's got an apparent internet boyfriend(???) to interrogate her about.]
I dunno, you could probably talk about me for two hours. Not that I'm expecting you to talk about this dude for that long.
[She hands him the fries in favor of her burger, which of course means he's going to lean in front of her and grab her wrist holding the hamburger, holding it still while he helps himself to a bite of it. Satisfied with his burger theft, he lets go of her hand and moves back to his seat.]
So. You into him?
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(How he's probably going to make her grow her first grey hairs? Annoying? Irritating? Her dearest insignificant other?
Two hours is a lot, interruptedly? Maybe forty-five minutes, no breaks, word vomit style.
She would definitely have denied him the bite for the audacity if she had seen it coming, but it's unexpected and it makes her laugh — but revenge comes as his nuggets and shake dance in the air above them.
God, what a question. If she likes the snarky, cynical, bitchy and talk-back-y mutant who was her rock in the weirdest time of her life? Yeah, absolutely. He won her on talking alone, and she's crazy about him without a shred of doubt. But it's been... Months.
Yeah. She does. It's... Gone cold. Fondness rather than anything else it is now, and she reads his messages every now and then for comfort. But also, no, maybe she's not into him the same way anymore.
Why is Quentin asking her those type of questions again?)
I — ugh, kill me.
(Gag. Feeling talk. Gag. Gross.)
Yeah, but not... The same way anymore. Shut up.
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He's not going to ask if the change in her feelings is because of him. For one thing because no matter the answer, he wouldn't expect her to answer honestly. Sophie talks about her genuine feelings as little as physically possible, so usually just when he actively squeezes it out of her. But he's also not going to ask because even if she said yes, he wouldn't want to hear it.
Quentin... likes Sophie. Not the way he did when he was a stupid teenager, but he likes her a decent amount. He likes sleeping with her, both how he can make her feel and how she makes him feel. He likes making her blush and laugh and cringe. He likes pushing her to be better like she says she's trying to do. But is he into her? Debatable. Again, not like he used to be. Not like he was into Phoebe or Idie or even Gwen. She's... fun. Everything beyond that is held strictly behind the wall of their "rules," and for good reason.
Quentin plucks a nugget out of the container floating over his head.]
Tell me about him. For less than two hours, obviously. I don't have that kind of patience.
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Does she want him to like her more than he does? Debatable. If she had actual proof that he can be non-clingy and weird, then it's a huge maybe, but why mess with something that works? No need. Fine as it is. As for tarnishedmoodring, distance and time equal cooling off. Nothing she can do about that one. She never had any claim on him, anyway. It's not like she can be hoping he'll be there when she's out of this damn place, God knows when that will be. Doesn't even know if he liked her back. Way easier to think about it later, let it go for now.
Not that she is sharing any, absolutely any of that with Quentin. It's already uncomfortable as is, with him asking her so many questions that don't pertain to him, or so she thinks. Not answering makes it worse, so she has to take a moment to think.)
Mhm. Mutant, obviously, but I have no idea what his mutation is, anyway, I'm assuming it has something to do with empathy and colors, considering his username, but beats me. He's... Fun, I guess. Cynical, super bitchy, sarcastic as hell, and doesn't ever let me win without rematches, that I end up losing anyway, so I rematch, then I win, rinse and repeat. Hence why my rank is absurd. Alt-rock, hipster shit, and I guess that's all I'm saying. 40 seconds good enough for you?
no subject
[He doesn't miss the fact that her description is remarkably similar to him, minus all the stuff about gaming, but he'll let it go for now. Sophie's been a good enough sport about his intrusive bullshit, so she'll get some mercy.
This time.
Quentin shrugs and yoinks the last nugget from the floating container.]
I'm just going to take your rush to move on from that topic as a sign you're impatient to—what was it? Climb me like a tree?
[You know, since she isn't going to let him prod her for miscellaneous information that isn't his business.]
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(Or so she hopes. She thinks? Come on. They literally fuck their problems away because when they tried talking about it, she nearly popped a vein, or choked, or kicked him out of her brain for literally breathing near her.
Why have that massive, sexy, high-speed brain if he doesn't use it? What a damn waste. She's not paying attention to his thoughts to know that he did, except just not in a way that is beneficial to her, but alas. Monkey paw curling, as it is.)
Well, I guess I could paint your nails, or some other beauty shit, it's literally the only thing I have in this room that might interest you. Or, well, you better put me in a coma for this schedule slip. Don't know if you can make me pass out for 10 hours, but there's a challenge.
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nsfw from here on out
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