Summary:Babbling when he's nervous. Doug's original superpower! Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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Back at Doug's apartment, in the evening, he came home, gave Hercules a pat, and then proceeded to lose his gloomy mood in his favorite hobby — programming. He's at that bleeding-edge computer, with a pair of headphones on, his fingers flying over the keys as he types in endless lines of code, as casually as most people would draft an e-mail. His eyes flick between his monitors, back and forth, before he picks up the super-nutritious smoothie that's functioning as his dinner and gives it a sip.
He still looks a little gloomy, but he can drown it in the work, at least.
One of the things that all of those that consider themselves Illyana's friends know, is that she's not great with time. It's understandable, given that time spent in Limbo does not usually equate to time spent on Earth, but it goes beyond that. Illyana's overall *sense* of time, even if she's on Earth the entire time, is rather skewed. So the fact that she disappeared hours ago really doesn't reflect on Doug. Though in his gloomy mood he might not see that the same way.
Drowning his sorrows in code, Cypher might miss the flash of light from Illyana's stepping disk as she teleports back into the apartment. With his headphones on, he might not hear her in the kitchen as she rummages around. He's unlikely however, to miss when she goes over to a corner of the room in his line of sight with a stainless steel bowl. A shove with her hip moves some of the furniture back out of the way and then she drops down into a crouch to start… fingerpainting? Along his baseboard.
Doug continues to work, seeming to have his attention completely fixed on his computer. If he heard Illyana, he makes little sign of showing it, as his fingers dance along the keys. His mouth moves, silently, as he sings along with no noise to the music in his ear. He may flick his gaze up briefly, for a moment, but then he's back at his work.
To most people, the symbols would be meaningless. But Doug isn't most people. Whenever he takes the time to look at it enough, it's clearly a type of Ward to alert Illyana if anyone magical enters the premises and to keep people (that aren't her) from teleporting in.
The pair of them each go about their Thing for some time. Finally, there's the sound of the tap running as Illyana rinses out the bowl and washes her hands before coming up behind Doug and leaning in over his shoulders. Well. On his shoulders. She doesn't try to talk to him, since he still has his headphones on.
Doug pauses, and then he reaches up to remove his headphones. He quirks his mouth, and then he says, "…I'm sorry if I upset you, earlier. You don't usually leave without SAYING something like that." He stops now, his hands in a neutral position on the keyboard. His shoulders are tense. This has been bugging on him. They're nice shoulders, though. Square. Brawny. He used to be so *skinny*.
Leaning on him, it's hard for them to really look at each other but Illyana seems to be comfortable leaning on him. "Why would I be upset with you, Doug? Because you didn't tell me your power had changed?" Her head tilts to the side and hmms. "Because you were picking more up from me than I knew?"
Doug quirks his mouth, and then he says, "I can't *help* it." He admits. "But you've always been an exceptionally difficult read, which hasn't changed." He's staying very still. "Any reason or no reason at all. I don't tell you what you think or why."
Illyana Rasputina chuckles softly, and Doug can feel the warmth of her breath against his cheek. "I'm not going to be upset with you for something you can't help doing. And if you can pull it off, then more power to you." If he wasn't family, that would probably not be the case. Illyana tends to be rather biased towards those she actually cares for. "I'm glad you told me, but I'm not going to bust your chops for not telling me sooner." She frowns, leaning out to the side so she can peer at him. "This has been bugging you."
Doug relaxes slightly, and then tilts his head at Illyana. "Maybe." He says. There's something else on his mind, though he seems reluctant to spill it. He sips his smoothie, and then says, "Sometimes my powers get a little much for me." He says, "And I get really… agitated. I asked an expert on mutant physiology about ways I could come down from the overstim, and she suggested a whole lot of medicines I could try — or I could just have a little pot." He gets up, and then reaches into a hidden space on his computer desk and takes out a saran-wrapped brownie. He unwraps it, and then eats half, chewing thoughtfully, and then swallowing.
"I don't think those are on your Institute Dietitian approved list." Illyana teases, but doesn't seem overly bothered. Not like she's been the straight-laced one of the group. (Wasn't that usually Doug??)
The blonde sorceress straightens up, relieving Doug of her weight across his shoulders and drags over another chair so she can sit down and actually look at him as they talk. "There anything else you want to get off your chest? I may enjoy giving you a hard time, but I don't like seeing you actually upset, Doug."
Among the boys? Maybe a little bit. Or maybe they all were, in different ways. After all, Doug was the one who never treated Illyana like a pin-up or like she was about to go full Linda Blair. He wraps up the other half of the brownie and puts it back.
Doug rubs the back of his neck, and then looks away. "…Naw." He lies. That's a *lie*, and you don't need his powers to see it. "Thanks for putting up the ward. I think I'm gonna go to bed, though-" The gall of this man, just walking away when you want to talk… right?
Illyana Rasputina lifts one of those booted feet and pins Doug's chair so he can't quite get out of it. She arches a brow at him, slowly. Deliberately. "You can tell me you don't want to talk to me right now, but I don't need to be a Hypercogwhatsit to tell that you're lying to me, Doug. You should know how I feel about lies." For all the hype about demons being liars, most demons are just really good at twisting their words. The one Illyana can respect. The other, not so much.
Doug glances at Illyana, and then his mouth flattens, and he huffs out a breath. Proud. Always so proud, and stubborn. "Well I mean—" He meets Illyana's eye, as the brownie is slowly starting to work on him. "I'm going to get really stoned in about ten minutes." He admits. "I usually just go to sleep, 'cause I'm a big dope if I stay up. I once tried to make pop tarts in a frying pan and almost burned down the kitchen." He sighs, and says, "I've just… really *enjoyed* having you here, you know?"
"Well. If you're worried about your place, we could always move the conversation to your bedroom and I'll tie you to your bed." Illyana gives him a FAR too bright smile then. But the glint in her eyes is wicked.
The admission has her expression easing a bit and she chuckles. "You do huh?" We'll see if he still says that after spotting the headless chicken in his sink. "Even though I'm dragging you out in your skivvies, ignoring your privacy and redecorating without asking you?" So she *is* aware that a lot of the things she does might be considered objectionable. She just does it anyway. "You're also safe from setting your kitchen on fire because I ate all your pop tarts."
Doug's cheeks turn absolutely scarlet at that, and he rubs the back of his neck, and then snorts. "Illyana, if I felt anything like that for any of you girls, anything at all, do you think I'd be dumb enough to try anything? You're all… you. And I'm… me." He shakes his head and runs his hand through his hair, his eyes taking that slightly glassy look. "I don't mind those things because I trust *you*. You're my friend. I *like* you." He pauses, and clamps his jaw shut. "It's in your nature to push a little bit. And maybe it's in my nature to *on occasion* need a little bit of a push." he says, ruefully, tight-lipped.
"It's Sam, isn't it? The whole good ol' boy thing just does it for you?" Illyana says, waggling her brows as she taunts Doug, just a little, and it fades as quickly as she said it. "You must have gotten some good shit, because I didn't really understand that first bit." She says, shaking her head.
Her foot comes down from where she was pinning his chair, and she leans forward to rest her elbows on her knees, putting her in his space again. "It'd be easy to say I'm using you for the free crash space, but I'd never live with someone that didn't mean a lot to me, Doug. You get me. Maybe more than I realized, and I'll pay you back for that later. Because I'll enjoy it, not because you deserve it."
Doug rubs the back of his neck, and looks away. "What I meant was — I —" The Mutant Master of Language, tongue-tied.
"Well I-"
He pauses, and he huffs out a breath. "Listen. I didn't - wouldn't - try anything because I valued our friendship, and we all had… stuff. We had *stuff*. But given that you-know-who wasn't going to happen… for *either* of us, if there hadn't been so much stuff, and if I'd thought any of you would've given me the time of day-"
Doug gets up from his chair, and walks to his bedroom, and pauses, with his hand on the doorframe. "…But girls like you don't go for guys like me, and I wouldn't ruin our friendship by thinking otherwise." He walks into his bedroom, and shuts the door behind him.
Illyana Rasputina could of course just teleport past the door, but that's not the same as just dropping in on him. The blonde stays like that, leaning forward and watching Doug's door with a frown playing over her lips for a long time after it's closed.
Eventually, Illyana stands up, setting her hands on her hips. "Looks like I might have to tie you down after all." She muses to herself before a stepping disk teleports her off.
About an hour later, Doug is lying awake. A spring thunderstorm has rolled in, and a loud peal of thunder shakes his windows, as he rests with his hand behind his head, his eyes glassy. He listens to the rain hit the windows, before he finally makes a declaration, out loud.
"Doug Ramsey, you're a damn idiot."
It might have been hard to notice, what with the rain and the thunder and, oh yeah, the stoned. But there's some thumping coming from the kitchen. Then a clatter and a crash that isn't lightning. There's no light under his door, and so it's unlikely there are lights on in the main portion of the apartment.
Doug looks up at the ceiling. "I should ignore that. I really should ignore that." He thinks about it, and his brow furrows, and then, in a fuzzy, dopey, stoned haze, he rolls over, and reaches under his bed, before he grabs an aluminum bat. He grips it in one hand, before he opens the bedroom door, and gropes for the light switch. He's in a pair of blue calvins, and his slippers.
With the door open, the sounds from the kitchen are much easier to hear. Skitters and whispers and the sound of wet snuffling and snapcracking.
Once Doug can look into the kitchen, he can see a shadowy form hunched over in his sink with the slobbery sounds of a messy eater. Other shadows dance about the counter tops, a good half-dozen of them the size of large rats. Cupboards are open as well as the freezer. There's the sound of things moving around in the freezer and then a few items fall out, clattering to the floor.
One of the smaller forms dances about the edge of the sink. "Me! Me! Me!" It chirps in a raspy whisper, the demonic tongue not one that most people would understand. Would ever *want* to understand. The larger figure, more dog-sized gives a growl, swatting at the chirping critter, sending it to the floor to sliiiiide over and bump up against the toe of Doug's slipper.
Doug sets his jaw, and then gives the demon a nudge with his foot. "Get out, Fuckface," he says, given that appropriately enough, Demonic lends itself to casual cursing. He lifts the bat, and then says, "That goes for all of you, get out of here, or I'll tell *her* that you were here." He grips the bat in both hands, ready to make his point, if one of them objects.
He is *fairly* confident that mentioning Illyana will put the fear into them. Then again, maybe he's overconfident?
Suddenly, all eyes turn towards Doug. In the dark, they glow an eerie yellow. The one in the sink pauses eating, and then shoves what's left of the chicken, feathers and all, into his maw and chompchompchomps.
The demon at Doug's foot skitters deeper into the kitchen, hiding around a corner to peek out at him while the others all chitter among themselves. "Is it talking to us?" "I think it's talking to us." "How does it know how to talk to us?" "Maybe it's a demon!" "Doesn't smell like a demon…" The whispery conversation would probably be creepy as hell… if Doug didn't understand them.
One of the demons is shoved out by another, like a penguin to test the water for seals. "Go smell it!" Comes from behind it.
Flailing, the pushed demon tries to get back under cover. "It's going to call the boss!" The hidden demons aren't letting it back in, giving the flailer another hard shove towards Doug and his bat.
Doug uses the bat, and gives the demon another nudge. He's used to this. "This is my place, and you're making a mess. Do you think Magik'll appreciate if she comes back here and all of you've trashed her home?" He gestures to the kitchen. "Look at this. Clean it up." He says, still speaking in that blasphemous Demonic speech.
He can't really manage intimidating though, it's just not in his nature. "Before she gets back." He's careful, though. These are demons, and demons are dangerous.
Even little demons. Though these don't seem inclined to push him. The one in the sink might, it's still watching Doug as it chews.
The little demon goes skittering away, as though it's afraid of Doug's bat and when it reaches the others behind the corner they zip off in a half-dozen directions, grabbing things and dragging them into cupboards and drawers and the freezer and then *slam* *slam* *slam*, they pull all the doors closed behind them.
Which… leaves them in his cupboards?
Cue the front door opening, Illyana walking in with a grocery bag and a plastic spoon in her mouth as she hits the lights. She pauses as Doug's illuminated, looking him over before closing the door with her heel and pulling the spoon out of her mouth with her free hand. "And here I thought I had to go out for dessert."
Doug looks up, and then he turns, and puts his bat over his shoulder. "Sorry. Demons in the kitchen. I'm used to it. They ate all the food though, I'll have to go to the store tomorrow. You might want to do something about that." Other than that, he doesn't seem too perturbed. Though being caught in his underwear does make that blush stand out on his cheeks again.
"Look." He says, "You know I'd never expect you to do anything you didn't want to do, right? As if anybody could."
He rubs the back of his neck with a free hand. "Look… I'm not like… trying to lock you in or anything. But could you ever go for a guy like me?" A geek. A doofus. A dork. A brainiac. A nerd. Well… Doug. "You know… if the mood took you?"
"They didn't steal all the silverware again, did they?" Illyana asks, heading over to the kitchen so she can unpack the grocery bag she's got. Which has ice cream in it. Opening the freezer, there's a demon-popsicle holding very still. Except for the chattering teeth. The blonde sorceress reaches in and grabs it by the scruff while her other hand puts away the ice cream. Still holding the first demon, she looks at the large, almost round demon in the sink. It looks back at her and burps.
With a frown, she opens a stepping disk and the sink-demon drops out of sight. Followed by Popsicle-demon before the disk closes. Dusting her hands off, Illyana finally comes around and over to the scantily clad and blushing Doug. "I don't have a very well developed sense of guilt or pity." She points out, "So I rarely do things that I don't choose to do." She points out.
When she gets up to him, she doesn't stop, herding him towards the counter until he's backed up against it and her hands come to rest on either side of him. She has to look up at him, just a bit, but the intensity of her attention is still enough to make most people squirm. "Be more specific in your questions, Doug. The first sounds like you're asking about dating. The second a fling. They're very different things." She leans in a bit, totally crowding his space. "Try harder. Try again."
"Well I mean" Doug sets the bat down behind him, and then says, "…I ah. Ah. Hm." In over his head. How very like him. Then he says, "…I don't think you'd be just a fling. You're not some heavy-metal pin-up queen or some sort of gothic lolita *sexpot*, you're a person, and you're you know — my friend."
"…He curls his hands against the edge of the counter. "You're the other key in that lock. So whatever it was, we'd have to agree."
Illyana Rasputina's pale eyes glitter with amusement, and she tries not to snicker at the descriptors that have likely either been used to describe her to him at some point or that he's figured someone might call her. "That's right. You're my friend, Doug. Whatever happens, that's a Truth."
She tilts her head over to the side, still pinning him with her gaze. "I'll answer your question, because if you can manage to ask it, then I can do you the courtesy of answering. But." She arches a brow at him, not moving her arms from his sides where she's got him trapped. "Listen to all of it. You asked if I 'could go for a guy like' you. I'll amend that. I could find similarities between you and other people until the cows come home, and while that's what you asked, that's not what you *meant*. And somehow being master of some stupid number of languages you still can't manage to answer a question but again, because you're my friend I'll infer that you meant for a relationship rather than sex."
It's here she pauses, a slow inhale followed by a longer exhale as she works on getting her thoughts together first. "The short answer is 'no'. Which has nothing to do with you and everything to do with me."
Doug thinks about that for a minute, and then says, "Some questions are harder for some people to answer than others, 'Yana!" He holds up his hands. "Would I like to have sex with you? How am I supposed to answer that? Yes? Absolutely? When? Now? I could *absolutely* do now? Because that's an answer to your question but I don't know if it's the right one." He scratches the back of his head.
"…But after everything that's happened to you, I won't treat you like a piece of meat, and that means I can't uncouple the emotion from the act. So I guess what I'm saying, in the context of our interpersonal language is… I want to *because* we're friends. Because I like and trust you. Those emotions are part of why the idea appeals to me, 'yana. But I would never, ever want to…" He thinks, his eyes narrowing and his mouth flat, "Make you think your emotions didn't matter to me, and that's why I've been such a dope. Because… *yes*."
He reaches out a hand to stroke Illyana's hair. "But we already have a relationship, and we already care about each other in a specific way. So let me spin the question around on you. Do *you* want to sleep with *me*? And what do you think we'll be in the morning if we fling open that door together? Because I'm brave enough to do it— but only if you do it with me. Equal partners, fifty-fifty."
"Definitely not now, because you're stoned." Illyana points out in that dry, mocking sort of manner of hers. "Even I would fear the freakout you'd undoubtedly have."
The teasing doesn't last long, and she breathes out a sigh. "I honestly don't know how to do 'relationships' like most people think of them. Or at least, what I understand of what relationships are to other people." Which… mostly means television. Movies. People-watching. "Some things I get, possessiveness and protection but others I don't. Jealousy and selfishness and bitterness." She drags in a breath to let out a sigh. "It's not that the thought of sex with *you* doesn't appeal. In general it just doesn't do much for me. Being able to show up and drag you somewhere? That's something that matters to me. Being able to sleep next to you because I now I'm safe? That matters to me."
She tilts her head into his hand, her gaze still fixed on his. He can pick up on some of those micro-clues that she'd rather turn away herself, not put herself out like this. It feels like a weakness and she *hates* feeling weak. "If you want something, I'll try to give it. But I don't have the same…" She struggles for words here. "Range of emotions you do?" The rising intonation is mostly because she's pretty sure she's butchered what she was trying to say.
Doug weighs his words and then he says, "And I wouldn't trade those things for the world." He murmurs. "Part of caring about someone is understanding that what they need may not be the same thing as what you *want*. I learned that a long time ago. And I *am* stoned. Which has made concentrating on this really hard." But then he moves to lightly take Illyana by the arm.
He guides her out of the kitchen, and calls behind him, "If there's a mess in the morning, I'm going to kick some ass." in Demonic. He leads her into the bedroom, and then opens the coverlet on the bed. It's a little rumpled, still warm, and it smells like him. "You don't *ever* have to give me anything you're not comfortable parting with. But if you want to sleep next to me? If you like that?" He sits on the edge of the bed, with his elbows on his knees, his head bowed. "If you feel comfortable doing that? Then I wouldn't trade it for *anything*. Because I know how hard you fought just to get there. I've always known it. And you feeling safe with me is a gift I can't just throw away… you know?" He glances up.
"I don't know if this is coming out the right way. So the answer to your question is 'Yes' I wouldn't mind going out on a date but I know you're not in a place where you're okay with that. And 'Yes' I'd like to… well, yeah - but *never* if you weren't all in, and were doing it just to humor me. If you just want to snuggle?" He gives a little, dopey stoned smile. "I can do that."
Illyana Rasputina takes the half-step to put herself between Doug's feet, reaching out to ruffle his hair lightly. Because stoned Doug is adorable. Like watching kitten videos, except he doesn't grow up into a bastard like cats tend to.
"You babble when you're high." She teases him lightly, and then gives him a small shove further onto the bed so she can sit down. Her boots take some work to get off and while she would normally make Doug do it, he's just not all there right now. The heavy leather lands with a thump on the side of the bed, followed by her jacket and then her jeans. There's the tinkle of silver as jewelry is left on the nightstand and when she slips under the covers she rolls him onto his side so she can slide in behind him.
"You should go to sleep, before you say something silly." She teases him lightly. "We'll talk later." Normally, she wouldn't be inclined to. She likes to leave people confused and guessing. But doing that here might actually hurt Doug, and she's told him before that she's not interested in hurting him like that.
Doug is still, breathing slowly, and then he shifts the way he's laying, so that Illyana can curl in against his broad, bare back. "I babble when I'm sober, too." He murmurs.
He closes his eyes, and his breathing grows deep and even, as he dozes off. He does snore - a *tiny* bit. It's more of a rumble.
Illyana Rasputina's knees slide in behind Doug's, and he can feel the soft cotton of her T-shirt against his back. There's the warm breath of her chuckle at the back of his neck. "Fine. You babble *more* when you're high." She says, seeming to insist on the last word. Her arm curls around his side and despite the inches and the mass he's got on her, Doug gets to be the little spoon.