( he follows the handwave but doesn't react beyond that, not until she reaches out, pauses, then — surprisingly gently — touches his hair. it's unexpected, but not as unexpected as the apology.
his expression is an immediate lack of certainty — an arching of eyebrows that immediately shifts into a bemused frown. he could say it's fine (that's not the word for it). he could say she should have (should she? no). he's not the sort, either, to make a joke about it (because it's not funny, even if it'd been entertaining and more than a little charming when marlene had joked about dating four men—.) )
Why would you? ( is what he settles on instead. ) It's not most people's first assumption.
No. I’m sorry I didn’t notice. I thought he was you.
[Its not exactly the same, which is why she feels the need to differentiate. Anyway. She leans in towards him, and she’s quiet a moment, just a moment.
She is almost sorry she pressed this, anyway.]
I thought, at first, you were acting strangely. Just not quite how you talk to me.
( she leans in and he's almost tempted to lean away, a physical reaction to the conversation. he doesn't, not yet anyway, and instead shifts his glance away from daphne. )
Given everything, that's not unreasonable. ( a concession of sorts. ) But Steven wouldn't have told you anything. ( a beat and he looks back to her. )I can be touchy.
[She moves both her hands into her lap, and she sighs, but she doesn’t move away, either. The urge is to hold him, to hug him close and keep him there where she can protect him.
She knows it’s not the right move.
So she shifts her tail and fiddles it out of the top of her leggings, moving awkwardly until it comes up between her legs, and pulls it into her lap to hold there, almost like a doll. It would look even weirder but her shirt hides the view of her pants half pulled down.]
You’re not touchy with me. Or you haven’t been, and I’ve been very forceful with you.
( her movements are odd and distracting, and it takes him longer than he'd care to admit to quite figure out what's going on. he's not quite sure what kind of 'touchy' she's referring to — his impression is that with her, it could entirely be either.
however, given everything—. )
I told you, Daphne. ( a breath of a pause. ) I don't like to lie, and I don't appreciate it in other people. ( it's not that he doesn't tolerate it, as such — it'd be an odd line to draw, given his proclivities and given his history, but he's never been especially fond of it. ) You're forthright, not forceful. There's a difference.
You’ve never made me imagine I’m crossing a line. You’ve never called me out, or made me take a step back.
I like to imagine that you like me. That you wouldn’t put up with it, otherwise.
[That said:]
I don’t care who else you share your body with, unless they want me dead. What I do care about is making sure we are still friends, at the end of this.
If you cross a line, you'll know it. ( bluntly, though it doesn't disagree with her assessment: he does like her, and though that's not something he's ever been especially skilled at putting into words, she's evidently managed to piece together enough to get the picture. ) I'm tolerant, but I'm not patient.
(still—. )
I'm not likely to kill you, Daphne. Or try to.
( the 'I' is deliberate. steven doesn't like violence, doesn't indulge in it, doesn't use it. jake will, if push comes to shove and if he has to, but ultimately, it's marc's thing. )
[He wouldn't be able to kill her, even if he wanted to; her pride reassures her of that. He doesn't know how strong or fast or absolutely like a tank she can be, when she's really going.
But that doesn't matter. That's not really what they're discussing here, anyway.]
Marc.
I'm going to hold your hand now.
[She gives him a chance to say no, or pull away, and then she does it, she holds his hand.]
You don't need to narrate your actions, Daphne. I'm not going to run away.
( he lets her take his hand in hers. it's not exactly intimate, but it does manage to feel tender — perhaps even more than it would usually, given the comment — statement — that punctuates the action.
his expression flickers — not distaste, not unhappiness, but there is a degree of reservation sat amongst the acceptance and frank lack of surprise. she's said she's his friend, that she cares is implied—.
(but it equally doesn't outweigh the amount of people he — marc — has pushed away. the amount of people that have cared but for their own sakes have decided that they need to stop.)
a silence, then, and a quirk of his lips. ) —But I know.
[She snorts a little, but she holds his hand tightly and takes the moment to get closer, then, shifting her weight and her tail flicks so it’s now in his lap, the tip just moving.
She smiles a little, though.]
But I’d rather not have to run you down and tackle you to the ground right now.
( he huffs a breath that almost mirrors her snort, light, dry amusement. )
I hate running, ( he states, a mild utterance that's meant literally rather than metaphorically. ) None of my clothes are designed for it.
( nothing to do with being chased or being tackled, or any of the rest of it. still, he can't quite decide or work out if the shift in topic is deliberate, a way to move away from what they had been discussing to something a little easier to swallow, a little easier to talk about, or if it's a brief respite. if daphne had been going somewhere with her I care for you line.
(he should probably reciprocate, but that's never been easy for him.)
You should stop trying to save the world wearing white suits. Yoga pants.
That’s the trick.
[She leans, and leans, until she’s against him and his bulk. For all that, he’s taller than her, warm and there is a human part of her brain that takes comfort in the protective feeling of him.
( it's an askance glance, sidelong and brief. ) I don't. ( a beat. a loose gesture, restrained only due to the fact that her weight and body is pressed against his, limiting his movement. ) A small area of Manhattan, that's it, ( he adds, by way of explanation. ) There are enough people trying to save the world.
( he feels her hum as much as he hears it, and though he doesn't ignore her comment — he hears it, it registers, and though he knows he could rebuff it if he wanted, he doesn't, not for now. )
—And yoga pants wouldn't have quite the same effect.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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his expression is an immediate lack of certainty — an arching of eyebrows that immediately shifts into a bemused frown. he could say it's fine (that's not the word for it). he could say she should have (should she? no). he's not the sort, either, to make a joke about it (because it's not funny, even if it'd been entertaining and more than a little charming when marlene had joked about dating four men—.) )
Why would you? ( is what he settles on instead. ) It's not most people's first assumption.
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[Its not exactly the same, which is why she feels the need to differentiate. Anyway. She leans in towards him, and she’s quiet a moment, just a moment.
She is almost sorry she pressed this, anyway.]
I thought, at first, you were acting strangely. Just not quite how you talk to me.
But I should have pressed it then.
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Given everything, that's not unreasonable. ( a concession of sorts. ) But Steven wouldn't have told you anything. ( a beat and he looks back to her. ) I can be touchy.
—Or so I'm told.
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She knows it’s not the right move.
So she shifts her tail and fiddles it out of the top of her leggings, moving awkwardly until it comes up between her legs, and pulls it into her lap to hold there, almost like a doll. It would look even weirder but her shirt hides the view of her pants half pulled down.]
You’re not touchy with me. Or you haven’t been, and I’ve been very forceful with you.
[Her fingers curl over her tail.]
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however, given everything—. )
I told you, Daphne. ( a breath of a pause. ) I don't like to lie, and I don't appreciate it in other people. ( it's not that he doesn't tolerate it, as such — it'd be an odd line to draw, given his proclivities and given his history, but he's never been especially fond of it. ) You're forthright, not forceful. There's a difference.
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You’ve never made me imagine I’m crossing a line. You’ve never called me out, or made me take a step back.
I like to imagine that you like me. That you wouldn’t put up with it, otherwise.
[That said:]
I don’t care who else you share your body with, unless they want me dead. What I do care about is making sure we are still friends, at the end of this.
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( still—. )
I'm not likely to kill you, Daphne. Or try to.
( the 'I' is deliberate. steven doesn't like violence, doesn't indulge in it, doesn't use it. jake will, if push comes to shove and if he has to, but ultimately, it's marc's thing. )
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But that doesn't matter. That's not really what they're discussing here, anyway.]
Marc.
I'm going to hold your hand now.
[She gives him a chance to say no, or pull away, and then she does it, she holds his hand.]
I care about you. Okay?
no subject
( he lets her take his hand in hers. it's not exactly intimate, but it does manage to feel tender — perhaps even more than it would usually, given the comment — statement — that punctuates the action.
his expression flickers — not distaste, not unhappiness, but there is a degree of reservation sat amongst the acceptance and frank lack of surprise. she's said she's his friend, that she cares is implied—.
(but it equally doesn't outweigh the amount of people he — marc — has pushed away. the amount of people that have cared but for their own sakes have decided that they need to stop.)
a silence, then, and a quirk of his lips. ) —But I know.
no subject
[She snorts a little, but she holds his hand tightly and takes the moment to get closer, then, shifting her weight and her tail flicks so it’s now in his lap, the tip just moving.
She smiles a little, though.]
But I’d rather not have to run you down and tackle you to the ground right now.
[She sounds half amused.]
no subject
I hate running, ( he states, a mild utterance that's meant literally rather than metaphorically. ) None of my clothes are designed for it.
( nothing to do with being chased or being tackled, or any of the rest of it. still, he can't quite decide or work out if the shift in topic is deliberate, a way to move away from what they had been discussing to something a little easier to swallow, a little easier to talk about, or if it's a brief respite. if daphne had been going somewhere with her I care for you line.
(he should probably reciprocate, but that's never been easy for him.)
instead, then— ) Thank you.
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That’s the trick.
[She leans, and leans, until she’s against him and his bulk. For all that, he’s taller than her, warm and there is a human part of her brain that takes comfort in the protective feeling of him.
She hums.]
You’re stuck with me, I’m afraid.
no subject
( he feels her hum as much as he hears it, and though he doesn't ignore her comment — he hears it, it registers, and though he knows he could rebuff it if he wanted, he doesn't, not for now. )
—And yoga pants wouldn't have quite the same effect.