In a smarter mood Libby would reconsider this idea immediately striking her as brilliant--she has the sense James is something she is supposed to not touch, wound up with Stark and Rogers and their whole crew that moves together in ways she doesn't quite understand. He's too good for her to be touching; she'll just fuck him up with her filthy little hands.
But maybe that's why it's such a great idea, because she's sick of having her hands slapped for just wanting to know, just wanting to touch all of that brilliant, frustrating code. Just wanting to come inside and look for a while, and she thinks with no small trace of bitterness that if someone had just--if someone had warned her. If they'd said anything about the company she kept, because she knew Stark could hack her encryptions and she knew he'd seen her talking shit and they'd just let her. And yeah, they didn't owe her anything. Maybe they thought it was funny to watch her ruin her stupid little life.
Maybe James is too good for them. Maybe she wants to touch, because he's asking her to, and even if he's some kind of hero and she's a mouthy little gutterbrat they get each other. They get being frustrated and shut out because you're not good enough, you're not one of us, when all she had wanted to do at the start was to belong to something good for once.
"Yeah, totes." She grins, the wicked sullen and preoccupied mood lifting. You know what? They can do whatever they want. Nobody's around to say it's a bad idea, or you're just stupid little bitch kids, or that she has to learn to just shut up already (her voice is all she ever had, and they want to shut her up, and it sits wrong with her when all she wants to do is scream look at me). Nah, they can do this. Stupid permanent shit that's impulsive and they might totally regret later. She takes her hand from his and whisks over to her computer.
"Peregrine, on," she says, and flickers her fingers through the holographic interface that obligingly blooms blue in the air. The drawing program comes up readily, and she takes his hands to hold them in the scanner until they're locked in. She usually doesn't let people touch her shit, but this is harmless. A pen appears in midair, glowing and translucent. "Draw whatev you want, I'll project it and trace it on you when you got it. Hey, um--where you want it, anyway? 'Cause over bone hurts like a bitch, for the record."
no subject
But maybe that's why it's such a great idea, because she's sick of having her hands slapped for just wanting to know, just wanting to touch all of that brilliant, frustrating code. Just wanting to come inside and look for a while, and she thinks with no small trace of bitterness that if someone had just--if someone had warned her. If they'd said anything about the company she kept, because she knew Stark could hack her encryptions and she knew he'd seen her talking shit and they'd just let her. And yeah, they didn't owe her anything. Maybe they thought it was funny to watch her ruin her stupid little life.
Maybe James is too good for them. Maybe she wants to touch, because he's asking her to, and even if he's some kind of hero and she's a mouthy little gutterbrat they get each other. They get being frustrated and shut out because you're not good enough, you're not one of us, when all she had wanted to do at the start was to belong to something good for once.
"Yeah, totes." She grins, the wicked sullen and preoccupied mood lifting. You know what? They can do whatever they want. Nobody's around to say it's a bad idea, or you're just stupid little bitch kids, or that she has to learn to just shut up already (her voice is all she ever had, and they want to shut her up, and it sits wrong with her when all she wants to do is scream look at me). Nah, they can do this. Stupid permanent shit that's impulsive and they might totally regret later. She takes her hand from his and whisks over to her computer.
"Peregrine, on," she says, and flickers her fingers through the holographic interface that obligingly blooms blue in the air. The drawing program comes up readily, and she takes his hands to hold them in the scanner until they're locked in. She usually doesn't let people touch her shit, but this is harmless. A pen appears in midair, glowing and translucent. "Draw whatev you want, I'll project it and trace it on you when you got it. Hey, um--where you want it, anyway? 'Cause over bone hurts like a bitch, for the record."