as_damaged | ☤ twenty-seven

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☤ twenty-seven

[Accidental Audio]

[CRASH.

CRASH.

CRASH. CRASH.

splinter splinter crash. There is heavy breathing in the background.

...crash.]

[ooc; action for Chase and mebbe Angela, and um, anyone who happens to live in their apartments/surrounding apts who might notice the breaking and entering. sob. i don't even.]

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Mmm, I do like it when you say my name like that.

[Little does he know that she wants him to say her name like that while he's barefoot in the kitchen cooking her breakfast, lunch, and dinner with her million kid tribe running around his ankles begging for snacks and another weird pet and just one more bedtime story please, please, please. Even better if he's wearing one of her self-designed aprons.

This girl has plans but first, she has to make an honest man out of him.]

Fine with me. [Angela quickly spins to put her back against his chest and pulls his arms around her waist. She'll be his seeing eye Angela for the rest of the night.] Follow the leader.

[And it's with heavy, awkward steps that they make their way down the hallway towards the hole in the wall that was once a star-sticker decorated door, past the other two blonds, one that should have been hers originally.]

...

[Peter Petrelli takes a diplomatic approach to that statement, which is the silent one. Unaware of such images running through a certain someone's head right now, thankfully, he has no such notions of designer aprons, tribes of children--his or otherwise--or cooking three meals a day. What? Who does that anymore? Anyway, he lets himself be steered out, and maybe it's for the better that he's blind not able to shoot his flatmate a meaningful look of what the hell or some odd equivalent.

They make it out the door somehow though.

Er...the ....well, what was once a door, rather.]

Okay tell me where we're going before we....well, go there.

[Angela doesn't shoot Robert a look on his way out. Like her, he's distracted so why would she bother? She has her man wrapped around her right now and that's all that matters.]

I was thinking dinner and then drinks at Cafe Juliet? Then we'll rent you a suit, me a dress, and become the Petrellis. Baby, if it was earlier, I'd take you to Angelo's and let you order anything.

[She stops suddenly in the hallway to turn back to him, cupping his face between her hands. The look on her face, if his eyes were working enough to witness it, is a soft one, one she wouldn't use on Peter. It's definitely one for his roommate.]

Because I love you.

[Damn. Not even Robert got to the point of hearing that from Angela. ]

[ It isn't as though red flags have not been going up this whole time, but now it is sort of like they come accompanied with blaring sirens too, which he can actually, you know, notice.]

Dinner sounds good and...well we'll see how long that takes and...I mean dinner's great...better than great....

[ And he is trying so hard here not to back away because That can't end well either...but he knows these feelings aren't really for him, and there is a combination of guilt and disappointment, not that Angela doesn't feel this way for him, but because he realizes he hasn't had that in a long time, not even the beginnings of it. Worst maybe is that he knows it's mostly his own doing but that's neither here nor there when she continues talking and he thinks his lack of breathing is going to be a problem soon.

A breath, a quiet one escapes.

What to say. Um. Um. Um.

...

Thank you? No...that never works. Uh...]

I...

[ and now he needs a verb ]

I'm...very lucky.

[ And it sounds genuine because he means it, if not in the way she'll likely take it.]

No, I am.

[It's sad to say that while Angela considers Peter a close friend, she never consider romantic implications about him. It just never happened. It never will happen on a normal day. She's not a person to trail another one a dead end road and this here is what she's doing, even if Peter doesn't fall for it. When the clock hits twelve, things will hopefully be forgotten and forgiven.

Hopefully.

Tugging on his sleeve, Angela pulls the poor guy down to the elevator, the fastest way to the successful end of her plan.]

Now let's go get married.

[ Part of him is busy arguing that, well, worst case scenario, marriage can't possibly count here, right? That part gets promptly beaten up the side of the head with the word Stupid, and is followed by the thought that well of course it does but there must then also be divorce and well, there is an option, right there. But he doesn't particularly fancy it all the same, and he follows--he has to--into the elevator, trying to think of ways to stall.

Somehow he knows pushing all of the buttons on the panel will not be quite subtle enough, blind or not.]

So um...I don't know if there's a place to do that...here...

[Smooth...very...not.]

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☤ twenty-seven

[a new face brings new change and a new way]

[a new face brings new change and a new way]

[a new face brings new change and a new way]

[a new face brings new change and a new way]

[a new face brings new change and a new way]

[a new face brings new change and a new way]