Dmitri takes in all of that, the fact that April isn't tied up, how she looks, how she's behaving, and hits the obvious conclusion. She hauls herself up on the pipe, fingers tight to keep her balance, because goddamnit Dmitri Lang has her pride even if she is sitting next to a pool of her own vomit.
"Dmitri Lang, Angel of Knowledge," she introduces. "And you, sir, wouldn't know how to make friends if someone rammed a copy of How To Win Friends And Influence People so hard it gouged your rectum – and please, don't tell me you've tried, because there are things a girl doesn't need to know, and where you choose to stick it is one of them." She doesn't even pause. "I have a few follow-up questions for this whole arrangement, if you don't mind, and they are, in order: One, could you draw up a map to your balls so I can kick them up into your incisors; Two, would I be able to find them even with a map, or are they too small to show; Three, the last time you went to an andrologist, did they have to aim an electrn microscope between your chucks to find them; Four, whent hey did find them, was all concern about the microscope damaging healthy tissue allayed because as it turns out they were artificial anyway? See, I ask because by my count you had to call in your little fucked-up friend over there for help taking down a girl, and your other proclivities default to things which rely on a gross inequality of power for their frisson. Please understand, sir, that I'm not calling you impotent or questioning your manhood in any way other than the strictly rhetorical. I'm just making a veiled observation that there is no way, out of a very long list of ways, in which you are not abjectly failing to have any worth as a human being."
Her hand is tight enough on the pole that the skin has gone white, and in the back of her mind, she's frankly amazed that she managed to say all of that while still standing upright. That amazement is begin slowly overridden by a burgeoning sense of dread, because holy fuck is she going to get it now, but it felt damn good. She just has to keep telling herself that.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2008-10-03 06:59 pm (UTC)"Dmitri Lang, Angel of Knowledge," she introduces. "And you, sir, wouldn't know how to make friends if someone rammed a copy of How To Win Friends And Influence People so hard it gouged your rectum – and please, don't tell me you've tried, because there are things a girl doesn't need to know, and where you choose to stick it is one of them." She doesn't even pause. "I have a few follow-up questions for this whole arrangement, if you don't mind, and they are, in order: One, could you draw up a map to your balls so I can kick them up into your incisors; Two, would I be able to find them even with a map, or are they too small to show; Three, the last time you went to an andrologist, did they have to aim an electrn microscope between your chucks to find them; Four, whent hey did find them, was all concern about the microscope damaging healthy tissue allayed because as it turns out they were artificial anyway? See, I ask because by my count you had to call in your little fucked-up friend over there for help taking down a girl, and your other proclivities default to things which rely on a gross inequality of power for their frisson. Please understand, sir, that I'm not calling you impotent or questioning your manhood in any way other than the strictly rhetorical. I'm just making a veiled observation that there is no way, out of a very long list of ways, in which you are not abjectly failing to have any worth as a human being."
Her hand is tight enough on the pole that the skin has gone white, and in the back of her mind, she's frankly amazed that she managed to say all of that while still standing upright. That amazement is begin slowly overridden by a burgeoning sense of dread, because holy fuck is she going to get it now, but it felt damn good. She just has to keep telling herself that.