bodilesswarrior | Backdated to Christmas Eve

[She could mutter about how she doesn't like having her strings pulled, or curse the Admiral for being an obnoxious little troll, but it wouldn't do any good so she just starts listing.]

For Iris, a cutlass with chaos engraved on the hilt.

For Stephanie Brown, an aubergine trench coat. Bullet resistant. Oh, and Alfred's mashed potatoes, if you can.

For Chris D'Amico, a black and red scalloped cape, bullet-resistant, and some batarangs. Actually, scratch that, I'll make them myself. But - I figure there's a comic about my recovery. Give him that.

For Cassel Sharpe, velvet black gloves with bats on the back. And his own crossbow.

For Maladicta, copies of my books on interuniverse travel, and any others you can find. And some good quality coffee beans.

For Charles Xavier, books on genetics and psychology from a variety of universes.

For Erik Lehnsherr, scraps of different coloured metals he can make things with, and a block of Nth metal.

For Kevin Prentiss, some toys for his dog, and his favourite snacks. And a book on general dog care.

For Nathan Wuornos, an old-school magnifying glass.

For James Bond, a few guns he doesn't have.

For Harvey Dent, another pair of Eskrima sticks.

For Megamind, some books on tech unique to my world.

For David Cain, a copy of my Cassandra scrap book.

For Kara Zor-El, some literature from home.

For Beatrix Kiddo, a sword made from unbreakable steel.

For William Bush, fluffy handcuffs.

For the Emperor - can you just materialise photographs of him and Zane together?

For Zane, same thing, and some flowers from home.

For H.G. Wells, all the movies made from her books. And schematics for some modern machinery.

For Hannibal Lecter, a pink ceramic heart. A realistic one.

For Mindy Macready, a pink punching bag.

For Dean Winchester, a dirt bike.

[VIDEO]

[Her communicator pans across a long line of gingerbread men - which appear to be decked out in familiar clothing, one of whom has tentacles - before revealing her own wry grin.]

Cookies in the common room. Level five.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Barbara's keeping her eye on the cookies and their counterparts, occasionally replacing some, but a part of her is always focused on Iris. It goes beyond stolen glances and silent smiles; Barbara can feel her there, and she's warmer for it.]

[Iris grins lazily and stretches out on the couch, luxuriating under Barbara's warmth like a cat.]

...Chuck us another bicky, would you, love? There's too many people 'ere I feel a need to bite the 'eads off.

Edited 2013-12-29 14:23 (UTC)

[Her smile deepens, and she grabs a Harvey and tosses it, with casual precision, to Iris.]

[Iris catches it neatly, and lifts an eyebrow when she sees who it is.]

...This is why I love you; you never pull your punches.

[Nor does Iris. Which is why she'll be licking the icing off this one, too. Really, really slowly and almost - but not quite - comically exaggerated.]

[A faint snort, a slight smirk.] Never saw the point of doing things half-way.

[She's blatantly staring; a few seconds in, she gave up trying not to enjoy herself, unnerving or not.]

Girl after me own 'earts.

[It sounds like an easy, throwaway line, but Iris says it in a low voice, throbbing with gratitude and wonder.

And then, partly bcause she's oddly squeamish about biting pieces off, partly to defuse the sentimental moment and partly because she wants to show off, she folds the entire cookie easily into her mouth in one go. It's too large, and if she didn't have a respiratory bypass and a really big mouth she'd have had to spit it out again. As it is, she nearly chokes on suppressed giggles before the gingerbread softens and dissolves in her mouth.]

[She can only watch for a moment before her head falls into her hand, shoulder shaking with laughter.]

Show off.

[Iris can't answer for a while, she's too busy trying not to choke and then the giggles take a while to wear off. Her eyes are streaming, and she's sucking down ginger ale like a slightly distressed camel.]

All me lives. And it never stops getting me in trouble.

Backdated to Christmas Eve

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