*facepalms* Maybe I should just ask Tony if I can have an advertising campaign, so the rest of you will stop acting like I’m some kind of fragile flower normal mundane. Remy can chase me in circles while he /tries/ to kick my ass ten ways to Sunday. Same for you.
Maybe you’re not getting this. I’ll talk slower.
Don’t care who you are.
Don’t care what kind of shit you’re trying to pull.
Not chasing you. Don’t care about your goddamn flowers or inferiority complex or what kind of goddamn polish you use on your goddamn nails.
I’m tellin’ you to go away.
Now.
Conversation’s over, tinkerbell. Move it along.
She wants very badly to kick the door, or something, anything, to let off the frustration. She settles for growling at it, giving it the finger, and resists equally hard the temptation to set a nearby plant on fire.
“Stupid mutants,” she mutters, stalking off, ignoring the fact that she’s a mutant too.
