The first time Joan kicks off what are evidently four-inch heels on the welcome mat in the entrance corridor of Marcus’s apartment, his first thought is, whoa, I’m taller?
His second thought is, We just chased that perp down three blocks before taking him down, is she a monster?
What he says is, “Hey, you want something to drink? It’s like, heatstroke weather out there.”
Joan gives him a smile that lights up the room (figuratively— at least, Marcus is pretty sure it’s figuratively, he’s well aware of the way rooms seem to just brighten up when Joan’s in them in ways that have absolutely nothing to do with their actual light level).
"That would be amazing," she answers, settling down at the table he points her to, "if I’m not interrupting anything important."
"It’s back to the grind after this. Trust me, you’re doing me a favor." Marcus doesn’t turn to look at her, busy picking two glasses out of a high cabinet, then filling both with ice. He asks her as he ducks into the fridge, "Apple juice? Orange? I’ve got some protein shakes too, if you skipped lunch."
Joan checks her watch, her feet shifting uncomfortably (Marcus would be more surprised if they weren’t in some kind of pain, with the morning they’d had). “Orange juice,” she answers decisively, “and then I have to take off again. Staking out an apartment in Staten Island. The Mancini case.”
"So you’re saying you didn’t eat lunch," Marcus says, voice flat.
"I’ll grab something on the way."
"Look, I know Holmes has been gone for a while, but you’re not gonna make it any easier on yourself by turning into the guy."
Joan frowns, her expression severe. Marcus sets the orange juice on the table, then raises both hands, palm out. “I don’t mean to get into your business or tell you what to do, ‘cause you’ve been closing cases left and right. I ain’t complaining. I’m just saying.”
Her expression softens, but Joan’s eyes narrow. “What about you, Marcus?” Her question already sets him on edge, but Joan looks pointedly at his fridge as she takes a sip of orange juice. “You don’t have any fresh produce in your fridge, your freezer’s stocked with frozen meals and Hot Pockets from Costco, I’m not sure that I’m the one who should be taking it easy.”
Marcus slaps a hand over his heart, wincing in mock pain.
Her head tilts, quickly as a bird’s, eyes bright and mischievous. “Don’t you think?”
"Forget I said anything," he concedes, laughing. "But let me drop you off in Staten Island, yeah? I’ve gotta case a crime scene out there anyway, and your car’s in the shop, last I heard. The commute is torture."
"Sure," Joan agrees as she finishes off the last of her juice, just barely resisting the urge to chase down an ice cube, "let me buy you lunch in return."
She stands up, follows Marcus to the door and quickly slides her pumps back on, suddenly eye-level with him again. Marcus grabs his jacket and keys off the rack, holding the door open. “Well,” he says, “then you gotta let me treat you to dinner.”
Looking at Marcus over her shoulder, Joan flashes him a warm smile, then faces forward again, leading the way out of his apartment.
Yes it is. There have been many many studies done and they’re all conflicting, which usually means ‘the link is not there unless people accidentally or not so accidentally set the experiment up in ways that gives one sex an edge’.
Have you read Delusions of Gender? You should totally read Delusions of Gender.
Okay, small aside here.
London taxi drivers have to take a test called The Knowledge. This involves memorising every street in London. There are a lot of streets in London. As it is an ancient city not laid out in any grid these streets often don’t make sense. Every black cab taxi driver has to memorise every the street and how to get to them.
Now, this can take several years and often does, and when the cab drivers have finished the part of their brains to relates to memory has been shown via MRI to have enlarged and grown more powerful.
That being said. Imagine you have been told all your life you can multitask. That you have been encouraged to multitask. That it is normal and expected you can multitask. Don’t you think people would eventually be able to multitask given that they have been training for it their entire lives?
I think I get your point, but I’m not entirely getting the link - are you talking about brain plasticity?
Because brain plasticity and the effects of social conditioning are both very important and real things w/r/t neurologically based cognitive abilities. So yes. This is true.
You also get this on measures of empathy, especially w/r/t SBC’s bullshit ‘male brain’ theory of autism. Self-report measures of empathy are hugely flawed, because men are conditioned to be less empathetic while women are conditioned to be more empathetic, which not only affects their actual levels of empathy (due to focusing on it less or more, respectively) but also their ability to accurately judge and report their own empathy levels. Even non-self-report measures of empathy are flawed, because again, women have been conditioned to practice it a hell of a lot more.
The same is true of maths and science abilities, spatial awareness, and - yes - multitasking.
Yes, basically. Social conditioning affects brain plasticity over time.
Nope, no way, that’s for sure Chuck’s armor. Both of them have a ‘camouflage’ pattern on them, and Hercules’ has a distinct dark line above the Striker emblem on his breastplate.
In addition to that, the scuff marks and paint chippings on the midsection doesn’t match either, and there’s no bolt in the dead center right under and above the breast plate, either.
Meanwhile, Chuck’s armor does indeed have the bolt, and the matching scuff/paint damage on the chest and torso, and also the ‘faded’ part of the camo on the chest as well:
S’totally Chuck’s. <3
Holy Fucking Shit! Everyone in the booth said it was Max’s. But even if they flipped the image in the movie, the logos and ports wouldn’t line up. The ports are clearly under the logo for Chuck and not Herc. Holy Shit!
Something is up because even the helmet says it’s Max/Hercs! I think this pic is the best back of helmet one that I got. I’ll be sure to pester the guys tomorrow about this! And get a final answer. Max’s helmet with Rob’s armor is probably what happened.
OOC: I found out, as I was typing Judgment Day, that Siqi loooves pictures of tacky/gaudy stuff (jewellery, dresses, etc) She doesn’t want to own ajy of it let alone wear it but pictures? Her room’s wallpapered with them.
Mǐn almost knocked on the door of 516.
Instead, Siqi opened it before she had the chance and beamed.
"Your haircut looks fantastic," said Mǐn.
"I know," Siqi grinned, stepping aside, "but thank you!"
"Biscuits smell good."
"Don’t they? I’ve never really had gingersnaps before but I’ve been craving them for days."
Mǐn stopped and twisted around. “Are you pregnant?”
"Not for another 31 months." Siqi fetches her a glass of water and a plate and joins Mǐn at the table.
"That thing you’re looking for-,"
"Yea, Have you seen-"
"-a shoe with gold on it?"
"I don’t know what you’re talking about."
"You can’t use that line, you’re psychic."
Siqi leaps from her chair and tears down the hall.
Mǐn gets tangled in a chair and chases after her.
Siqi slams the door to her room as Mǐn favours her leg, trips, and hits the carpet.
"There’s an icepack in the freezer!"
Cursing quietly, Mǐn picks herself up and knocks. “Siqi?”
"Give it back."
"Don’t think so."
"You really don’t want that thing in your apartment. It’ll totally wreck the energy."
"On the contrary, Bob finds it quite calming."
"You didn’t put a plant in it."
"Of course I did! What else was I going to do with it?"
"Not steal it from its creepy-bad guy owner?"
"Too late for that!"
"It’s probably got Blue- please please please tell me you didn’t touch it with skin."
"I had gloves on, duh."
"Blue can kill through inhalation."
"That’s why I wore a hazmat suit and washed it out in a coroner’s office."
"She was a massive jerk. Totally deserved to get arrested."
"He’s a really scary dude-"
"With awesomely terrible footwear."
"And you don’t want him after you. I don’t even want him knowing about you."
"He won’t find me."
"You left footprints."
"I’ll be fine. You aren’t, and it’s really tempting to comfort you - I feel terrible - and I would come out, but you would try darting in and I’d end up shutting the door on your hand.”
"I’ll break in anyway."
"You’ll be cursed~!"
"I care more about your corporeal life than my afterlife right now."
"IT’S MY FLOWER POT AND I’M NOT GIVING IT BACK!!!"
There’s been a black bunny in my yard for a couple weeks now. At first, I saw it around dusk or dawn, eating dandelions with its normal colored siblings.
Now, it’s bigger, and the only time I see it is when it’s almost too dark to be seen.
Pretty soon, I won’t see it at all. Bunny and twilight will become one, like the darkness that yields dreams, the shadow world of oblivion, the great, yawning friend to all night creatures. Near the shed out back.