the fuckface who holds time itself in his hands (
collector) wrote in
realityshifted2010-10-16 02:39 am
Entry tags:
Sacris Solemniis
[Teapot before him, a plate of pastries beside it, Braxiatel sits at the kitchen table with Strindberg's Ett drömspel open in front of him. Braxiatel stirs sugar into his tea, and a faint smile crosses his face as his eyes flicker to something in the seat to his left.]
[He leans forwards and pours a second cup of tea, then lifts it up to hand it over, the smile widening.] I don't know what you mean by 'ulterior motives,' Comman—
[Braxiatel's fingers tighten on the cup before he can let it go. For a moment, it hangs there, hoping for a hand that cannot take it.]
Ah.
[It is a quiet realization.]
[Braxiatel sets the cup down, away from him. He leans back in his chair and picks up a scone to eat.]
[He leans forwards and pours a second cup of tea, then lifts it up to hand it over, the smile widening.] I don't know what you mean by 'ulterior motives,' Comman—
[Braxiatel's fingers tighten on the cup before he can let it go. For a moment, it hangs there, hoping for a hand that cannot take it.]
Ah.
[It is a quiet realization.]
[Braxiatel sets the cup down, away from him. He leans back in his chair and picks up a scone to eat.]

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[He looks absolutely repulsed.]
Irving, never, ever, ever, ever insinuate that again. Seriously, ugh, that is- that is disgusting.
[Oh god.]
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Oh god I think I am going to be sick.
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So, uh. We're never going to insinuate that again. Or mention it. Ever.
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It's alright. I'm sort of used to going between shitty coffee that the guys try to make or Jean-Pierre's stuff, so it falls around the middle. A bit more into, uhhh... the good side, though.
[He contemplates this.]
Maybe an 8? Yeah.
[That is assuming Brax somehow didn't completely ruin the coffee. Even then it's still probably an 8 compared to how the rest of the band makes coffee.]
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[Like most things Braxiatel says, it is delivered slightly detached, so it neither sounds like sincere thanks or a sarcastic quip. It could be both or neither.]
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Hey, gotta give a guy credit where it's due, right?
[He begins to idly fidget with the spoon. He can't help it. He has such a small attention span.]
So, other than imaginary friend hour and probably fighting off shit, what the hell have you been up to to not die of absolute boredom? This place isn't exactly the, uh, height of exciting.
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[And he's back to trying to get the spoon on his nose.]
Wait! No Shakespeare. If I have to read one more thing of Shakespeare, I will... I will somehow go into the past. And kill him. He is a fucking douchebag and I refuse to read anything of his again unless, uh, I'm getting paid.
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Maybe. I'll, uh, look into it when I get home. I'm not much of a fan of Shakespeare stuff. I know, I know, he's great, well, hey, fuck him. His grammar is terrible, he makes up words, and half...
[He trails off as he focuses on the spoon, oh man, he might have it this time!!! YEAH HE'S GOING TO FUCKING BEAT THIS THING.]
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Fuck yeah!
[Isn't it great having a guy who gets easily distracted as a friend?]
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[Carefully he fishes his Dethphone from his mangled jeans without causing the spoon to drop, and he passes it over to Brax. He may look through it all he wants, if so inclined, while trying to find the camera function.]
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Say 'cheese,' but not too loudly. The spoon might fall.
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[Nathan instead goes for the ever classy smirk and flip the middle finger to whoever is looking at the photo.
Yeah, guys. He wants you to know when you see it that he did it, not you, so fuck you guys, Nathan wins.
What he wins is a mystery.]
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