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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[she looks at Brax with her hand on her chin as if she's appraising him, before sliding her chair closer to his, her hand brushing some imaginary dust off his shoulder (because real dust dare not mar the suit of Irving Braxiatel)] Both of us, we always thought you've had a universe of unique qualities as well. And Jason, well Jason has always been very curious about your people.
He is a completist, after all.
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Why, Bernice. I wouldn't think it of you. You're a woman of many surprises.
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[She keeps her hand in his as she stands up, circling around so she's behind him now, her hand still in his hand, and her free arm snaking around his neck as she straightens his tie, her chin resting on his other shoulder so she can speak much more closely and gently into his ear]
Yes, well, it is my middle name. [she's just going to call you out on the pun there, Irving. Her mouth moves closer to his ear, her voice quieter and lower] I wouldn't want to disappoint.
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[But he has the advantage of height. So, smoothly slipping out of her grasp and turning around to face her, Braxiatel says—]
[—but his voice stops in his throat and his fingers loosen their hold on Benny's hand. His eyes are meeting eyes that aren't Benny's, and he knows Bernice, he knows that she'll see what's wrong because Benny isn't the same height as Renée.]
[Braxiatel clasps Benny's hand in his, knowing that whatever he picks to recover from this falter, it has to be completely mad.]
You don't disappoint. Not ever. Bernice . . . I want you to call me 'Daddy.'
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[She pales, her expression stuck between horrified and blank, her voice deadpan and void of emotion, because...]
...what?
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[Braxiatel takes back his seat, and there's a brief moment where his hand slips to hold his arm, a half-hug for himself, a half-comfort, but he transforms the gesture into the smoothing out of his sleeve, and he props up his feet on one of the free chairs as he enjoys a cup of tea.]
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Un-bloody-likely...[she pauses, as if she's just swallowed bile, before speaking pleasantly again, almost too pleasantly] Daddy.
[her tone is for the most part flirtatious, but she is struggling not to make herself ill] I just...I didn't think you would ever feel that way. I have always been desperate for a father figure, [she leans over the back of his chair once more, arms snaking around his neck, as she nuzzles into his neck as her voice gets lower] Daddy.
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[indignant] Mother of your child?!
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We could always adopt.
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That would be a problem. [she can't think of anything to say beyond that as the game feels like it took an odd turn]
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