milliways_bar | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

Minimalist attempt at entry.

Man. Suit. New York Times. Booth. J&B, rocks.

Humming.

(I’ve got a lovely bunch of coconuts
There they are all standing in a row
Big ones, small ones, some as big as your head
Give them a twist a flick of the wrist
That’s what the showman said )

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Here?"

He shrugs.

"Eh. At least it is not Hell. But it is not Verona. I have nephews who are almost as old as me, and I have never met them."

He smirks, and skates smoothly away from the thin ice.

"Still, the people are prettier here than there."

"Exceedingly good-looking." He agrees with another look.

"Why, thank you."

He preens exaggeratedly, and laughs.

"Eh, I function."

"You should do more than simply fuction, Mr. Mercutio."

"My looks, I mean. Or slight lack of."

He grins.

"My face serves its purpose. And I am no 'mister'."

"Your looks. There is no discernable lack of them, from I can see."

He sips.

"What purpose do you use it for, if I might ask?"

Aww, shucks. Mercutio has really fair skin. It can be a curse in these situations.

"For conversation, of course. For seduction. Suchlike."

Shutup. The blush is fading already.

He laughs, and when he makes an effort, it does not sound so hollow and false. "I see. Very interesting." A violent toss of his head back, draining the glass of whisky. The melting ice clinks to the bottom of the glass as he sets it back to the table. "Oh, very."

"I am glad to entertain." A truncated bow, and a slow smile.

"What do you do, then, flatterer?"

"I work in fiance, on Wall Street. Pierce and Pierce, vice president of Mur--Mergers and Acquisitions."

"Is that a good thing?"

His face is blank and uncomprehending.

". . .It is an occupation that allows me to enjoy all of the fine things that life provides."

"But what actually is it? Many occupations do that."

"An aspect of corporate finance strategy and management dealing with the merging and acquiring of different companies as well as assets." He pauses, right hand curled under his chin. "In simpler terms, a. . .pirate?" He chuffs.

"You fail spectacularly to make sense."

Mercutio grins.

"Eh, so do I. You wear a bandana and sail the high seas, then?"

He shakes his head, "No. Not that theatrical. But the conquering part is rather true."

"Pirates do not conquer. They harry and yap. You do not seem the yapping sort."

He spunds experienced.

Blinking, he adds. "Ah. No, I'm not the yapping type."

(Only small dogs yap, like Pomerainians. You could kick a small dog like that several yards, if you aimed just right.)

He grins.

"So not a pirate, but you deal with money in some way."

His answering grin is warm.

"Dost thou enjoy it?"

"Yes, I suppose I do. Of what business were you associated with, Mercutio?"

"I do not work."

He looks a little surprised at the suggestion.

"Excuse me for implying that you did." Wry twist of his mouth, "So what do you do with all of your time?"

"Drink. Laugh. Dance. Bed."

He shrugs.

"You know."

"It must be nice. But day after day, doesn't it get boring...?"

"Life? People? No."

He beams.