milliways_bar | (no subject)

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(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

"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.

"Hm."

What he is thinking might be, I wish. Or he might be thinking, how do his nice cheekbones look under the skin. Brief smile, and he twitches.

"You'll have to excuse me. I need to go..." He draws it out, almost forgetting what to say next, "...return videotapes."

He'll never know, since Mercutio is dead already.

"Excused, of course, and it was a pleasure. But what are videotapes?"

He passes a hand over his face, checks to make sure his hair is still perfect.

"Film, movies." He smiles, the outside corner of his mouth twitches.

"I am not from your time, my friend."

He is still uncomprehending.

"I know. I'm starting to understand this. Just nod, an pretend it makes sense, please. Or my heart will be fit to burst."

His face is flushed now, and he loosens his silk tie, taking a very large breath of air.

Okay, Mercutio's curiosity is a bad thing to awaken.

"You will die if these things are not returned?"

"No."

Not so much a smile as a rictus of expression, thumb wiping away the faintest sheen of sweat from his upper lip.

"But someone will get hurt."

If Mercutio were entirely sane and calm and logical, he would step well out of the way of the door and stay there.If there wasn't just one tiny little loose screw in his head.

But there is, and there always has been, and he's Mercutio.

"Why?"

"Because you are practically begging for it."