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 don't expect anything from you.

"That's a good boy."

He says blandly, as if he were appraising. He lifted a hand and brushed it over his hair, to make certain that no strand was out of place. A look up to focus on Thom (his eyes) before he smiled.

Yeah?

What do you expect, when you come here?

*Thom sounds curious.*

"I don't expect anything, Thom," He said, and smoothed his hands down the lapels of his suit jacket with a seemingly genuine tone of voice. "That way I might be constantly amused with what I find here."

Where do you go when you leave?

"New York. It's a city, and they call it the big apple. Why? I have no idea, but it's a rotting apple, to me."

*Thom starts to ask how come, but bites down on the question instead.*

He was going to supply an answer for it, if asked. Instead he smiles and shrugs a shoulder.

*He glances down, tangles his fingers together on the tabletop.*

I don't usually ask so many questions.

"I'm glad. Sometimes there are only so many questions that someone can ask before it gets annoying, Thom."

*Thom nods; something about the way he looks at Patrick almost (almost?) seems sincere.*

Yeah, I know.

You got any?

"No, not particularly." He smiles broadly.

Because asking, (May I have your eyes?) is abrupt and rude.

Okay.

*Also, he doesn't have extra!*

Which is a shame, because he really likes (wants) them. "I could ask, if it would matter to you." He leans in a bit, watching him with more intensity.

If you like.

"If you are already dead, can you die again?"

I don't think so.

I haven't tried.

"Ah."

He tilts his head, "Can you even feel?"

*Thom half-smiles.* Yes.

He crooks his finger at him, and gestures him closer.

"Let me see."

*Thom blinks but, obediently, gets up and goes around to the other side of the booth.*

A look at the eyes that belonged to this fine-boned face, natural blandness of his features taking on the slightest stunned quality. His hand lifts, hovers at the back of Thom's neck, fingers brushing the fine hair at the nape of his neck.

"This?"

*quietly, Thom says*

Yes.

*and does not move*

Another twitch, another soft brush of movement, fingertips lowered against his neck. Feeling out veterbrae, he pressed, pinched the place where shoulder neck joined to shoulder.

"And this?"

*tensing slightly, slightly; perceptibly*

Yes.