milliways_bar | (no subject)

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bossuet (lesgle)

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There's a few mouldy apples on the ground. Vyvyan tried eating some of them earlier, but now he's having some fun whacking them with a cricket bat out towards the lake.

His aim is not very good, so you might want to duck if you're out there.

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Did somebody say chance for things to go painfully and awkwardly wrong? Sure you did!

Lesgle, wandering in the beauties of nature, takes an apple to the back of his hat. His new hat, which is very shiny, or was very shiny before semi-fermented apple squished all over it.

"Double points!" Vyvyan shouts, in excitement. "One hat, no concussion!"

"This time," Bossuet replies. Naturally the hat tumbled into a clump of nettles. "Do you usually cause concussion?"

"Sometimes." Vyvyan says, conversationally. "If it's Rick. Or Neil. Sometimes I don't bother with the apple."

"Lucky Rique and Nilles. Do you just go ahead and hit them with the...that?" Cricket bats have not really penetrated 1830s Paris culture. Neither have red mohawks or forehead stars.

Bossuet weighs the inconvenience of nettles against the inconvenience of taking off his cravat to wrap his hand, and starts looking for a good hat-retrieval stick instead.

"Yeh! They don't die or nothing." Vyvyan says.

He strides over to the bush, and retrieves the hat. He 'dusts it off', smearing apple down it.

"There you go."

He has quite a distinctive aroma of unwashed student. Though a lot better since one of the ladies on Security made him wear deodorant.

Oh! Well, that was nice of him. Bossuet takes the hat with a grin, and starts dusting it off himself in much the same way. He's used to living with a 19th-century medical student; unwashed is nothing compared to brought home something from the morgue to study on. "Thanks. --Friends who don't die are the best sort of friends."

Vyvyan does that too. Well, he was supposed to write an essay on the leg, but instead he stuck it on the bonnet of his car.

"They're more housemates than friends, really. Rick's a bit of a wanker." he says.

So really it's a nice homey sort of smell! Unwashed student with hints of decay, very familiar. Or...so says Bossuet's subconscious or something, he's not actually going around sniffing people. He's picking rotten apple bits off his hat.

"A wanker." He nods carefully. The Milli-translation-device handled that one ver literally. "That's...that's inconvenient in a roommate, certainly."

"He thinks he can hide his girly magazines under the floorboards." Vyv says. "But I got him."

Bossuet nods again. All right. "Are they any good?"

It's the only logical question that comes to mind.

"No no, I didn't read them. I set a booby trap."

He had much more fun than that.

"What kind?" He's thinking, you know, skulls in surprising places or possibly buckets of water.

"I put a circular saw in his bed."

"Oh."

Bossuet frowns. "What is a circular saw?"

He's fairly close to edging away and then making a hasty retreat, but still. Why would you make a saw that was circular?

"A saw that goes all the way round and cuts things." Vyvyan says.

"Yes, but..." No, hang on, they have those in some of the more modernized sawmills, don't they? He's still struggling with the saw/bed/erotica connection, but. "Did it dampen his enthusiasm?"

"You bet. It didn't saw anything off, though."

"All right, then." That's probably about as much apple as he can get off his hat; he gives it one last polish on his sleeve and taps it back into place on his head. "Did he become any less of a, erm, wanker?"

"No, he's still got his cock." Vyvyan says, crudely.

The mun apologises.

Bossuet make a noise like snrk. "Some habits prove incorrigible," he says. Drily.

"I like you." Vyvyan comments. "You're less... repulsed than most people. What's yer name?"

"You remind me of a friend." It's true! In a very odd sort of way that's not exactly flattering to anyone, but it's true. "I'm Lesgle.

"Vyvyan." Vyv offers him a hand to shake.

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