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Still watching Supernatural. It's fun. ^____^ Though I'm not quite sure there really is a need to resort to sledge hammers where punchlines are concerned, but hey. I loved the Reaper episode. It had a grim reaper, hurting!Dean (*dies of cute*) and Blue Oyster Cult playing in the background. Goodies! One of the main reasons I liked that episode was, of course, the Reaper, but also the distinct lack of "Enter The Current Allegory* for Our Screwed (sic!) Up Family Relations, Stage Left".
No smirking. *grins*
* cause they sure ain't metaphors anymore.
So. In the spirit of the season (knowledge of Rituale Romanum helpful, but hopefully not required):
“Do you ever wear anything beside the black?” Heero asked one day. It was rather gloomy and generally unpleasant (the day, that is. Heero managed to lighten up considerably, ever since he was confronted with the black void of sub-dimensional enclosure).
“Uh, not really, no. Why? People tell me I look good in it.” Duo turned his wide eyes in the other man’s direction and blinked. Twice.
“Well, yeah. But it’s a little creepy. I mean, people could get the wrong impression.”
“Heero – I deal with the dead for a living. And not just the dead, the dead with a vengeance. How much impression do you think I need? All things considered, I think the apparel is kind of fitting.”
“People could think you’re an angsty goth emo-kid.”
“A what? Where did you get a term like that?”
“The internet, of course. Home to the sick, the disturbed, the psychopathic and people who run legitimate porn sites. The whole two of them.”
“Is this it, or do you provide other services, besides sarcasm? And by the way, I think my complexion rules out the emo-kid.”
“Actually, yes I do.” Heero grinned. Duo rolled his eyes. He was about to offer a witty rebuttal (as if anything less would do) when a sudden gust of wind announced the appearance of a whirlpool of dead leaves. Heero instinctively covered his teacup. Ectoplasm he tolerated, if he had to, as long as it stayed away from his tea.
“Ah.” Duo said, his voice brimming with the usual cheerfulness. “That would be my cue.” He stood up and stretched, a view Heero took full advantage of. Black was always classy, but the occasional flash of pale skin – well, that made class into exquisiteness. “Alright! Stay behind me, keep debris away from my cookies and uh- if stuff starts exploding, please take off.”
“Whatever.” Heero’s eyes were still riveted to the small patch of skin, usually hidden underneath the black jumper. Or a black t-shirt. Or a black jacket. Black covered it, pretty much.
Out of the corner of his eye he noticed the whirlpool approaching. It didn’t seem particularly malevolent. He suspected it wasn’t, not really, it’s just that not everyone appreciated a bunch of dead leaves rearranging their living room on a weekly basis. Hence their presence. Well, hence Duo’s presence. He just tagged along for reasons he admitted only late at night and after a few drinks.
Besides, it was entertainment. He met people, which Duo insisted he should. Living people, even. Either way, it was fun. He guessed that’s what happened when you had an exorcist for a boyfriend.
All in all, Heero thought stretching his long legs out underneath the veranda table, life was good.
It was only when the swiveling mass of tree droppings and wind hit them, he felt obliged to revise his previous statement: life was good… despite the ever-present creepy factor.
No smirking. *grins*
* cause they sure ain't metaphors anymore.
So. In the spirit of the season (knowledge of Rituale Romanum helpful, but hopefully not required):
“Do you ever wear anything beside the black?” Heero asked one day. It was rather gloomy and generally unpleasant (the day, that is. Heero managed to lighten up considerably, ever since he was confronted with the black void of sub-dimensional enclosure).
“Uh, not really, no. Why? People tell me I look good in it.” Duo turned his wide eyes in the other man’s direction and blinked. Twice.
“Well, yeah. But it’s a little creepy. I mean, people could get the wrong impression.”
“Heero – I deal with the dead for a living. And not just the dead, the dead with a vengeance. How much impression do you think I need? All things considered, I think the apparel is kind of fitting.”
“People could think you’re an angsty goth emo-kid.”
“A what? Where did you get a term like that?”
“The internet, of course. Home to the sick, the disturbed, the psychopathic and people who run legitimate porn sites. The whole two of them.”
“Is this it, or do you provide other services, besides sarcasm? And by the way, I think my complexion rules out the emo-kid.”
“Actually, yes I do.” Heero grinned. Duo rolled his eyes. He was about to offer a witty rebuttal (as if anything less would do) when a sudden gust of wind announced the appearance of a whirlpool of dead leaves. Heero instinctively covered his teacup. Ectoplasm he tolerated, if he had to, as long as it stayed away from his tea.
“Ah.” Duo said, his voice brimming with the usual cheerfulness. “That would be my cue.” He stood up and stretched, a view Heero took full advantage of. Black was always classy, but the occasional flash of pale skin – well, that made class into exquisiteness. “Alright! Stay behind me, keep debris away from my cookies and uh- if stuff starts exploding, please take off.”
“Whatever.” Heero’s eyes were still riveted to the small patch of skin, usually hidden underneath the black jumper. Or a black t-shirt. Or a black jacket. Black covered it, pretty much.
Out of the corner of his eye he noticed the whirlpool approaching. It didn’t seem particularly malevolent. He suspected it wasn’t, not really, it’s just that not everyone appreciated a bunch of dead leaves rearranging their living room on a weekly basis. Hence their presence. Well, hence Duo’s presence. He just tagged along for reasons he admitted only late at night and after a few drinks.
Besides, it was entertainment. He met people, which Duo insisted he should. Living people, even. Either way, it was fun. He guessed that’s what happened when you had an exorcist for a boyfriend.
All in all, Heero thought stretching his long legs out underneath the veranda table, life was good.
It was only when the swiveling mass of tree droppings and wind hit them, he felt obliged to revise his previous statement: life was good… despite the ever-present creepy factor.
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slashyfun! I'm a sick, sick bunny. x.X But really, they should lay off the hammers. Hints, people. They work.now, incestuous insinuations on the other hand...Thank you. *grins*
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Nope, IV is not dead. I already got started on the ending. I just have trouble with capturing one situation, which sadly is rather crucial. *pouts* How do you realistically make everyone spill their guts? x.X
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*pouts* How do you realistically make everyone spill their guts? x.X
Isn't that obvious? You drug them! :D Or put them under hypnosis! :DD Or threaten their loved ones! :DDD See? Lots of ways.
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... heeeeey. That's an idea! *starts scribbling furiously*
Oh, the story is finished already, I just need to piece the actual written bits together, so that they make sense!
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