01-12-2008, 05:21 AM
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and who's to blame; i could assume
the loneliness of my white room
Her drawers? No, druthers. Oh, so she could match him with a javelin spun of words — no, best him. Impressive! — but ultimately fruitless, as no matter how witty the repertoire or attractive the curves, no one got away with calling him something so undignified as Buster. He would have folded his arms right now if he could, and even so he got away with the mock-pout. "Do you know," he said, sulkiness dripping from every syllable, "my real name is not nearly so ludicrous." As a matter of fact, that was a lie: it was far more ludicrous than ever one could dream. At times he regretted naming himself so hastily. He could have done with something less convoluted, ironic — Kismet, for example. On the other hand, or rather paw, he just wouldn't be him without the name he had conjured up from the recesses of his mind all those years ago. And at least he had had the freedom to name himself... he didn't even want to contemplate existence with whatever drab common name his parents would have saddled him with.His inner child stirred as he watched the other wolf with an appraising eye, her own eyes acting as the duster for the misbegotten grime now settled comfortably on her clothing. It was an inner child that he had never indulged much, even when he'd been that child, and that was probably why it now peeked so curiously out of the darkest doldrums of his heart. This she-wolf — or Hodge-Podge, rather — for all of her elegant looks did not act very elegantly, as a matter of fact she seemed tomboyish so far. This little pup (there was a reason he disliked them) poked and prodded at the edges of his consciousness like a sperm unto an impertinent egg (if such vulgar analogies can be forgiven), alerting him to the fact that never once had it or he gone adventuring. That was bullshit if ever he'd heard it, as he certainly hadn't learnt all of his skills by living in a place like this for all of his life. This place was not so bad, but it WAS... old-fashioned. No, Shakadyn could cook and pierce and dye and dance and so many other things, and he could even magick electricity back into working order and puppeteer that mysterious thing that humans had called a computer. Unadventurous his arse. Again the child pleaded with him to shut up and listen. That was not the sort of adventuring it had been referring to. No, its idea of adventuring included a lot more daydreaming, and it did have a point, because he was not entirely sure that he could fly up and beyond the sky AND involve himself with a revolutionary pirate fight in the same day with his current methods. Hodge-Podge was eye-candy to the little wolf not for her looks but for her looks, her aura, and with less alarm than he found tasteful, he discovered that he liked it too. Well, whatever. Maybe he'd go with it. Abruptly he came to his senses and he lifted a brow at her words (he was doing that often lately)... looking down at himself perched sturdily upon four things that looked suspiciously like legs, he pointed out, "Well, I'm a perfect lady, and considering my current vantage point it seems that I have little interest in helping them up in general. It's nothing personal." That barb had been about as effective as tossing a dish sponge at a brick wall, and redirected in a way that only one such as he could redirect it. |