Apr 03, 2008 21:53
Epimetheus never came back to Prometheus' apartment last night. That's not that odd.
But him sauntering through the door this morning, whistling, in an almost cliche display of insufferable smugness? That kind of is.
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Prometheus emerges from the bathroom with a razor in one hand and a good portion of his face lathered up. He's a little squinty, but there's no mistaking that swagger. He just doesn't see it on his brother very much. Or ever.
"You look cheery," he remarks, frowning.
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"Not until you tell me why you're dragging ass back here like I ain't seen you do in, oh, a couple hundred years."
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He attempts to return the blob; it ends up on the carpet.
"A gentleman," he announces, "doesn't kiss and tell."
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