Adonis v Adonis
I'm kicking this back to venusorbit1- not quite as funny as her's, but you do have to give Ace credit for his unrealistic levels or pretentiousness....
VO1's fic found here - Adonis v. Adonis
Ace puts down his not-yet-too-corporate iPhone to check out his closet. Trying to play the role of the coolkat, he strut across the room because it would be so overdone-Hollywood if if he yanked open the closet door. Like there was going to be a crazed killer in there or something....ha!
As he pulls open the closet door he greeted with the sight of a red sash fluttering to the floor. Dismissing it as some random object left behind by one of those fake Ukrainian accented models (oh yes, he recognized that bridge-and-tunnel accent when she called out his name the other night), he picked it up and threw it into the trash can. Like he would let some wannabe yuppie fucker try and pull that "oh-did-I-leave-this-at-your-place" routine.
Bored, he stopped to look in the mirror one more time thinking to himself that maybe he would dye his hair with black ink as a statement to the current state of the environment. But that would have to wait until he was done with his new guerilla piece. Well that and he had a date with what's her face anorexic artist chick who claimed that she was starving herself as a tribute to those children around the world who went hungry every night or some shit like that. She had only just started her "societal awareness project" so was still curvy in all the right places. She had been so enamored with his blonde hair that he supposed the least he could do was leave it that color until after he slept with her.
He walked out into the living and paused, noticing the man who was a near replica of himself sitting on his couch. The man's clothes were sharply pressed, but god only knows where he's been and Ace didn't particularly feel like replacing his couch - especially now that the goodwill had gone corporate and the Salavation Army just didn't have what he was looking for.
"Did that su-yung-la," Ace waved his hand airily as he still couldn't seem to get the name right, "let you in?" The other man stared at him as if he didn't comprehend the words being spoken to him. Fantastic. He asks for an assistant and he gets some hipster wannabe who's mute. "Do you at least have your own supplies?" he asked loudly, making sure to pronounce each syllable.
The other man stood up and Ace rolled his eyes at the sight of the long sword resting against the other man's hip. He never found those industrial sized pocket knives to be trendy in the first place. This though, was just overkill on a bad trend. "Whatever," Ace muttered as he lit a Parliament cigarette, exhaling the smoke through his nose as he looked at the swatch on his wrist. "We need to get a move on. There are about 1500 deathboxes to go and I just don't have time to explain this. I hope that you write better than you speak." Without another look at the man whose hand was now resting tightly against the hilt of his ornate sword, Ace strutted out the front door.
VO1's fic found here - Adonis v. Adonis
Ace puts down his not-yet-too-corporate iPhone to check out his closet. Trying to play the role of the coolkat, he strut across the room because it would be so overdone-Hollywood if if he yanked open the closet door. Like there was going to be a crazed killer in there or something....ha!
As he pulls open the closet door he greeted with the sight of a red sash fluttering to the floor. Dismissing it as some random object left behind by one of those fake Ukrainian accented models (oh yes, he recognized that bridge-and-tunnel accent when she called out his name the other night), he picked it up and threw it into the trash can. Like he would let some wannabe yuppie fucker try and pull that "oh-did-I-leave-this-at-your-place" routine.
Bored, he stopped to look in the mirror one more time thinking to himself that maybe he would dye his hair with black ink as a statement to the current state of the environment. But that would have to wait until he was done with his new guerilla piece. Well that and he had a date with what's her face anorexic artist chick who claimed that she was starving herself as a tribute to those children around the world who went hungry every night or some shit like that. She had only just started her "societal awareness project" so was still curvy in all the right places. She had been so enamored with his blonde hair that he supposed the least he could do was leave it that color until after he slept with her.
He walked out into the living and paused, noticing the man who was a near replica of himself sitting on his couch. The man's clothes were sharply pressed, but god only knows where he's been and Ace didn't particularly feel like replacing his couch - especially now that the goodwill had gone corporate and the Salavation Army just didn't have what he was looking for.
"Did that su-yung-la," Ace waved his hand airily as he still couldn't seem to get the name right, "let you in?" The other man stared at him as if he didn't comprehend the words being spoken to him. Fantastic. He asks for an assistant and he gets some hipster wannabe who's mute. "Do you at least have your own supplies?" he asked loudly, making sure to pronounce each syllable.
The other man stood up and Ace rolled his eyes at the sight of the long sword resting against the other man's hip. He never found those industrial sized pocket knives to be trendy in the first place. This though, was just overkill on a bad trend. "Whatever," Ace muttered as he lit a Parliament cigarette, exhaling the smoke through his nose as he looked at the swatch on his wrist. "We need to get a move on. There are about 1500 deathboxes to go and I just don't have time to explain this. I hope that you write better than you speak." Without another look at the man whose hand was now resting tightly against the hilt of his ornate sword, Ace strutted out the front door.