Openeth

[le_desirous]

A mug of very hot coffee with a dash of pálinka; unashamedly modern garb--jeans and a turtleneck sweater and a knit scarf; and a seat on the railing of the porch, one leg curled around a white-painted rail to keep his balance; and Sagramore is well-prepared to take what the world is inevitably going to throw at him. It always does.

Comments

[illgotten]

"What the hell are you doing?" mildly.

[le_desirous]

"What the hell does it look like?"

[illgotten]

"It looks like you're loafing unrepentantly." Mordred detours to punch him in the shoulder.

[le_desirous]

"Entirely possible." Being punched, he catches the longer supporting column to keep his balance.

[illgotten]

"Likely, even."

[le_desirous]

"Occasionally I wish you didn't always think the worst of me."

[illgotten]

"Consider it a compliment. What have you been doing with yourself?"

[le_desirous]

"Nothing that would remotely interest you."

[illgotten]

"No?"

[le_desirous]

"Not at all. What have you been doing?"

[illgotten]

He leans against the column. "Encountering more weird shit by the day. What else is new?"

[le_desirous]

"Something particularly?"

[illgotten]

A vague gesture. "Long story."

[le_desirous]

"Oh, I want to hear."

[illgotten]

"No," firmly, "you really don't. Ask me about the time I got turned into an honest to God modern, instead."

[le_desirous]

"A what? This one you'll explain, instead of leaving me with tantalising, mysterious hints?"