(Untitled)

[2020sight]

There is a pair of very large boots up on a table, connected to a pair of very long legs, connected to a very tall man . . .

Who is snoring very loudly, with a newspaper covering his face.

Very classy.

That glass of very fine whiskey on the table is probably feeling very abandoned.

Comments

[notboundnow]

Not for long!

Hey, consider it back payment on couch space.

Plus Epimetheus is a lazy bum, and he's got a brother with sticky fingers.

Prometheus drops down into an adjacent seat, whiskey in hand, and props his own boots up on the table with a happy sigh.

[2020sight]

Zzzzzsnort.

Epimetheus delicately lifts the bottom edge of the paper and peers out.

". . . Is that mine?"

[notboundnow]

"No," Prometheus says calmly, and enjoys an oh-so-marvelous sip.

[2020sight]

Epimetheus is Suspicious.

[notboundnow]

"If it was yours, you'd be drinking it," Older Brother points out sensibly. "I think the facts speak for themselves here."

Consider this a free demonstration of the ancient philosophic principle "you snooze, you lose."

[2020sight]

"I think it's a terrible thing when one brother sees fit to take advantage of his own flesh and blood," Younger Brother replies, aggrieved but stoic.

[notboundnow]

"And I think it's a terrible thing that any brother of mine could leave so fine a thing as this alone and defenseless in a bar." Another sip. "Just think of it. Anyone could have come along and swiped it. Be grateful it was me." He crosses his ankles with a distinct air of superiority. That's shocking.

[2020sight]

"Be grateful it was an unshaven, unemployed scalawag?" He tosses the paper to the table, shaking his head. "Heavens preserve us."

[notboundnow]

Prometheus snorts.

And lazily kicks at his brother's feet.

"You're feeling so bitchy, get another one. How about that for a beautiful arrangement?"

[2020sight]

Epimetheus kicks back, then gives this due consideration and raises a hand.

"Garçon?"

A waitrat obligingly scurries up, and Epimetheus orders another glass, adding "And bring the bottle, why don't you."

[notboundnow]

Prometheus slouches further down into the seat, quite pleased with both himself and the situation at hand.

"And what are you talking about?" he announces, backtracking with no warning. "I've shaved." Pause. "Recently."

Definitely in the past two days.

Possibly.

[2020sight]

". . . Yeah-huh."

[notboundnow]

He absently runs one hand over his face.

Yeah, okay, maybe that's a point there.

The moment totally calls for a retaliatory remark about pomade, though. Just saying.

[[ooc: AUGH. Must pass out. Slow is love? <3333]]

[2020sight]

[ooc: Slow is love! <3]

Bring it on, boy. Epimetheus feels Prometheus is hardly in a position to throw stones, there.