(Untitled)

[provenhumanity]

It seemed like it had been so long since George was in a good mood that he'd almost forgotten what it felt like. For over a month now, it seemed as though there had always been a cloud over him, weighing him down with guilt. Of course none of it was his fault; no one could really be blamed for the way the island brought people and took them away,

Comments

[turnedtoproust]

It's practically live-theatre, Scripps reckons. He's had a scant amount of time, but finding the places to eat had been the top of the list. When he'd wandered in and seen Rudge of all people, he'd practically fell over with the joy of it all. And yet, as Hector always did love to say, there was an antithesis -- an antidote.

It becomes clear near-instantly that it's not Rudge. It's not Rudge and Scripps has been eating here with deep fascination over the differences. He almost feels like he ought to have a ticket in hand for this sort of entertainment.

[provenhumanity]

George was being watched.

He hadn't noticed at first, what with how preoccupied he'd been-- first with preparing dinner, then with about a million other little things just afterward-- but after a while, it had become incredibly obvious. To the boy's credit, at least, he hadn't been glaringly noticeable, but it was still more than a bit weird.

"Is-- is everything alright?" he finally asked, figuring that it was best to confront the problem head-on. He didn't want to end up with another Percy situation on his hands, after all.

[turnedtoproust]

Scripps clears his throat, readying himself for the last bastion of testing -- the one thing that can prove to him whether or not this is Rudge or whether it's someone else entirely. "Tout comprendre c'est tout pardonner," he offers offhand, like he's a secret agent meeting someone int he middle of a leafy park to exchange state secrets.

[provenhumanity]

George blinked a few times, a little taken aback.

"Okay. War and Peace," he said, under his breath. It was never the normal ones who came in during his shift, was it?

"Do you-- do you speak any English? Parlez-vous anglais?"

[turnedtoproust]

Scripps shakes his head, laughing at his own idiocy in being so covert and mysterious. He deserves every moment of humiliation that might come. "Sorry," he says, shaking his head. "No, really, I'm sorry. You look like a mate. He always used to go around saying that, I thought...well, surely, I thought if you were Rudge, you wouldn't be able to resist." He shifts his momentum upon his chair and extends a hand out to the man. "I'm Scripps. Sorry for all the staring, it's an uncanny resemblance -- especially around the ears," he admits apologetically with a gesture to said area.

[provenhumanity]

"Right," George replied, wholly unamused. He'd heard just about every comment there was, when it came to ears, but it wasn't that bit that caused his forehead to crease as he frowned. He mostly hoped that the "uncanny resemblance" was the sort of resemblance not brought on by the island's eccentricities. The last thing he needed was to suddenly have a duplicate of himself walking around the island.

"George Sands." He shakes Scripps's hand anyway, despite the awkwardness.

[turnedtoproust]

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Scripps replies, instantly sliding into an apologetic frame of mind. He can't imagine that being stared at is any good, neither is being assumed to be something you're not -- after all, did Jesus ever really find it tolerable to be mistaken for a trouble-causing bloke? "Are you the one responsible for the cooking?" Scripps asks, gesturing with his fork. "My mate could never have done that. Actually, few of us could. They don't teach you much cooking in the course of history."