Comments | absolute_logs: Incomplete.

pseudism in absolute_logs

Incomplete.

Oct 04, 2008 19:25

Who: Smoker brandedjustice and Giovanni pseudism.
What: Dogs make good wallpaper.
Where: Commodore's Office.
When: Ohhh, how about now. Now's good. I like now.

( All pain disappears. It's the nature of, of my circuitry. )

incomplete logs, op: smoker, dogs: giovanni

Comments 7

brandedjustice October 4 2008, 19:12:39 UTC

Smoker had been pretty good to ignore Giovanni the last few days. With his wounds having been tended to the night of the fight and the paperwork that followed the monster incident, the Commodore had been up to his ears in bullshit, so the little nymph strapped to his wall didn't really bothering him as much as it should have. However, now with the dwindling excitement and the dull roar of complaints that followed, Smoker was beginning to lose his patience ( ... )

pseudism October 4 2008, 22:30:38 UTC

Giovanni watched Smoker as he shifted, attention fixed on his movements. Not out of hunger, certainly not out of any desire to be fed. If anything, this was a time of day that he didn't particularly look forward to, not least of all because of Smoker's term for it. Perhaps he was a dog. But he wasn't the kind of dog who would stay leashed to the wall, and he wasn't the kind of dog who ate from bowls, and he wasn't the kind of dog whose hunger could be satisfied by anything Smoker was going to give him ( ... )

brandedjustice October 5 2008, 00:32:57 UTC

The can was placed right in Giovanni's range before Smoker returned to the desk and slammed the end of the letter opener into the firm wood work; it stuck there, even as he left, smoke entrails nipping his heels. A firm creek sounded his retirement to the back of the desk; two muffled thumps followed as Smoker peeled out butts from his mouth and replaced them with two, fresh cigars ( ... )

pseudism October 5 2008, 22:44:48 UTC

That answer wasn't half as interesting as what he'd been hoping for. Giovanni's mouth pressed in a thin line, neutral, almost conveying his disappointment; as the can was put down, he extended a foot, hooked his heel around it and drew it closer to inspect. He made no move to pick it up with his free and wounded hand, but seemed content to let the tin sit there, contents to the open air.

Cold, precooked, processed meat. His stomach felt hollow at the smell, a feeling that wasn't exactly hunger.

"... Are you sure? I think Heine would be thrilled." He tipped his head back again, tried to imagine how his dear brother might look if he heard that Giovanni had been executed.

Or perhaps he wouldn't be thrilled. Perhaps, in some form, he'd find it unfair that Smoker was the one who got to kill Giovanni after what he'd subjected Heine to - but somehow, somehow, he doubted it. It was personal, of course. It was personal between all of them, by their own judgment. Smoker had said the same. Heine had said the same. And Giovanni could hardly ( ... )

Thread 7