(Untitled)

[igottawrite]

It's Sunday.

Two days ago, it was Friday.

On Friday, there was no show.

That may not be true, but the alternate option -- that there was a show, but he had no hand in it -- is even worse to contemplate, so Matt's just gonna not for the moment

Comments

[omniscient_pa]

Here, Matt. Have a coffee.

It has alcohol in it.

"Someone told me that time doesn't pass outside while you're here. So when we get out, it should be... the same time as when we got in."

[igottawrite]

"Uh-huh." He picks up the coffee and examines it, suspiciously. "Suzanne, do you imagine that it's any comfort to me that time is possibly frozen at a moment when Harry is busying herself with Luke?"

The other man's name comes out much the same way any other person would pronounce judgement on something preserved in a jar of formaldehyfe.

[omniscient_pa]

"It has alcohol. I figured the combined effect with the caffeine might even you out. Or at least make you feel better."

She sighs. "I don't think she's doing that. She's probably rehearsing. Or sleeping. Or doing something. Not 'busying herself'." Because in Suzanne's mind, that means sex. And she doesn't think Harriet would do that. Not with Luke. Yet.

[igottawrite]

"It would take a lot more than that to 'even me out,' but I appreciate the effort." He downs a large gulp, rather ill-advisedly, as the coffee's not exactly cold yet. Which might be a good thing, as it's hard to tell whether he's bugging his eyes and waving his free hand around because of the image of Harry doing wonderful horrible things to Luke in a bed, or because he's burned his tongue.

[hungbyathread]

You rang?

"You look particularly lost."

And some of Geoffrey's massive amount of therapy shows (to himself, mostly) as he begins to contemplate the idea that this character in the puppet show that his brain has concocted is an expression of his own fears and confusions.

Then again, considering that he looks like
himself, and he's holding a plunger and grinning somewhat manically, well, er...

[igottawrite]

Hey, the plunger's not going to bother Matt: he writes sketch comedy for a living. The grin, on the other hand, he does know as a warning sign, but he's too bumfuzzled to care much at the moment.

"I'm not so much lost as kicked off the map entirely. It's a warzone out there: people are getting turned into muppets."

Also a danger of working in Hollywood, but less so than you'd think.

[hungbyathread]

"Have you seen a foppish idiot in a pin-stripe suit and fur?"

...well, the last he'd heard of Darren Nichols, he'd been considering a puppet oolony in German or something. It wasn't as if he kept tabs on the man other than to find new things to point out when he said 'if you want to be a good director? don't do that.'

"Though I can't imagine why, since puppets really weren't on my mind--well, there was Tim Curry--"

One might wonder as to Geoffrey's rather stream of consciousness manner of speaking at the moment. Mostly, however, it stems from the fact that he's sure the entirity of the bar is a delusion. You don't have to explain yourself to... yourself. Usually. Unless you don't understand yourself, which can happen at times. Thus:

"Forget it," he says with a dismissive wiggle of fingers.

[igottawrite]

...actually, they might be able to get along. This is the man who decided that Juliette Lewis ought to host Meet the Press, among other harebrained recurring scenarios.

Besides, Matt was a theater major in college. He didn't get into comedy for ages. Theater is his first home; he knows the mindset.

"Sorry, I'm a bit short on Oscar Wilde characters at the moment. Tim Curry would make a great host, though..." He stares off into the middle distance for a moment.