| closed / incomplete |

[nevermercy]

CHARACTERS: Mordred (modraed) & Agravaine (nevermercy)
DATE/TIME: Today, who cares when
LOCATION: The littler one's apartment
RATING: R
WARNINGS: Bitchy Arthurians. Language, booze.
SUMMARY: Time to be a good big brother.

Comments

[modraed]

Slouched on the floor with his back up against the couch, Mordred was jolted out of his angry musings by Agravaine's knocking. He had known even as soon as he posted his humorous entry that his father would not be thrilled, but had expected a little more understanding from his mother, considering their recent talks.

That was what he loathed about his father though, now that he thought about it. Arthur had always been so serious, so lacking any of the warmth or fatherly qualities that Mordred wanted from him. And despite his claims to the contrary, Mordred did truly want to forge a good relationship with the man. There would be no forgiving of the past; hard to tell someone 'I understand' when they tried to have you killed before you could wipe your own arse; but that didn't change the desire to connect. Even Agravaine was recognized in a fashion by Lot.

Speaking of Agravaine, Mordred lurched to his feet and ambled over to the door. Yanking it open, he took the paper bag from his brother and stood aside.

god i want new york style pizza ;;

[nevermercy]

It was a good thing that rudeness never bothered Agravaine. Being a fucking asshole really had its quirks sometimes, such as being able to ignore displays of rude behaviour. So the lack of a greeting barely fazed him as he (gingerly) lowered himself toward the floor to pick up the pizza box.

"Bitches at the pizza place got my order wrong the first time, so I had to wait for them to remake it." Before passing his brother, he let his gaze fall to the bag, and then raised his eyebrows at the younger man.

"And half of that's mine. No fucking excuses."

i had that for lunch

[modraed]

If his brother was bothered by his rudeness he didn't have to stay, as far as Mordred was concerned. This was his drunken bitter time, and Agravaine had invited himself over. It wasn't like he was an expected guest or anything like that. Setting the bag on the table, he went to grab plates.

"Idiots, the lot of them. I suppose a thank you is in order. I didn't feel like cooking something." Not that he would have cooked, that's what take-out was invented for.

"Didn't know you liked Smitticks," he smirked, his Cockey accent coming out.

/invades your stomach

[nevermercy]

Agravaine only snorted at the thanks. He never did things to receive a thank you, which was why when people gave them to him, his only reaction was to roll his eyes. The pizza box slid across the table, skidding about a foot and angling itself toward the other wall.

"It's been a long day and I don't give a shit about brand names right now," he gruffly shot right back. Unlike his younger brother, no hidden accent ever slipped out. At least he didn't have a retarded Brooklyn accent. Some of the assholes in this city really had it thick.