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xp_logsSet after this. Backdated to 3am, 8/4 because timezones are not our friends.
As he was quite practiced achieving controlled states of inebriation Marius was fairly certain this was not a hallucination, but he did wonder, briefly, whether he was having one of those dreams that occur when your brain had not yet been able to process the fact it was unconscious. He looked around the kitchen curiously. Everything appeared normal, which was vaguely distressing. Because that meant that he had indeed just encountered the person he was encountering after a night of drunken debauchery.
Then again, he reflected, the law of averages was bound to affect him at some point, and he could have been drunker. Ah! Well, right then.
Smiling brightly, Marius straightened up from the counter and waved a hand at the newcomer, just inebriated enough not to grasp any particular problem with the fact it was currently occupied by a serrated bread knife.
"Mornin'!"
Monet swayed and grabbed onto the architrave around the door, using it to swing herself into the kitchen. It was a friendly door. She ignored the sound of wood cracking and the way she'd pulled it half an inch out from the wall. What was important was the fridge. And the potential for leftover sausages. She turned, fixing on it and saw Marius.
"Hello!" Monet reached out and shook his hand or rather, the knife, fingers closing over the blade. "Um."
At a certain point between extending the blade and Monet's fingers closing around it Marius realized that perhaps extending a pointy utensil to the half-sibling one had so far encountered only through a series of notes was perhaps not the best way to build a relationship. There was a moment of fuzzy horror, which was then mercifully permeated by realization.
"I am aware that there is a distinct possibility you do not, in fact, mind," Marius said, cocking an eyebrow at the girl, "but do you think you might release your hold on my rather horrific social faux pas?"
"...huh?" Monet paused. Right. She let go of the knife, tilting her head on one side to squint at Marius. Oooh. The world went all spinney when she did that. "Look, maaaate, I know we don't know each other or any of that shit, so um. No offense but what's with the... thing?" There were hand gestures, waving fingers and she mimed talking. "Your speech patterns. What's with that? 's like you're, I dunno. Old or something. Only not." So this was her brother, huh? "You look like Dad."
Marius tsked. "I shall have you know my speech has known years of careful crafting. Nearly two decades, to be specific. What you hear before you now is a lifetime's achievement of sophistication, wit, an' thingie. Obviously we come from different circumstances. Also, it is a distinct possibility mum's first language was not English." Marius hefted what remained of the carelessly extended utensil to resume slicing the loaf, then paused. "And now, to counter your gift of life, I am owed a bread knife."
"Uhuh." Monet picked up the knife and examined it, holding it a few inches away from her face. "It's not supposed to bend there, is it? Not fucking touching a thing till I get to bed. Or soberered." She patted him on the shoulder, concentrating really hard to make sure she didn't accidentally flatten Marius. "I don't think English was your mum's first language either. Mostly cos you sound like a pansy sometimes, no offense, and no-one'd let you do that if they spoke English proper. Properly. But it's all good, since everything's kinds good right now."
"With the exception of your assessment of me. 'Pansy' carries heavy connotations of effeminacy. I am a dandy. Effeminate an' impeccably groomed. Until you correct your descriptors I have decided you are not to be trusted with this." Marius leaned amiably beneath the weight of her hand and reached over to pluck the knife out of her hand, and due to the pleasant haze still clouding his brain from his night out with Jennie the gesture was performed without even realizing Monet's proximity was failing to ping something obvious.
Lifting the confiscated knife, Marius studied the blade with the exaggerated care achieved only in a very particular stage of drunkenness. He lowered the blade and turned to Monet.
"My sister," he said in tones of drunken portent, "my dear sister, whom I have only just met. You have murdered us."
Monet just blinked at Marius. She suspected she wouldn't have really understood him sober, either. "Fine. You're a pansy arsed dandy." She grinned and clutched at his shoulder again. "Love ya, too, mate. You're my liddle brother. You're all little and kind of a whole lot taller than me." She took the knife away from him and dropped it on the bench.
Marius gave his head a grave shake. "Focus, Monet. You must focus. That" Marius pointed at the stricken knife on the bench "is our death warrant. Has it been so long since you were at the school? Generous though our father is, no amount of money in the world will purchase safe passage from the wrath of Ms. Dane."
"Lorna. Faarken hell. She's gonna fucken crack it." Monet looked around, real fear in her eyes. "I wonder if I can sort of bend it back into shape?"
The boy considered his impending fate, then turned to Monet. "Right," was the decisive word, "I have decided. In the event of my brutal murder I'm tellin' dad."
"Fine. You tell dad an' I'll be the mature, sensible one who hides the body and all the evidence."
"No, here, you're right. Perhaps you can fix it. Give it a try." Marius picked up the knife and offered it to her handle-first, yellow eyes serious. "For the good of the Family."
Monet picked up the knife and began very carefully bending the blade back against itself. "Oops. Too far." She bent it back the other way and got something that, holding it up to eye level, looked more or less like a knife again. "Victory and famamamilial honor is ours!"
The younger boy sagged in sloppy relief. "Bloody close, that. Do you see? This. This is precisely why dad saw fit to punish you. For the evils of alcohol. But I believe I can find it in my heart to forgive you. Because you are our sister. An' that is all that matters. Ah, an' also the huge needles. For the . . ." Marius raised his scarred palms and made grabby motions remarkably similar to Monet's earlier emulation of talking but with slightly more claw, "thingie."
Monet shrugged. "You're family, y'know? You're my new disturbingly tall little brother. So I had to." She paused. "And I think we need another drink. Because you're my new disturbingly tall little brother." She fished the tail end of a bottle of vodka out of her handbag. "Get us some of that orange juice they have for the little kids will you?" She grabbed a couple of mugs, pouring....some vodka into one of them. Oooh, that was a bit much. Monet very, very carefully poured half of it into the other one.
Marius regarded the extraction of vodka from her purse with an air of admiration. "You know," he said as she poured, "I do believe you may be the very best big sister ever."
"Hell yeah. I'm the best big sister ever. You're not so bad either. You're past the horrible smelly stage. I got cousins. Lots of them. They were all awful between about ten and ...whenever." Monet topped the mugs up with orange juice and raised hers. "Cheers!"
"Cheers," Marius agreed cheerfully, clicking the mug against hers. He beamed at the girl and matched her drink.
And here I thought it would be awkward.
As he was quite practiced achieving controlled states of inebriation Marius was fairly certain this was not a hallucination, but he did wonder, briefly, whether he was having one of those dreams that occur when your brain had not yet been able to process the fact it was unconscious. He looked around the kitchen curiously. Everything appeared normal, which was vaguely distressing. Because that meant that he had indeed just encountered the person he was encountering after a night of drunken debauchery.
Then again, he reflected, the law of averages was bound to affect him at some point, and he could have been drunker. Ah! Well, right then.
Smiling brightly, Marius straightened up from the counter and waved a hand at the newcomer, just inebriated enough not to grasp any particular problem with the fact it was currently occupied by a serrated bread knife.
"Mornin'!"
Monet swayed and grabbed onto the architrave around the door, using it to swing herself into the kitchen. It was a friendly door. She ignored the sound of wood cracking and the way she'd pulled it half an inch out from the wall. What was important was the fridge. And the potential for leftover sausages. She turned, fixing on it and saw Marius.
"Hello!" Monet reached out and shook his hand or rather, the knife, fingers closing over the blade. "Um."
At a certain point between extending the blade and Monet's fingers closing around it Marius realized that perhaps extending a pointy utensil to the half-sibling one had so far encountered only through a series of notes was perhaps not the best way to build a relationship. There was a moment of fuzzy horror, which was then mercifully permeated by realization.
"I am aware that there is a distinct possibility you do not, in fact, mind," Marius said, cocking an eyebrow at the girl, "but do you think you might release your hold on my rather horrific social faux pas?"
"...huh?" Monet paused. Right. She let go of the knife, tilting her head on one side to squint at Marius. Oooh. The world went all spinney when she did that. "Look, maaaate, I know we don't know each other or any of that shit, so um. No offense but what's with the... thing?" There were hand gestures, waving fingers and she mimed talking. "Your speech patterns. What's with that? 's like you're, I dunno. Old or something. Only not." So this was her brother, huh? "You look like Dad."
Marius tsked. "I shall have you know my speech has known years of careful crafting. Nearly two decades, to be specific. What you hear before you now is a lifetime's achievement of sophistication, wit, an' thingie. Obviously we come from different circumstances. Also, it is a distinct possibility mum's first language was not English." Marius hefted what remained of the carelessly extended utensil to resume slicing the loaf, then paused. "And now, to counter your gift of life, I am owed a bread knife."
"Uhuh." Monet picked up the knife and examined it, holding it a few inches away from her face. "It's not supposed to bend there, is it? Not fucking touching a thing till I get to bed. Or soberered." She patted him on the shoulder, concentrating really hard to make sure she didn't accidentally flatten Marius. "I don't think English was your mum's first language either. Mostly cos you sound like a pansy sometimes, no offense, and no-one'd let you do that if they spoke English proper. Properly. But it's all good, since everything's kinds good right now."
"With the exception of your assessment of me. 'Pansy' carries heavy connotations of effeminacy. I am a dandy. Effeminate an' impeccably groomed. Until you correct your descriptors I have decided you are not to be trusted with this." Marius leaned amiably beneath the weight of her hand and reached over to pluck the knife out of her hand, and due to the pleasant haze still clouding his brain from his night out with Jennie the gesture was performed without even realizing Monet's proximity was failing to ping something obvious.
Lifting the confiscated knife, Marius studied the blade with the exaggerated care achieved only in a very particular stage of drunkenness. He lowered the blade and turned to Monet.
"My sister," he said in tones of drunken portent, "my dear sister, whom I have only just met. You have murdered us."
Monet just blinked at Marius. She suspected she wouldn't have really understood him sober, either. "Fine. You're a pansy arsed dandy." She grinned and clutched at his shoulder again. "Love ya, too, mate. You're my liddle brother. You're all little and kind of a whole lot taller than me." She took the knife away from him and dropped it on the bench.
Marius gave his head a grave shake. "Focus, Monet. You must focus. That" Marius pointed at the stricken knife on the bench "is our death warrant. Has it been so long since you were at the school? Generous though our father is, no amount of money in the world will purchase safe passage from the wrath of Ms. Dane."
"Lorna. Faarken hell. She's gonna fucken crack it." Monet looked around, real fear in her eyes. "I wonder if I can sort of bend it back into shape?"
The boy considered his impending fate, then turned to Monet. "Right," was the decisive word, "I have decided. In the event of my brutal murder I'm tellin' dad."
"Fine. You tell dad an' I'll be the mature, sensible one who hides the body and all the evidence."
"No, here, you're right. Perhaps you can fix it. Give it a try." Marius picked up the knife and offered it to her handle-first, yellow eyes serious. "For the good of the Family."
Monet picked up the knife and began very carefully bending the blade back against itself. "Oops. Too far." She bent it back the other way and got something that, holding it up to eye level, looked more or less like a knife again. "Victory and famamamilial honor is ours!"
The younger boy sagged in sloppy relief. "Bloody close, that. Do you see? This. This is precisely why dad saw fit to punish you. For the evils of alcohol. But I believe I can find it in my heart to forgive you. Because you are our sister. An' that is all that matters. Ah, an' also the huge needles. For the . . ." Marius raised his scarred palms and made grabby motions remarkably similar to Monet's earlier emulation of talking but with slightly more claw, "thingie."
Monet shrugged. "You're family, y'know? You're my new disturbingly tall little brother. So I had to." She paused. "And I think we need another drink. Because you're my new disturbingly tall little brother." She fished the tail end of a bottle of vodka out of her handbag. "Get us some of that orange juice they have for the little kids will you?" She grabbed a couple of mugs, pouring....some vodka into one of them. Oooh, that was a bit much. Monet very, very carefully poured half of it into the other one.
Marius regarded the extraction of vodka from her purse with an air of admiration. "You know," he said as she poured, "I do believe you may be the very best big sister ever."
"Hell yeah. I'm the best big sister ever. You're not so bad either. You're past the horrible smelly stage. I got cousins. Lots of them. They were all awful between about ten and ...whenever." Monet topped the mugs up with orange juice and raised hers. "Cheers!"
"Cheers," Marius agreed cheerfully, clicking the mug against hers. He beamed at the girl and matched her drink.
And here I thought it would be awkward.
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Date: 2007-04-08 08:52 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2007-04-15 02:52 am (UTC)Great log, guys. I really enjoyed that. And yes, I'm backreading 'cause I got behind over Easter.
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Date: 2007-04-15 02:56 am (UTC)