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xp_logs2015-05-12 10:38 pm
x-dominion.livejournal.com) wrote in xp_logs2015-05-12 10:38 pm
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The Slobdays - Warren
Kane gets a visitor in in miserableness who is winged, blond, rich and any number of hittable things.
What was it with being miserable that drew people to come and talk to you? Kane pondered over a handful of cheesies, watching recorded Stanley Cup playoff games. It felt like the right decision. After all, his Leafs had been so bad that he was sure that they lost their playoff chances for next year already. Watching hockey rivals like the Canucks or the Senators play was agony.
Seriously, the fucking Senators!
So this was the elusive Kane. Warren had heard of him, obviously, but he'd never met him. In fact, Warren had been wondering if the man even existed.
Dressed in his own version of casual clothes (grey slacks, white button up and a plaid sweater on top), Warren entered the room. "Are fingers supposed to be that orange?"
"Yes." Although it didn't explain the spot of pizza sauce on his temple. Kane was watching the television intently. "Come on Habs! No way the Ducks make the next tier."
Adrienne clearly took care of this man. Curiously, Warren turned his attention to the tv. "Why are you watching old hockey games?"
"Because there was a Beachcomers marathon on last night and I missed the game." He looked up from the couch. Great, it was that Warren guy. The one person that had to show up while he was wallowing was the pretty walking sex affair that hit on Adrienne.
Warren shrugged as he sat down at armchair. "It just seems like you'd be spoiled for it by now. Aren't sports a big thing where scores are announced on the news?"
"I'm ignoring the scores so I can watch the game." He paused, holding out the Moosehead of peace to Warren. "Are you comfortable watching it with me."
That was a strange way to put it. "Are you asking because there's a reason I shouldn't be?," Warren asked cautiously. "Because if you're worried about something, you shouldn't be."
"You are entering my Fortress of Miserableness without a case of beer. That shows you have no idea what is happening here, eh." Kane made vague waving gestures with his hands. "So, you either don't get it or you've just made the wrong turn in the hallway."
"I don't get it," Warren confessed, "but you seem infinitely more interesting than the hallway. I can get beer if that's the price to enter this room."
"Bring beer, feathered Fratboy!" Kane announced it in a theatrical way. "Come with Moosehead or do not come at all!"
Less than a half hour later, Warren was back with the aforementioned beer. The entire time, he wondered why he was going out of his way to be friendly. It was really for potential brownie points from Adrienne. He didn't need her mad again. She was scary.
"I really don't like hockey," Warren announced, trying best to underatand it. "What's the appeal? Men in armour, skating on their blade, all to stick something in a net. It's like pseudo sex on ice."
Garrison took a deep breath. Loud enough to be obvious. "This is hockey. This is the purist form of competition that has ever existed. There is a goal, there is a puck; there are five men against five men moving against opposite goalies."
Sports had never been appealing to Warren so he said as much. "Sure, but at the end, what's resolved? Bragging rights? Which, don't get me wrong, are a wonderful, beautiful thing. But what are you bragging about? Superb athleticism? The skill of throwing another man's shiet over his head?". He paused. "I'm not being facetious. I'm genuinely curious. I don't understand the motivation behind sports."
Was this guy for real? It was like getting attacked by a finely tailored Rain Man. Check, an incredibly wealthy finely tailored Rain Man. "Alright, assume for a moment you're not rich as balls and regardless of the decisions you make, you'll still be able to bang co-eds in the back of a club you own."
Warren made a strange face. This was obviously going over his head. "Of course I'd still get whoever I wanted. Even being penniless doesn't hide the fact that I'm a perfect specimen. Charm, physique.."
"Enh. Douchiness. But what if the girl you wanted loved the Sens? Or the Jets? Or the Leafs? This is Canadian, my son. What do you tell her?"
"That it works perfectly because I like having my Sundays to myself?"
"Sunday is game day, Princess." Kane passed over the cheesies. "We have hit playoff war now."
Warren debated accepting the snack until he realized no napkins were present. He didn't need an orange tinge to his fingers. Shaking his head, he took a swig of his drink. "Either way. I can't imagine being committed to someone long enough to care what they watch. So long as they pay attention to me when I'm there."
"Why? You're a rich white guy who I assume is mostly straight. You really need to have someone buy into your ego to be your partner? I know you and Jean imploded but maybe consider dialing it back? You hit on my girlfriend. You hit on a bunch of single women. You have the money to arrange your own blowjobs nightly. So this sporting thing makes me think it's about the power and the ego boost, and that isn't cool."
Warren simply laughed in response. "You do read into things, don't you. I assure you, I don't need more power. My ego, yes, I do enjoy it being inflated. However, I will apologise for flirting with Adrienne and will endeavour to treat her with more respect. I enjoy charming people and making them feel good. What better way than with a compliment?"
"Try not to base it around putting your dick into them.' Kane took a long swallow. "Just saying."
Warren shrugged. "It is what it is. Besides, out of the 100 times I try, it works about 75% of the time. The other 25% are those I keep around as friends."
"I am willing to bet your ratios are wrong." Kane paused and suddenly whooped. "Yes, sneak it in!"
Warren nodded. "I was being cautious. It's probably more of a 90/10 split."
"Wow. Man, I hate to say it, but you are so fucking hittable. You're a rich, blonde, white douche." Kane said, hands making random gestures. "There has to be something else. Please, tell me, there's something else?"
The blonde shook his head sadly. "I was even raised by a Hispanic nanny. There's really no hope for me." Warren sighed dramatically. "And if you do have to hit me, please -- not on the face. Bruises are so hard to colour coordinate."
"Nah. My girlfriend likes you. But, as mentioned, if you try and fuck her, I will pull your dick off and throw it into the East river."
Warren lifted his drink in agreement. "I can get behind that."
Kane clanked a bottle with him. "Alright, so the Habs are going to dominate at this point."
"Fantastic.". Warren hesitated before continuing. "Am I supposed to know what a hab is to enjoy this?"Kane sighed. He'd promised Adrienne he'd give Angel a fair chance, but he was tempting to drown him in the ceremonial garden out front. "The Habs are... you know what, drink your beer."
"Aye aye."
What was it with being miserable that drew people to come and talk to you? Kane pondered over a handful of cheesies, watching recorded Stanley Cup playoff games. It felt like the right decision. After all, his Leafs had been so bad that he was sure that they lost their playoff chances for next year already. Watching hockey rivals like the Canucks or the Senators play was agony.
Seriously, the fucking Senators!
So this was the elusive Kane. Warren had heard of him, obviously, but he'd never met him. In fact, Warren had been wondering if the man even existed.
Dressed in his own version of casual clothes (grey slacks, white button up and a plaid sweater on top), Warren entered the room. "Are fingers supposed to be that orange?"
"Yes." Although it didn't explain the spot of pizza sauce on his temple. Kane was watching the television intently. "Come on Habs! No way the Ducks make the next tier."
Adrienne clearly took care of this man. Curiously, Warren turned his attention to the tv. "Why are you watching old hockey games?"
"Because there was a Beachcomers marathon on last night and I missed the game." He looked up from the couch. Great, it was that Warren guy. The one person that had to show up while he was wallowing was the pretty walking sex affair that hit on Adrienne.
Warren shrugged as he sat down at armchair. "It just seems like you'd be spoiled for it by now. Aren't sports a big thing where scores are announced on the news?"
"I'm ignoring the scores so I can watch the game." He paused, holding out the Moosehead of peace to Warren. "Are you comfortable watching it with me."
That was a strange way to put it. "Are you asking because there's a reason I shouldn't be?," Warren asked cautiously. "Because if you're worried about something, you shouldn't be."
"You are entering my Fortress of Miserableness without a case of beer. That shows you have no idea what is happening here, eh." Kane made vague waving gestures with his hands. "So, you either don't get it or you've just made the wrong turn in the hallway."
"I don't get it," Warren confessed, "but you seem infinitely more interesting than the hallway. I can get beer if that's the price to enter this room."
"Bring beer, feathered Fratboy!" Kane announced it in a theatrical way. "Come with Moosehead or do not come at all!"
Less than a half hour later, Warren was back with the aforementioned beer. The entire time, he wondered why he was going out of his way to be friendly. It was really for potential brownie points from Adrienne. He didn't need her mad again. She was scary.
"I really don't like hockey," Warren announced, trying best to underatand it. "What's the appeal? Men in armour, skating on their blade, all to stick something in a net. It's like pseudo sex on ice."
Garrison took a deep breath. Loud enough to be obvious. "This is hockey. This is the purist form of competition that has ever existed. There is a goal, there is a puck; there are five men against five men moving against opposite goalies."
Sports had never been appealing to Warren so he said as much. "Sure, but at the end, what's resolved? Bragging rights? Which, don't get me wrong, are a wonderful, beautiful thing. But what are you bragging about? Superb athleticism? The skill of throwing another man's shiet over his head?". He paused. "I'm not being facetious. I'm genuinely curious. I don't understand the motivation behind sports."
Was this guy for real? It was like getting attacked by a finely tailored Rain Man. Check, an incredibly wealthy finely tailored Rain Man. "Alright, assume for a moment you're not rich as balls and regardless of the decisions you make, you'll still be able to bang co-eds in the back of a club you own."
Warren made a strange face. This was obviously going over his head. "Of course I'd still get whoever I wanted. Even being penniless doesn't hide the fact that I'm a perfect specimen. Charm, physique.."
"Enh. Douchiness. But what if the girl you wanted loved the Sens? Or the Jets? Or the Leafs? This is Canadian, my son. What do you tell her?"
"That it works perfectly because I like having my Sundays to myself?"
"Sunday is game day, Princess." Kane passed over the cheesies. "We have hit playoff war now."
Warren debated accepting the snack until he realized no napkins were present. He didn't need an orange tinge to his fingers. Shaking his head, he took a swig of his drink. "Either way. I can't imagine being committed to someone long enough to care what they watch. So long as they pay attention to me when I'm there."
"Why? You're a rich white guy who I assume is mostly straight. You really need to have someone buy into your ego to be your partner? I know you and Jean imploded but maybe consider dialing it back? You hit on my girlfriend. You hit on a bunch of single women. You have the money to arrange your own blowjobs nightly. So this sporting thing makes me think it's about the power and the ego boost, and that isn't cool."
Warren simply laughed in response. "You do read into things, don't you. I assure you, I don't need more power. My ego, yes, I do enjoy it being inflated. However, I will apologise for flirting with Adrienne and will endeavour to treat her with more respect. I enjoy charming people and making them feel good. What better way than with a compliment?"
"Try not to base it around putting your dick into them.' Kane took a long swallow. "Just saying."
Warren shrugged. "It is what it is. Besides, out of the 100 times I try, it works about 75% of the time. The other 25% are those I keep around as friends."
"I am willing to bet your ratios are wrong." Kane paused and suddenly whooped. "Yes, sneak it in!"
Warren nodded. "I was being cautious. It's probably more of a 90/10 split."
"Wow. Man, I hate to say it, but you are so fucking hittable. You're a rich, blonde, white douche." Kane said, hands making random gestures. "There has to be something else. Please, tell me, there's something else?"
The blonde shook his head sadly. "I was even raised by a Hispanic nanny. There's really no hope for me." Warren sighed dramatically. "And if you do have to hit me, please -- not on the face. Bruises are so hard to colour coordinate."
"Nah. My girlfriend likes you. But, as mentioned, if you try and fuck her, I will pull your dick off and throw it into the East river."
Warren lifted his drink in agreement. "I can get behind that."
Kane clanked a bottle with him. "Alright, so the Habs are going to dominate at this point."
"Fantastic.". Warren hesitated before continuing. "Am I supposed to know what a hab is to enjoy this?"Kane sighed. He'd promised Adrienne he'd give Angel a fair chance, but he was tempting to drown him in the ceremonial garden out front. "The Habs are... you know what, drink your beer."
"Aye aye."
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