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Give me your rentboys, your whores, your not quite monogamous masses yearning to. Well. You know.

Location: A room. Of some sort.
Time: Not important, but probably late afternoon to early evening.

Seth Cuthbert, a small, slight boy with short Holocaust survivor hair stepped into the room. He stared at each of the gray walls, then sat down on a couch that seemed to be one of the main decorative features. After a moment, he was confronted by the entrance of another boy, an equally small, pretty sort of a boy in a top hat and a cravat. They were men's clothes, although the boy looked hardly older than sixteen. Seth blinked. "Hello," he said.

"Hello," said the pretty boy. "I'm the Saint. Who are you?"

"I'm Seth Cuthbert," said Seth, slightly puzzled. "You're a saint?"

"No. The Saint. It is different," the Saint informed him laboriously, and sat down next to him on the couch, a good deal closer than Seth would have liked. "And now," he added. "We wait."

"We wait for what?" asked Seth somewhat nervously. There was something fundamentally indecent about the Saint.

The Saint shrugged. "For the people to come. I expect they will. I," he added, with a flourish of one hand, "am a magnet. For people. Pretty people especially."

"I think you give yourself too much credit," said Seth

"You're here, aren't you?" pointed out the Saint.

Seth looked blank, then settled down to pout for a bit.

The Saint waited patiently, toying a bit with his top hat brim.


May. 7th, 2007 02:28 pm (UTC)
((Sigerson, you are TOO MUCH.))

After a moment, Sevilin Aslım, a young German Turk bearing a startling resemblance to Tarkan during his tight-jeans-and-tank-tops phase, strolled in, feeling fine. He stopped and raised an eyebrow at the sight of the two teenagers on the couch, a bit surprised -- this certainly wasn't where he'd thought he was going when he pushed open the door. "Hello," he said, surveying each of the boys in turn before deciding they were both too young to be worth trying for. He shoved his hands in his pockets and grinned at them, especially the Saint in his anachronistic outfit. "Well, this is interesting. Is it a costume party or something?"


oscar, holmes, byron, nineteenth century
The Byronic Cravat

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