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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.


(Deleted comment)
May. 19th, 2007 07:18 pm (UTC)
Pasha's jaw dropped and, despite the blood rush to a slightly lower part of his body, he blushed still more. "Um," he articulated. "Gack." He shook his head, trying to restore higher brain functions. "I. Um." He chewed on his lip. "Both. Yes. That."
May. 19th, 2007 08:40 pm (UTC)
The Saint laughed. "You're not much of a philosopher, are you?" He asked, squirming happily under Sev's touch. "You're also quite hard," he added, the blend of contemporary slang and Victorianspeak strange in his mouth. "Is there anything you'd like to tell us?"
May. 19th, 2007 11:59 pm (UTC)
Despite his best efforts, Pasha gaped. "Um," he mumbled. "No. No. I'll just. Go. You're busy, I'm interfering, and." He stopped, deciding to pretend that someone had interrupted him, and turned to go.
May. 20th, 2007 01:00 am (UTC)
"We're not that busy," the Saint called after him. "Are we so busy we couldn't accomadate him, Sevilin?" the Saint asked, craning his neck upward.
(Deleted comment)
May. 20th, 2007 07:46 am (UTC)
"We may have," Pasha agreed, sitting down with his back against the couch, unable to watch/i> just yet, because, gah, ack, urk and other similar sorts of guttural noises were all that would really come of it. "I've met lots of people." He was, as ever, noncommittal.
May. 20th, 2007 05:36 pm (UTC)
"I think you ought to meet me," the Saint said, getting up and sitting down next to Pasha, rather too close to him, particularly for being without a shirt. "I'm the Saint, except if you want you can call me Lytton, and. . .yes." He trailed off, looking expectantly at Pasha.
May. 20th, 2007 09:59 pm (UTC)
((Ack! I fail at italics.))

"Oh," Pasha replied, trying not to get distracted but failing, sort of. "Hello." He smiled in a twitchy sort of way. "I'm Pasha." He scratched his nose. "Have you seen someone else?" he blurted, finally. "Older, sort of boring? Probably cranky about something?" He sighed. "I came in here thinking he was in here, because I thought I'd heard him calling, but he isn't here."
May. 21st, 2007 03:03 am (UTC)
"No, but I am," the Saint explained, in a dazzling show of logic. "And so's he." He gestured at Sev. "What do you think?"
May. 21st, 2007 03:07 am (UTC)
Pasha blinked. "What do I think what?" he asked, not even making an attempt intelligent about it.
May. 21st, 2007 03:58 am (UTC)
The Saint rolled his eyes. "And I thought Queen Victoria was a prude." He had thought so, too, when he'd met her.
(Deleted comment)
May. 21st, 2007 04:22 am (UTC)
Pasha smiled. "No," he replied. "I don't think he will." He let himself relax. "Sooo," he breathed, almost humming the 'o.' "Why, exactly, should I stay?" He smiled at each of them in turn. "Show me."
May. 21st, 2007 06:17 am (UTC)
"Don't look at me," said the Saint. "I don't do backflips or anything, even if you stare long enough." He edged closer to Pasha. "Do you do any tricks?"
(no subject) - kissingmyelbow - May. 21st, 2007 12:24 pm (UTC) - Expand
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holmes, oscar, byron, nineteenth century
The Byronic Cravat

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