legendarymadman (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
legendarymadman) wrote2006-08-21 02:06 am
legendarymadman) wrote2006-08-21 02:06 am
Entry tags:
in the midst of rebuilding
Geoffrey grunted as he hauled the rock down the path, depositing it in front of what had once been -- and would be again -- their home. He had five of them now, sitting in a semi-circle, and figured he was nearly halfway there.
"What on earth are you doing, Geoffrey?"
"I'm writing an opera," he said, grunting again as he pushed the rock into place. "What does it look like I'm doing, Oliver?"
"Eight to ten at the penitentiary. You're all sweaty."
"We are on a tropical island," said Geoffrey, standing up straight and running his fingers through his admittedly sweaty hair. "So what is it you need this time? If you're trying to embarrass me again you're out of luck. Duck's not here."
"Yes, I know, he's off being altruistic. I hear the two of you finally did the deed."
"You hear?"
"Well, obviously I wasn't watching," he said, lifting his nose in the air as though he had any sort of moral high ground. It lasted less than a minute. "So was he any good?"
"I am not," said Geoffrey, maintaining his dignity at least, "going to dignify that with an answer." Yes, yes, god yes.
"Oh, you can tell me, Geoffrey, who am I going to tell?"
"That's not the point, Oliver. It's none of your fucking business and I'm not going to tell you a thing. You know, I'm a little surprised you didn't harass me all through the hurricane. What better time to drive me round the bend than when I'm trapped indoors with a couple hundred other people?"
"Oh please, Geoffrey, some of us have the good sense to stay out of hurricanes. Though apparently you were rewarded handsomely for your recklessness."
"You can stop commenting on my sex life any time now."
"Where's the fun in that? Would you rather I commented on your rock-handling technique? Told you how big and manly and useful you're looking?" Oliver circled him as he spoke, rather like a shark, Geoffrey thought.
"Now what's that supposed to mean?"
"Well, that's what this little exercise is about, isn't it? Proving you're good for something?"
"I happen to be good for a lot of things," said Geoffrey, "except, unfortunately, exorcisms. But maybe I'll get lucky and a priest will wash up on the beach one of these days."
"Good for a lot of things," scoffed Oliver. "Maybe back in New Burbage. When it comes to surviving on this island, you'd be lost without that boytoy of yours."
Geoffrey just stared at him for a moment, then let out a short laugh. "You're calling Duck a boytoy? I think he'd be flattered. Now here's what's going to happen. I'm going to go back to making this firepit, and you're going to go back to wherever the hell it is you go when you're not here."
"Whatever makes you feel more like a man, Geoffrey."
"What on earth are you doing, Geoffrey?"
"I'm writing an opera," he said, grunting again as he pushed the rock into place. "What does it look like I'm doing, Oliver?"
"Eight to ten at the penitentiary. You're all sweaty."
"We are on a tropical island," said Geoffrey, standing up straight and running his fingers through his admittedly sweaty hair. "So what is it you need this time? If you're trying to embarrass me again you're out of luck. Duck's not here."
"Yes, I know, he's off being altruistic. I hear the two of you finally did the deed."
"You hear?"
"Well, obviously I wasn't watching," he said, lifting his nose in the air as though he had any sort of moral high ground. It lasted less than a minute. "So was he any good?"
"I am not," said Geoffrey, maintaining his dignity at least, "going to dignify that with an answer." Yes, yes, god yes.
"Oh, you can tell me, Geoffrey, who am I going to tell?"
"That's not the point, Oliver. It's none of your fucking business and I'm not going to tell you a thing. You know, I'm a little surprised you didn't harass me all through the hurricane. What better time to drive me round the bend than when I'm trapped indoors with a couple hundred other people?"
"Oh please, Geoffrey, some of us have the good sense to stay out of hurricanes. Though apparently you were rewarded handsomely for your recklessness."
"You can stop commenting on my sex life any time now."
"Where's the fun in that? Would you rather I commented on your rock-handling technique? Told you how big and manly and useful you're looking?" Oliver circled him as he spoke, rather like a shark, Geoffrey thought.
"Now what's that supposed to mean?"
"Well, that's what this little exercise is about, isn't it? Proving you're good for something?"
"I happen to be good for a lot of things," said Geoffrey, "except, unfortunately, exorcisms. But maybe I'll get lucky and a priest will wash up on the beach one of these days."
"Good for a lot of things," scoffed Oliver. "Maybe back in New Burbage. When it comes to surviving on this island, you'd be lost without that boytoy of yours."
Geoffrey just stared at him for a moment, then let out a short laugh. "You're calling Duck a boytoy? I think he'd be flattered. Now here's what's going to happen. I'm going to go back to making this firepit, and you're going to go back to wherever the hell it is you go when you're not here."
"Whatever makes you feel more like a man, Geoffrey."