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big blue slurp :: mikhail | schuyler (blue)
I feel weird using slashes now. Blame that on fanfic. So welcome to the world of the pipe character.
The sick-minded part of me thinks that the pipe character would be better used to imply such things, instead of the slash. But ours is not to question why, ours is just to wash and dry. End commentary.
Anyway. Meet Schuyler Keaton and Mikhail Petrovitch. They make movies. You've seen Schuyler before, as well as his sister Kismet, and you'll see both of them again later in this week's![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
non_plot challenge - think of this as a prologue.
Venice Beach on a Friday night was dripping with beautiful freaks - lesbians with buzz-cut-bluejay hair, dirty fuzzy hippie girls with unshaven armpits, lovebeads and patchouli, bored looking male underwear models trying to be 'seen' and bulging bodybuilders on rollerblades casually flinging weights around like styrofoam blocks.
Schuyler sat cross-legged on the hood of his car and waited for his accomplice.
He was in there now, getting the stuff. It shouldn't take long.
It shouldn't really take this long. What the hell?
He was in the middle of tapping out a text message when the door opened and revealed a shadowy figure. Schuyler sighed, fidgeting slightly and peering over his black glasses. "What the hell, Petrovitch? You fall in? Cthulu possess the Slurpee machine or something?"
"Sorry, boss-man, there was this wino in front of me trying to trade yesterday's paper for a pack of smokes." Mikhail sat down on top of the hood of the little Fiat and let his long legs dangle in front of the grille, passing over half of his swag. "Blue raspberry?"
"There is no other." Schuyler unscrewed the top of a bottle of Evian that he'd been holding between his knees and poured a dollop of the contents into the plastic cup, swirling the thinned, slushy contents with his finger before taking a long drink. "Ah, it's so beautiful. Psychos and freaks and winos. Reality theatre, or some shit."
"So where's your seeester, boss-man?" Mik shook out his meticulously tatted dreads, beads clattering at the ends like a rasta-striped perpetual motion machine. "She not wanna join us?"
"Eh, Kismet's at home. Or at a sorority meeting. Or cheerleading, or something, I don't care. She is not bothering me, and that is the important thing, my friend."
"She's not so bad."
"You don't have to live with her, Mik, she's a gorgon." He took another drink and topped up the slurpee with another slug from the water bottle. "She's insufferable."
"She's kinda cute."
"You've been out in the sun too long." Schuyer scoffed. "Did you know she tied bows on the fridge shelves? Apparently it looked all empty and lonely. She was going at Juanita here until I threatened to rip her throat out. Tried to put a glitter pom-pom on baby's radio antenna. Can you believe this chick?" He patted the hood of the car fondly. "Poor baby." Taking another drink of the slurpee, he sloshed some more Evian into the cup.
"Are you watering that down on purpose?" Mik peered at him suspiciously.
Schuyler peered over the top of his sunglasses again, green eyes sparkling in the dark. "Nah."
"What is that?"
"Absolut Lemon. You want some?"
"Hell no. Somebody's gotta drive home."
The sick-minded part of me thinks that the pipe character would be better used to imply such things, instead of the slash. But ours is not to question why, ours is just to wash and dry. End commentary.
Anyway. Meet Schuyler Keaton and Mikhail Petrovitch. They make movies. You've seen Schuyler before, as well as his sister Kismet, and you'll see both of them again later in this week's
non_plot challenge - think of this as a prologue.Venice Beach on a Friday night was dripping with beautiful freaks - lesbians with buzz-cut-bluejay hair, dirty fuzzy hippie girls with unshaven armpits, lovebeads and patchouli, bored looking male underwear models trying to be 'seen' and bulging bodybuilders on rollerblades casually flinging weights around like styrofoam blocks.
Schuyler sat cross-legged on the hood of his car and waited for his accomplice.
He was in there now, getting the stuff. It shouldn't take long.
It shouldn't really take this long. What the hell?
He was in the middle of tapping out a text message when the door opened and revealed a shadowy figure. Schuyler sighed, fidgeting slightly and peering over his black glasses. "What the hell, Petrovitch? You fall in? Cthulu possess the Slurpee machine or something?"
"Sorry, boss-man, there was this wino in front of me trying to trade yesterday's paper for a pack of smokes." Mikhail sat down on top of the hood of the little Fiat and let his long legs dangle in front of the grille, passing over half of his swag. "Blue raspberry?"
"There is no other." Schuyler unscrewed the top of a bottle of Evian that he'd been holding between his knees and poured a dollop of the contents into the plastic cup, swirling the thinned, slushy contents with his finger before taking a long drink. "Ah, it's so beautiful. Psychos and freaks and winos. Reality theatre, or some shit."
"So where's your seeester, boss-man?" Mik shook out his meticulously tatted dreads, beads clattering at the ends like a rasta-striped perpetual motion machine. "She not wanna join us?"
"Eh, Kismet's at home. Or at a sorority meeting. Or cheerleading, or something, I don't care. She is not bothering me, and that is the important thing, my friend."
"She's not so bad."
"You don't have to live with her, Mik, she's a gorgon." He took another drink and topped up the slurpee with another slug from the water bottle. "She's insufferable."
"She's kinda cute."
"You've been out in the sun too long." Schuyer scoffed. "Did you know she tied bows on the fridge shelves? Apparently it looked all empty and lonely. She was going at Juanita here until I threatened to rip her throat out. Tried to put a glitter pom-pom on baby's radio antenna. Can you believe this chick?" He patted the hood of the car fondly. "Poor baby." Taking another drink of the slurpee, he sloshed some more Evian into the cup.
"Are you watering that down on purpose?" Mik peered at him suspiciously.
Schuyler peered over the top of his sunglasses again, green eyes sparkling in the dark. "Nah."
"What is that?"
"Absolut Lemon. You want some?"
"Hell no. Somebody's gotta drive home."