Mort and John, this afternoon
Aug. 15th, 2014 02:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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om_mainBrotherhood boys decide to be roomies... and then co-workers, apparently. (No Macklemore, please.) Fashion is theirs!
The writer's block had flown the coop since the Masquerade--if anything, making out with Bigby and/or having a real actual boyfriend in him seemed to be inspiring John even more, these days, though he had given up the idea of the wolf shifter story altogether. Instead, today he'd written some seven thousand words of his nearly completed tree shifter sequel, and he was in a most excellent mood.
Rita the fire bat swooped in and lit John's cigarette for him, and he giggled at her. "Right, you need a cameo in this book, I think, love."
"Talking to yourself is a sign you're mental, mate," Mort said, hopping over to the loosely designated 'smoking area' for his own bit of break. "Or that's what I hear, anyway."
"That's the least of my signs," John said with a little cackle that released all the smoke from his last inhale. "Or so I've been told.
"How ya goin, man? Not seen you around too much; break's a bit odd for that."
Mort shrugged. "Guess not, though not sure how you could miss this kind of beautiful face."
"It has its own charm," John said with sudden seriousness. Not that Mort had romance hero makings, but John was a firm believer in eschewing normal beauty standards in that sort of thing. Mort was an ugly son of a bitch, but he was entertaining, and being funny was a sure enough way to someone's heart.
He waved and brought Rita down to hover near Mort in case he needed a light. Then John said, "What's the news?"
Mort leaned forward so he could light up. A deep inhale, and there it was - glorious nicotine rushing into his deprived body. What? Wasn't like it was going to stain his teeth or something. "Guess everyone moving around, right? You noticed that? 'S like musical chairs, bro."
John paused, smoke curling around his lips, and suddenly looked very offended. "What? Everyone's moving? Why didn't I get a new roommate, then?"
"Dunno. Me either." Mort said, shrugging.
John perked right up. "D'you want one?"
"Like, some rando off the street or summat?" Mort took a another drag, and shrugged. "Dunno about that, mate. Someone might say I'd be something of a surprise."
"Still better than an empty room," John reasoned. He'd got used to having people around--even Anders. "But I meant me."
Mort blinked in surprise. The crazy, flaming (fire, not sexuality, though you never knew) ginger wanted him for a roommate? Why? And would the mad bastard killing them both? "You?"
John was not remotely surprised by this reaction; he got it a lot. "Why not?"
"Are you going to burn the bloody room to the ground?"
John cackled. "Nah, man! It's almost impossible, seeing as I can't help but be in control when there's fire around. It's not as chaotic as it seems.
"Anyhow, if I was going to do that, I would've done for Anders, not you."
Mort snorted a little, and then brought his cigarette to his lips. "You're mad, bro, you know it?" Still, John was not so bad. And he seemed to like him okay, which was more than many could say, Mort supposed. "We'll be a right mad room."
"I was gonna say: you're one to talk," John said with another chuckle and an inhale. And then, completely in earnest, as usual, he admitted "Liked that suit you had at the masquerade, speaking of mad. Rarely find anyone whose fashion sense I can truly appreciate."
His chest expanded a little with pride. "That's a damn fine suit, bro. We'll be best-dressed room in no time."
"Without a doubt!" John said, all enthusiasm. "We should go to the thrift shop in town; there's always all kinds of good finds there. Dress to impress, and all that."
Of course, he really wasn't sure what Bigby thought of his clothes, or if he thought of them at all, but--why was he thinking of that, anyhow?
"Alright," Mort swiftly agreed. Hey, he'd been invited somewhere!
"You drive?" John asked.
Mortimer slumped, just a bit. Transportation, right. Duh. "Er....no?" Maybe Johnny boy did (though that was a scary thought, wasn't it)? Or maybe they would have to take the bus or something.
John tossed his cigarette butt. "Bigby said he'll teach me, but we haven't gotten to it yet. Can always hop the bus, can't we? C'mon." Because, yes, he saw no reason not to start off at that exact moment.
Now? They were going now? Mort was a little surprised, but he thought he recovered well enough. He dropped the cigarette butt to the ground, crushing it beneath his foot. "Right on, then. Bus it is, bro. Let's go find us some balling outfits."
* * *
John exited the ramshackle dressing room and held up both arms to model the fantastic floral shirt he'd found on the rack. "What do you say, mate? The shit people throw away!" He loved it!
"Dunno about the flowers," Mort admitted, examining the shirt seriously.
"Really?" John turned to look at himself in the mirror. "I think they're rather keen."
The other teen took a few steps back, to get the whole effect of it. "Y'know....they could work, I guess. Gonna have to wear it with some bright trousers, though."
"I've got pink ones," John said, cocking his head at his image in the mirror. "Yeah, yeah that'll do it, man. I need it.
"You find anything?"
Mort rifled through the rack beside him, where he had seen his latest fine. And it matched the green shirt he was wearing, even! Double-bonus for that, he figured. "This," he finally said, pulling out the sweater
John turned and looked, and then his jaw dropped. "Now that is a fantastic jumper. Let's see it on you."
The other teen tugged it on, and then did a slow twirl. "What you think, mate?"
"Ah, you look dead cool!" John assured him, clapping his hands a few times. Hardly the fairy tale hero, but Mort had his own thing, and John appreciated that wherever he found it. "Gotta get it. How much?"
Mort grinned. "Brilliant." He shrugged out of it, pausing only momentarily at the still-unfamiliar sight of his peachy arms. He turned it around to find the tag, and visibly deflated. "10 whole dollars," he said, rather displeased. That was a bit of change, wasn't it?
"Worth it," John said thoughtfully. He had his allowance from Xavier and his aunt and uncle sent him some money from Sydney every so often--John assumed that this was 'please don't call us' money, and he was quite all right with that. Until he could start selling novels, it was his only way to get things. But still... "We should find jobs, though, I reckon. To support our fashion habit."
"Job doing what?" Mort wondered.
John looked around, straightening the collar on his shirt. "I dunno. Lots of kids work in town. Bigby works at the library. Some of the kids work at the record shop. I'd be keen to work here, actually."
There was just one small elderly lady at the register; surely they could use a tall teenage boy to catch and carry, right?
"Think they're hiring?"
"One can but ask," John said philosophically. He went back into the dressing room without another word and replaced the flowery shirt with his own.
Mort hung the jumper back up on its hanger. While he wanted for Johnny-boy, he crossed his arms over his narrow chest and looked at his find in deep and solemn thought. He liked the sweater. Liked it a lot, in fact. Ten dollars, though. That was a...a....some fraction-number of all his money for the month! What if he came across something he liked more? Or something he absolutely needed?
"Right," John said, shirt over his arm, his own red, short-sleeved button down slightly askew. "So, pick it up, and we'll go and get jobs. Would you like to try here? Or somewhere else?"
Bloke didn't leave much room to argue, did he? Mort picked up the sweater and followed him, slightly hunched over as he walked. Turned out the magic watch didn't fix posture. "Er....start here?"
"Well you don't have to want to work here just because I do," John pointed out, forehead scrunching up as he led the way to the cash register. "Though we'd make a hell of a sales team."
"Anywhere that's looking," Mort said with a shrug. He wasn't picky.
"And I thought I was easy," John said with a giggle.
"Hilarious, bro," the other teen said, with an eyeroll. He followed John through the store, towards the register. "And you are, anyway."
"Sexually, I am not anymore, I'll have you know." John set his shirt down at the register. The small, elderly woman looked at him askance, but there was a tiny creeping smile pulling at her lips. John grinned at her. "Are you hiring, darling?"
She looked between the two boys as she made to ring John up. "We could use someone, actually."
"Could you use two someones?" Mort asked hopefully.
She looked between them some more. "Five-fifty," she told John. "Might be able to. Could only give you each about fifteen-to-twelve hours a week, though. Assuming you're both old enough and have papers--guessing neither of you is from around here."
John grinned. "We are and we do, yeah." And if they didn't, well, Xavier would sort them out, he reckoned. "Don't we, Mort?"
Mortimer nodded so hard that his hair flopped into his eyes. "Course, 'course."
She took John's money, put it into the register, made change, then reached under the counter and put two applications on it. "Fill these out. Bring 'em back. I'm Marianne, the manager--I'll be here til five."
"John Allerdyce," John practically chirped, taking the shirt and an application and stepping aside for Mort.
Mort stepped up to the counter and set-down his sweater. "I'm Mort. Mortimer," he corrected, "Toynbee."
"You boys live in town?" She took the sweater and rang it up.
John nodded. "We're at school here. I'm sure the headmasters could vouch for us."
"Put em down as your reference, then," Marianne said. "And just because I like your accent, you get a discount. Eight dollars even, Mortimer."
He smiled shyly at her, before glancing back down at the counter. Mort pulled out his worn, brown leather wallet and pulled eight dollars out from its depths. "Thank you very much, ma'am."
"Polite, too. I like that." Marianne said, depositing the money in the register and shutting it like some kind of punctuation mark. "See you boys in an hour or so."
The writer's block had flown the coop since the Masquerade--if anything, making out with Bigby and/or having a real actual boyfriend in him seemed to be inspiring John even more, these days, though he had given up the idea of the wolf shifter story altogether. Instead, today he'd written some seven thousand words of his nearly completed tree shifter sequel, and he was in a most excellent mood.
Rita the fire bat swooped in and lit John's cigarette for him, and he giggled at her. "Right, you need a cameo in this book, I think, love."
"Talking to yourself is a sign you're mental, mate," Mort said, hopping over to the loosely designated 'smoking area' for his own bit of break. "Or that's what I hear, anyway."
"That's the least of my signs," John said with a little cackle that released all the smoke from his last inhale. "Or so I've been told.
"How ya goin, man? Not seen you around too much; break's a bit odd for that."
Mort shrugged. "Guess not, though not sure how you could miss this kind of beautiful face."
"It has its own charm," John said with sudden seriousness. Not that Mort had romance hero makings, but John was a firm believer in eschewing normal beauty standards in that sort of thing. Mort was an ugly son of a bitch, but he was entertaining, and being funny was a sure enough way to someone's heart.
He waved and brought Rita down to hover near Mort in case he needed a light. Then John said, "What's the news?"
Mort leaned forward so he could light up. A deep inhale, and there it was - glorious nicotine rushing into his deprived body. What? Wasn't like it was going to stain his teeth or something. "Guess everyone moving around, right? You noticed that? 'S like musical chairs, bro."
John paused, smoke curling around his lips, and suddenly looked very offended. "What? Everyone's moving? Why didn't I get a new roommate, then?"
"Dunno. Me either." Mort said, shrugging.
John perked right up. "D'you want one?"
"Like, some rando off the street or summat?" Mort took a another drag, and shrugged. "Dunno about that, mate. Someone might say I'd be something of a surprise."
"Still better than an empty room," John reasoned. He'd got used to having people around--even Anders. "But I meant me."
Mort blinked in surprise. The crazy, flaming (fire, not sexuality, though you never knew) ginger wanted him for a roommate? Why? And would the mad bastard killing them both? "You?"
John was not remotely surprised by this reaction; he got it a lot. "Why not?"
"Are you going to burn the bloody room to the ground?"
John cackled. "Nah, man! It's almost impossible, seeing as I can't help but be in control when there's fire around. It's not as chaotic as it seems.
"Anyhow, if I was going to do that, I would've done for Anders, not you."
Mort snorted a little, and then brought his cigarette to his lips. "You're mad, bro, you know it?" Still, John was not so bad. And he seemed to like him okay, which was more than many could say, Mort supposed. "We'll be a right mad room."
"I was gonna say: you're one to talk," John said with another chuckle and an inhale. And then, completely in earnest, as usual, he admitted "Liked that suit you had at the masquerade, speaking of mad. Rarely find anyone whose fashion sense I can truly appreciate."
His chest expanded a little with pride. "That's a damn fine suit, bro. We'll be best-dressed room in no time."
"Without a doubt!" John said, all enthusiasm. "We should go to the thrift shop in town; there's always all kinds of good finds there. Dress to impress, and all that."
Of course, he really wasn't sure what Bigby thought of his clothes, or if he thought of them at all, but--why was he thinking of that, anyhow?
"Alright," Mort swiftly agreed. Hey, he'd been invited somewhere!
"You drive?" John asked.
Mortimer slumped, just a bit. Transportation, right. Duh. "Er....no?" Maybe Johnny boy did (though that was a scary thought, wasn't it)? Or maybe they would have to take the bus or something.
John tossed his cigarette butt. "Bigby said he'll teach me, but we haven't gotten to it yet. Can always hop the bus, can't we? C'mon." Because, yes, he saw no reason not to start off at that exact moment.
Now? They were going now? Mort was a little surprised, but he thought he recovered well enough. He dropped the cigarette butt to the ground, crushing it beneath his foot. "Right on, then. Bus it is, bro. Let's go find us some balling outfits."
John exited the ramshackle dressing room and held up both arms to model the fantastic floral shirt he'd found on the rack. "What do you say, mate? The shit people throw away!" He loved it!
"Dunno about the flowers," Mort admitted, examining the shirt seriously.
"Really?" John turned to look at himself in the mirror. "I think they're rather keen."
The other teen took a few steps back, to get the whole effect of it. "Y'know....they could work, I guess. Gonna have to wear it with some bright trousers, though."
"I've got pink ones," John said, cocking his head at his image in the mirror. "Yeah, yeah that'll do it, man. I need it.
"You find anything?"
Mort rifled through the rack beside him, where he had seen his latest fine. And it matched the green shirt he was wearing, even! Double-bonus for that, he figured. "This," he finally said, pulling out the sweater
John turned and looked, and then his jaw dropped. "Now that is a fantastic jumper. Let's see it on you."
The other teen tugged it on, and then did a slow twirl. "What you think, mate?"
"Ah, you look dead cool!" John assured him, clapping his hands a few times. Hardly the fairy tale hero, but Mort had his own thing, and John appreciated that wherever he found it. "Gotta get it. How much?"
Mort grinned. "Brilliant." He shrugged out of it, pausing only momentarily at the still-unfamiliar sight of his peachy arms. He turned it around to find the tag, and visibly deflated. "10 whole dollars," he said, rather displeased. That was a bit of change, wasn't it?
"Worth it," John said thoughtfully. He had his allowance from Xavier and his aunt and uncle sent him some money from Sydney every so often--John assumed that this was 'please don't call us' money, and he was quite all right with that. Until he could start selling novels, it was his only way to get things. But still... "We should find jobs, though, I reckon. To support our fashion habit."
"Job doing what?" Mort wondered.
John looked around, straightening the collar on his shirt. "I dunno. Lots of kids work in town. Bigby works at the library. Some of the kids work at the record shop. I'd be keen to work here, actually."
There was just one small elderly lady at the register; surely they could use a tall teenage boy to catch and carry, right?
"Think they're hiring?"
"One can but ask," John said philosophically. He went back into the dressing room without another word and replaced the flowery shirt with his own.
Mort hung the jumper back up on its hanger. While he wanted for Johnny-boy, he crossed his arms over his narrow chest and looked at his find in deep and solemn thought. He liked the sweater. Liked it a lot, in fact. Ten dollars, though. That was a...a....some fraction-number of all his money for the month! What if he came across something he liked more? Or something he absolutely needed?
"Right," John said, shirt over his arm, his own red, short-sleeved button down slightly askew. "So, pick it up, and we'll go and get jobs. Would you like to try here? Or somewhere else?"
Bloke didn't leave much room to argue, did he? Mort picked up the sweater and followed him, slightly hunched over as he walked. Turned out the magic watch didn't fix posture. "Er....start here?"
"Well you don't have to want to work here just because I do," John pointed out, forehead scrunching up as he led the way to the cash register. "Though we'd make a hell of a sales team."
"Anywhere that's looking," Mort said with a shrug. He wasn't picky.
"And I thought I was easy," John said with a giggle.
"Hilarious, bro," the other teen said, with an eyeroll. He followed John through the store, towards the register. "And you are, anyway."
"Sexually, I am not anymore, I'll have you know." John set his shirt down at the register. The small, elderly woman looked at him askance, but there was a tiny creeping smile pulling at her lips. John grinned at her. "Are you hiring, darling?"
She looked between the two boys as she made to ring John up. "We could use someone, actually."
"Could you use two someones?" Mort asked hopefully.
She looked between them some more. "Five-fifty," she told John. "Might be able to. Could only give you each about fifteen-to-twelve hours a week, though. Assuming you're both old enough and have papers--guessing neither of you is from around here."
John grinned. "We are and we do, yeah." And if they didn't, well, Xavier would sort them out, he reckoned. "Don't we, Mort?"
Mortimer nodded so hard that his hair flopped into his eyes. "Course, 'course."
She took John's money, put it into the register, made change, then reached under the counter and put two applications on it. "Fill these out. Bring 'em back. I'm Marianne, the manager--I'll be here til five."
"John Allerdyce," John practically chirped, taking the shirt and an application and stepping aside for Mort.
Mort stepped up to the counter and set-down his sweater. "I'm Mort. Mortimer," he corrected, "Toynbee."
"You boys live in town?" She took the sweater and rang it up.
John nodded. "We're at school here. I'm sure the headmasters could vouch for us."
"Put em down as your reference, then," Marianne said. "And just because I like your accent, you get a discount. Eight dollars even, Mortimer."
He smiled shyly at her, before glancing back down at the counter. Mort pulled out his worn, brown leather wallet and pulled eight dollars out from its depths. "Thank you very much, ma'am."
"Polite, too. I like that." Marianne said, depositing the money in the register and shutting it like some kind of punctuation mark. "See you boys in an hour or so."
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Date: 2014-08-15 09:43 pm (UTC)And argyle is very you, Mort!
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Date: 2014-08-16 06:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-08-16 12:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-08-16 04:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-08-16 05:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-08-16 05:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-08-15 09:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-08-16 06:22 am (UTC)It's okay he enjoys her ire. It's Eileen's version of... well maybe not affection but something very like.
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Date: 2014-08-15 11:07 pm (UTC)