open rp post

[wunderkind]

an open rp post
(it is what it says it is)

-1-
pick a character

-2-
leave me a comment. maybe a scenario, maybe an AU scenario, maybe a picture, maybe a word,
maybe a request to resume old game canon, maybe just a comment.
i don't care. do your worst.

-2a-
helpful note: i am currently obsessed with the Hunger Games and Christmas. can you combine those into one tag?

-3-
let's get it on



disclaimer: we probably won't get it on
+ there are no promises i will take this seriously

Comments

no get yourself away child i haven't time for you

[jurisimpudent]

[And this time, the glance is chiding.]

One needn't be either a child or female to attach emotional significance to something. And you attach emotional significance to Christmas. It's written on your face whenever you so much as glance at a Christmas tree.

aiight but you will be visited by 3 spirits jsyk

[doggedly]

[He stiffens a little under that glance--that's not a glance that he ever knows what to do with, because it's almost teacherly in its disapproval. And he's never dealt with disapproval very well. It makes him want to lash out, a little.

But Merlin, he's not some kid anymore. He can try and keep some dignity about this, at least, or else what is he?]

Is that right. And why are you watching me so bloody closely? What d'you care for? If you don't want to celebrate Christmas, yourself, then you ought to be pretty well pleased at the way that things have gone.

bourbon, vodka, and everclear

[jurisimpudent]

[And Edgeworth looks away. He can see Black's temper is rising, which is never productive; they are not (unsurprisingly, given that their relationship truly began with a battle both physical and magical) always at peace with one another, no matter the fruitfulness of their partnership, and fights cause a reduction in their efficiency. That's not for the best. But -

But depression also causes a drop in efficiency, doesn't it? And, well, completely aside from issues of work...Edgeworth cares about Sirius. Really a lot. If he has to engage fully in this argument, even at the cost of some harmony, then so be it.]

Of course. Because what is more pleasing than watching someone suppress their completely rational desires?

all of them are absinthe actually but good guesses

[doggedly]

[He snorts, as dismissively as he can manage, and slumps back again, his arms folded sullenly over his chest. It would be better to just push this off, right--because he doesn't want to get into this--not right now, especially not out in a pub. And he doesn't much feel up to arguing with Edgeworth. On some days, maybe it would be more appealing, at least a good form of stress relief, but--

Well, whatever. He's tired. He's irritated, still, and there's anger just under the surface of this, but he slumps back for now, his temper momentarily muted.]

So, what. Let's finish up these drinks and go out to get a Christmas tree, is that what you had in mind?

Ah, that makes my heart grow fonder

[jurisimpudent]

[Well, that's better than Edgeworth had anticipated. That, at least, is relatively polite. That, at least, is not Sirius scowling at him and marching out.

So he answers with a small shrug.]

If you'd like that.

ha ha ha you are so funny

[doggedly]

[Like Edgeworth will actually be all right with that, in the end. He doesn't like Christmas. He's made that quite clear. He greets all of it with a marked lack of amusement or cheer.

But he's started this, and Sirius isn't going to be the one to back down. So he lifts his chin, a little, stubbornly.]

Fine. Then let's go.

I know :')

[jurisimpudent]

[And Edgeworth sets his chin as well. He despises these holidays; trees and carols make him tense, unhappy; but somehow, he's brought himself into a game of chicken against Sirius. Almost entirely of his own doing.

So he drains most of the rest of his beer, nods shortly, stands up, throws a few pounds down on the table. (It's Christmas, after all, and the barman deserves a tip - and Edgeworth can't count on Sirius to tip at Muggle establishments; the man is altogether helpless with pounds and shillings.)]

There's a shop that sells trees two blocks from here.

[doggedly]

[He drains his beer completely--no sense in letting it go to waste--and is already heading for the door and tugging on his coat when Edgeworth gives that direction. Fine, two blocks from here--he shrugs, to show that he's heard--and ducks out the door.

Outside, the weather remains unchanged. Maybe a little colder, if he has to make any sort of judgement on it. He knows the direction that Edgeworth was indicating when he said two blocks; he's walked these streets often enough that he caught sight of the trees. Not like he was fogging up the window staring at them, just--he knew of them.]

And we're just carrying this home?

[A levitation charm isn't an option, after all. This is muggle London.]

[jurisimpudent]

We...

[He...hadn't really thought that through. Because - Yes, they would have to, wouldn't they; it's not as though you buy a tree and then it magically begins to sprout in your living room. (Unless that is the procedure in wizarding shops.) But -

He squares his shoulders.]

I think we can manage. I've the strength for it.

[doggedly]

Really?

[Not that he is, in actuality, all that surprised. Edgeworth has the build and heft of a hippogriff, for all his quiet bookishness and deep frowns and glasses. He's no weak weed of a man, and he doesn't use his strength, but it's there.

Still, the idea of him carting home a Christmas tree on his back is pretty ridiculous, and Sirius looks askance at him, eyebrows raised coolly.]

Right, that convinces me. We're buying a tree--I wouldn't miss the sight of this for the world.

[jurisimpudent]

[And Edgeworth opens his mouth - and then closes it again. Because, well - he's not altogether certain how heavy a tree is, to be altogether frank, though he assumes...it's not inconsiderable. So now that he thinks of it, and now that Sirius looks at him with that arch, droll expression, he's not completely certain that he does indeed have the strength. But - ]

Excellent. Come along, then.

[He isn't backing down. And so he stomps to the little shop. It's an outdoor place, covered with a tent, full of the scent of pine and winter; there's one salesman there, currently dealing with a young couple with a little child (gender a complete mystery under the layers of fluff and wool). And Edgeworth walks in, and feels a little wrenching pang, smelling it - that Christmas scent, cold metallic snow and woodlands.]

[doggedly]

[Sirius follows Edgeworth in to the tent, sullenly. Which is idiotic, considering their surroundings. Someone is playing Christmas music, tinny over a set of tiny loudspeakers. If he could find the speakers, he would consider exploding them, just to stop the noise.

Instead he hangs back with his hands in his pockets, his glare set vaguely on the trees around them. There's a few moments of silence, and then he points out a tree that is deliberately far too large.]

That one.