"Well, what? It's your living room and...ow! Fucker. That hurt." "Supposed to, prat. Now be serious and tell me what you think." "I don't even know what I'm supposed to be looking at here and, hey! No hitting. I bruise easily." "Bloody poncy ranger." "Prancy elf." "Yeah, yeah. Now answer the question." "What question?" "What do you think of the sculpture, for fuck's sake?" "Oh! Um. Well, um, it's --" "Yeah?" "Look, you really want my professional opinion?" "Why I asked you to come over." "And why you answered the door in just those cut-offs." "What was that?" "Nothing, nothing. Well, um, Orli, to be perfectly honest, it kinda looks, um..." "Yeah?" "Misshapen." "Misshapen?" "You've heard of the word, I'm sure and if you try to hit me again, I'm going to sit on you." "Yeah, I'm shaking. What'dyou mean, misshapen?" "Alright, for one. Are those his eyes?" "Her eyes, and yes." "Bit lopsided, don't you think?" "It's creative interpretation." "Misshapen." "This coming from a man who gives abstract a whole new definition." "What's that supposed to mean?" "Not a thing. Just sayin'." "Hey, you're the one that called me over here. Don't whine if you don't like my critique." "I'm an elf, I don't whine. And misshapen isn't a critique, Vigs, it's barely a word. Shoulda asked Ian over. At least he has a decent working vocabulary." "Are you maligning my speech?" "If the dictionary fits, love." "Alright, scoot over." "Hey! Stop squishing me, I'm over already. Fuck, Viggo, you're not Lawrence, you don't need the entire bleedin' sofa." "I'm trying to avoid looking at the misshapen creation you're calling a sculpture." "Abstract interpretation of Venus, and you were saying something about a vocabulary lesson?" "I was?" "Yeah, you were, and I don't have any room, so stop scooting over." "Is that a new shampoo?" "I don't use shampoo, I'm practically bald, aren't I?" "Ah, right. New soap, then?" "Yeah. Livvie bought it for me. Mountain Man Mist, I think, and hey, stop laughing." "Not laughing, I'm chuckling, and you have to admit it's a bit incongruous." "I'd make an excellent mountain man, thankyou." "'Course you would, what'm I thinking?" "That your hand is creeping up my thigh, maybe?" "That's not a creep, Orli, that's a blatant feel. Creeping would imply stealth." "Creeping, copping a feel, whatever you want to -- Jesus, Vig! Christ, do I...ungh...look that, um, easy to you?" "Considering where my hand is and how hard you are, I'd say yeah. Enthusiastically easy, even." "N-not enthusiastic -- Christthatfeelsgood -- um, dignified. British." "Orli?" "Y-yeah?" "Tell me you didn't invite me over here for this...okay, and that...and that, and you have a great moan, anyone ever tell you that?...and I'll stop." "N-no! No stopping. Please, um, GodChristJesus, don't stop --" "Easy, alright." "Stop...smirking..." "Then give me something better to do with my mouth."
|