[ He asks airily, blatant amusement in his voice as he leans his forearms on the counter and watches Ian disappear behind one of those weird partitions to dig out some clothes.
He caved much easier than anticipated, which is a huge benefit to Nate, who wouldn't have pushed if Ian told him to just fuck off. He might be an ass, but at least he respects boundaries. ]
As your resident Virgil I would say...third, maybe? Over-indulgence.
[ There's some barely audible scoffing from behind his partition, and a mutter he neither intends for Nate nor particularly cares to hide from him. ]
Pff, you wish you were Virgil. Fucking Mephistopheles.
[ It's five a.m. and it's his apartment, he can mix his tragedies if he wants to.
A touch louder: ]
Get thee behind me, Satan.
[ And then the telltale swishing sounds of fabric moving around, a door opening and closing — the bathroom, if he's curious — and he emerges eventually looking like...
Well, still kind of looking like shit, but at least his breath smells nice and his hair has a general direction it intends to aim for in life. Plus, there are shoes. This is as good as Nate's getting. ]
[ Nate quips from the other room, because he's hard-pressed not to hear everything that comes out of Ian's understandably disgruntled mouth. He'll take Mephistopheles, though. That whole thing with Faust was wild, what with its similarities to the shit he found in John Dee's secret basement.
For all the griping Nate is undeniably pleased when Ian returns, looking about as together as he anticipated. ]
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[ He asks airily, blatant amusement in his voice as he leans his forearms on the counter and watches Ian disappear behind one of those weird partitions to dig out some clothes.
He caved much easier than anticipated, which is a huge benefit to Nate, who wouldn't have pushed if Ian told him to just fuck off. He might be an ass, but at least he respects boundaries. ]
As your resident Virgil I would say...third, maybe? Over-indulgence.
no subject
Pff, you wish you were Virgil. Fucking Mephistopheles.
[ It's five a.m. and it's his apartment, he can mix his tragedies if he wants to.
A touch louder: ]
Get thee behind me, Satan.
[ And then the telltale swishing sounds of fabric moving around, a door opening and closing — the bathroom, if he's curious — and he emerges eventually looking like...
Well, still kind of looking like shit, but at least his breath smells nice and his hair has a general direction it intends to aim for in life. Plus, there are shoes. This is as good as Nate's getting. ]
no subject
[ Nate quips from the other room, because he's hard-pressed not to hear everything that comes out of Ian's understandably disgruntled mouth. He'll take Mephistopheles, though. That whole thing with Faust was wild, what with its similarities to the shit he found in John Dee's secret basement.
For all the griping Nate is undeniably pleased when Ian returns, looking about as together as he anticipated. ]
Let's go.