sadfreezingbrit_archive (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sadfreezingbrit_archive) wrote2011-07-23 08:37 pm
sadfreezingbrit_archive) wrote2011-07-23 08:37 pm
one attempt at one-eyed brunch [21/??? artefacts collected]
[ It's been almost a week since ex-mafia!Philip had a very unfortunate event run-in with still-mafia!Dean. The result? His previous Wonderland lives are still intact, but he's down one eye and his arm isn't doing so well either. And that's the understatement of the day.
So. It's been almost a week. Hardly enough time to heal all wounds (or any of them for that matter), but time enough for Philip to get over the worst and out of his room. Or try to, in any case.
Right now (now being 11 in the morning) he's standing in the kitchen, arduously slaving over his attempt at late breakfast. The injury to his right shoulder is difficult to hide, what with his arm in a sling. But at least his left eye (or lack thereof) is cleverly concealed behind a pair of sunglasses.
To reiterate: Kitchen. Breakfast. 11 o'clock. Right arm in sling.Ridiculous Fashionable sunglasses. Shattered glass.
...Shattered glass? ]
Jesus, not again.
[ Stepping aside Philip looks at the mess. After six days improvements are coming along at last, but missteps (or misgrabs, as it were) still happen all too often. Oh depth perception, he never knew how much he loved you until you were gone.
And yet the milk keeps dripping on the floor; cold, cruel and undeterred by his struggles and frustrations.
To continue: Paper towels. Broom. Scoop. New try. Deep sigh. ]
So. It's been almost a week. Hardly enough time to heal all wounds (or any of them for that matter), but time enough for Philip to get over the worst and out of his room. Or try to, in any case.
Right now (now being 11 in the morning) he's standing in the kitchen, arduously slaving over his attempt at late breakfast. The injury to his right shoulder is difficult to hide, what with his arm in a sling. But at least his left eye (or lack thereof) is cleverly concealed behind a pair of sunglasses.
To reiterate: Kitchen. Breakfast. 11 o'clock. Right arm in sling.
...Shattered glass? ]
Jesus, not again.
[ Stepping aside Philip looks at the mess. After six days improvements are coming along at last, but missteps (or misgrabs, as it were) still happen all too often. Oh depth perception, he never knew how much he loved you until you were gone.
And yet the milk keeps dripping on the floor; cold, cruel and undeterred by his struggles and frustrations.
To continue: Paper towels. Broom. Scoop. New try. Deep sigh. ]
1/2
Well...curses exist, sure, so if some crazy Egyptian sonuvabitch made a deal with a demon, then I guess it could happen.
[But this is not the important part of the conversation. The important part of the conversation is that Philip met a girl. Dean is fairly certain that he knows who most of the chicks are in the mansion, and an Egyptowhatsit isn't on his list of feminine Wonderland residents.
This is important enough that Dean finishes cooking his eggs and the bacon, serves himself a hearty plate with both foodstuffs, and turns off the stove.]
Now, be honest with me, dude.