Captain Breacan Sanchez (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} spared_to_sea) wrote,@ 2008-06-17 08:30:00 |
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Boys will be boys.
What: Light hearted conversation.
Who: Breacan and Eothian.
Where: 'Hell'.
When: Now.
Rating: PGR.
Word Count: 320.
Note: Un’beta as usual.
Meta knowledge. Unless your muse knows.
“You know, what I’m going to do when we get out of here.”
Breacan was half asleep, listening to Eothian.
“What?” came his mumbled, sleep filled, reply.
“I’m going to find myself a sugar mommy.” said Eothian matter of fact.
The captain was sprawled out on one of the canteen tables. Eothian was stretched out on the long wooden chairs, placed near the tables. Both men were exhausted, tired, cold and wet from rain. Breacan looked sideways at Eothian, who was covered in mud, blood, wet through and had his eyes closed.
“You are going to find yourself, a what?” he asked.
Without opening his eyes, Eothian replied back, “A sugar mommy. Someone old, who’ll pamper me with money and lovin’.”
Breacan snorted.
“Why do you want money, I thought you had enough.”
Eothian shrugged,
“When it comes to money and lovin’, one can’t have enough of it.”
Eyes rolling, Breacan turned on his side, winching against the hardness of the table and turned on his back again as it was more comfortable. He looked jadedly up at the tent ceiling, while brushing his hands across his eyes, and asked,
“Is that all the requirement they need?”
Eothian was slow to reply, as he thought about the requirements.
“Someone who is older than thirty, although that is old, it’s not old enough. I want them kind of prehistoric ancient, that’ll mean they’ll be more likely to be clingy and not boring. I guess they’d have to be over fifty or so.”
“Wait, thirty is old and boring?” Breacan asked, his eyebrows shooting upward in surprise.
“Yep,” Replied Eothian, “Just look at you.”
Breacan tossed a tin cup at him. Eothian caught it deftly without it causing himself any harm.
“So, what does the ancient, sugar mommy get from the arrangement?” Breacan asked curiously.
Eothian twirled the tin cup, smiling broadly with an impish twinkle in his eyes,
“Why, me, of course.”
Breacan couldn’t help but laugh.
What: Light hearted conversation.
Who: Breacan and Eothian.
Where: 'Hell'.
When: Now.
Rating: PGR.
Word Count: 320.
Note: Un’beta as usual.
Meta knowledge. Unless your muse knows.
“You know, what I’m going to do when we get out of here.”
Breacan was half asleep, listening to Eothian.
“What?” came his mumbled, sleep filled, reply.
“I’m going to find myself a sugar mommy.” said Eothian matter of fact.
The captain was sprawled out on one of the canteen tables. Eothian was stretched out on the long wooden chairs, placed near the tables. Both men were exhausted, tired, cold and wet from rain. Breacan looked sideways at Eothian, who was covered in mud, blood, wet through and had his eyes closed.
“You are going to find yourself, a what?” he asked.
Without opening his eyes, Eothian replied back, “A sugar mommy. Someone old, who’ll pamper me with money and lovin’.”
Breacan snorted.
“Why do you want money, I thought you had enough.”
Eothian shrugged,
“When it comes to money and lovin’, one can’t have enough of it.”
Eyes rolling, Breacan turned on his side, winching against the hardness of the table and turned on his back again as it was more comfortable. He looked jadedly up at the tent ceiling, while brushing his hands across his eyes, and asked,
“Is that all the requirement they need?”
Eothian was slow to reply, as he thought about the requirements.
“Someone who is older than thirty, although that is old, it’s not old enough. I want them kind of prehistoric ancient, that’ll mean they’ll be more likely to be clingy and not boring. I guess they’d have to be over fifty or so.”
“Wait, thirty is old and boring?” Breacan asked, his eyebrows shooting upward in surprise.
“Yep,” Replied Eothian, “Just look at you.”
Breacan tossed a tin cup at him. Eothian caught it deftly without it causing himself any harm.
“So, what does the ancient, sugar mommy get from the arrangement?” Breacan asked curiously.
Eothian twirled the tin cup, smiling broadly with an impish twinkle in his eyes,
“Why, me, of course.”
Breacan couldn’t help but laugh.