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Oct. 21st, 2009 02:46 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
titusnowl"I may have an excessively morbid turn of mind, angel, but at least I'm cheerful about it." Ponce tried to catch Crusoe's eye in the mirror - propped on his footlocker, which was turned on-end to be a decent height for shaving and arrayed with soap-mug, brush and bowl of hot water - but the Australian was scowling at his feet, bent to readjust one of his puttees.
"I've been up for about fifteen minutes. I'm nowhere near awake enough to deal with you discussing getting yourself shot."
"You don't like it any better if I wait 'til after tea, o best beloved, so I may as well share my ideas when they occur to me." A gesture with the straight razor before returning to the delicate task of trimming around his moustache.
"You may as well not share them." Crusoe put the final twist on his wrapping and stamped his feet down on the ground, twisting to lie down across the cot with his hat on his chest.
"But then my genius will go unrecorded!" Ponce paused in his attentions to his upper lip to turn around with an expression that would have been the very picture of disappointment - wide-eyed, tiny frown - if the effect hadn't been ruined by the lather still spotting his face. "You're supposed to be remembering all these so you can pick the most inappropriate one when my hat gets blown off, you know - "
"If it comes to that, I'll figure something out. Change the subject."
Ponce snapped to attention, sketched a quick half-salute with his razor, clicked his heels, and turned back to his mirror with a chuckle. "Any suggestions for the new discussion, then?"
"Not you getting shot."
"So open-ended!" Ponce clicked his tongue before splashing water on his face, running a hand over his face and a discerning look over his reflection, and wiping the razor clean on a towel; then he stepped across the tent to join Crusoe on the cot, still damp-faced and open-shirted, trouser-braces hanging loose down his legs. "I haven't the foggiest what to do with an opening like that, my dear, as the bishop said to the actress."
"I've been up for about fifteen minutes. I'm nowhere near awake enough to deal with you discussing getting yourself shot."
"You don't like it any better if I wait 'til after tea, o best beloved, so I may as well share my ideas when they occur to me." A gesture with the straight razor before returning to the delicate task of trimming around his moustache.
"You may as well not share them." Crusoe put the final twist on his wrapping and stamped his feet down on the ground, twisting to lie down across the cot with his hat on his chest.
"But then my genius will go unrecorded!" Ponce paused in his attentions to his upper lip to turn around with an expression that would have been the very picture of disappointment - wide-eyed, tiny frown - if the effect hadn't been ruined by the lather still spotting his face. "You're supposed to be remembering all these so you can pick the most inappropriate one when my hat gets blown off, you know - "
"If it comes to that, I'll figure something out. Change the subject."
Ponce snapped to attention, sketched a quick half-salute with his razor, clicked his heels, and turned back to his mirror with a chuckle. "Any suggestions for the new discussion, then?"
"Not you getting shot."
"So open-ended!" Ponce clicked his tongue before splashing water on his face, running a hand over his face and a discerning look over his reflection, and wiping the razor clean on a towel; then he stepped across the tent to join Crusoe on the cot, still damp-faced and open-shirted, trouser-braces hanging loose down his legs. "I haven't the foggiest what to do with an opening like that, my dear, as the bishop said to the actress."
