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Love is a bourgeois construct. [OTA]
Nov. 21st, 2015 02:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
prodigalflameAnother step. John found himself half-way out of yet another jewellery store, foot poised to meet the pavement. He checked his phone and made sure he'd taken all the photos he wanted, noted all the prices, and geo-located the freaking place. He had a list of ten stores to hit that day, and he was barely done with three of them.
And he wasn't even the guy who made lists: a man less of habit than of reaction. It was early afternoon on Friday; he'd been a good boy and done his marking and seen the few students who turned up to office hour and basically asked him to do their first assignment for him ("The answer is no. And also no.")
He was after all, a proper grown up. He had the mortgage and boyfriend and kitchen to prove it. He'd been in London more than a year; he knew it's rhythms better, felt its beat. And holding his phone up to get a better signal, he simply entered the throng heedless of its direction, casually going where he wanted regardless of the people around him. There had always been something of the shark about John, moving at his own pace and scenting blood in the water and having exactly no fucks to give.
As the sun started setting on London, he could be found enjoying the late night shopping, ever certain, ever comfortable, in jeans and leather jacket, hunting from shop to shop to find two engagement rings to symbolise the most ridiculous decision he'd ever made in his life.
And you know, if anyone said he was ridiculous or one of the jeweller's raised their eyebrow at the notion of an engagement ring for John's boyfriend, he was more than prepared to start a little burnination. Old shops had old wiring. Happened all the time. He could feel the sparks in the walls like tingles in his spine, and all he'd have to do was give things a little push. Jeez, it would be such a shame.
Finally, after his feet were sore and his calves ached, John found himself going back to the second shop on his list. It was a salutary lesson that his instincts were almost always right. Paying on credit, he picked up a matched set of men's engagement rings: crafted in white gold, with a symbol that almost could have been an 'X' etched on the band. Blue and white diamonds for Bobby; garnets and white diamonds for John. Then, feeling like a load had been lifted from his heart, he paused again on the threshold, but now there was a spring in his step, and a giddy sort of relief. I deserve a drink, he decided, and went to go find one.
[You can meet John pounding the pavement and looking at his phone; or taking a stop at a cafe in the evening to recharge with a coffee; or heading into or tumbling out of a jewellers. He will be somewhat intensely focussed on the search for the best wedding rings of all time, so feel free to bump into him or call out if your pup knows him. Your pup can also find him after he's been successful and is celebrating with a beer and a lot of blushing astonishment on his face. Your pup can also reference some fire that might have started in a shop at some point that evening. >.>]
And he wasn't even the guy who made lists: a man less of habit than of reaction. It was early afternoon on Friday; he'd been a good boy and done his marking and seen the few students who turned up to office hour and basically asked him to do their first assignment for him ("The answer is no. And also no.")
He was after all, a proper grown up. He had the mortgage and boyfriend and kitchen to prove it. He'd been in London more than a year; he knew it's rhythms better, felt its beat. And holding his phone up to get a better signal, he simply entered the throng heedless of its direction, casually going where he wanted regardless of the people around him. There had always been something of the shark about John, moving at his own pace and scenting blood in the water and having exactly no fucks to give.
As the sun started setting on London, he could be found enjoying the late night shopping, ever certain, ever comfortable, in jeans and leather jacket, hunting from shop to shop to find two engagement rings to symbolise the most ridiculous decision he'd ever made in his life.
And you know, if anyone said he was ridiculous or one of the jeweller's raised their eyebrow at the notion of an engagement ring for John's boyfriend, he was more than prepared to start a little burnination. Old shops had old wiring. Happened all the time. He could feel the sparks in the walls like tingles in his spine, and all he'd have to do was give things a little push. Jeez, it would be such a shame.
Finally, after his feet were sore and his calves ached, John found himself going back to the second shop on his list. It was a salutary lesson that his instincts were almost always right. Paying on credit, he picked up a matched set of men's engagement rings: crafted in white gold, with a symbol that almost could have been an 'X' etched on the band. Blue and white diamonds for Bobby; garnets and white diamonds for John. Then, feeling like a load had been lifted from his heart, he paused again on the threshold, but now there was a spring in his step, and a giddy sort of relief. I deserve a drink, he decided, and went to go find one.
[You can meet John pounding the pavement and looking at his phone; or taking a stop at a cafe in the evening to recharge with a coffee; or heading into or tumbling out of a jewellers. He will be somewhat intensely focussed on the search for the best wedding rings of all time, so feel free to bump into him or call out if your pup knows him. Your pup can also find him after he's been successful and is celebrating with a beer and a lot of blushing astonishment on his face. Your pup can also reference some fire that might have started in a shop at some point that evening. >.>]
