consistency, perhaps not so much
"I think my brother's a shitty coward," she tells him, over the wind-buffered connection. "A real coward."
"Hi Susan," he says, because what else can he say? "I didn't mean to call you." Adam pauses. He's been drinking all evening. "I don't think I did call you."
"You didn't. You called Davey and Mikey hadn't told me you were in town."
Must be autumn, time for bitter families in hockey rpf! This story is about the Ryder family because fuck last night's Devils-Oilers second period, or sometimes I talk a great deal about things I don't like very much at all. Maybe one day I will finish the Conn and Stafford Smythe story to no one's pleasure but my own.
"There is nothing to an atonement, it leaves a man penitent for his knowledge and powerless in his own mind."
"Saint Peter will have no comment, then, when I arrive with suitcases of money? It will all be mine." His son is so venal. What mistake did he make to deserve this creature, this bundle with his eyes and a wholly foreign grasping impulse, greedy and cowardly, this son of his?
Truly, it is amazing very wonderful. As good as or better than the third period of last night's Devils-Oilers game, and I have already seen more hockey this year than last: one full game is more than no full games. This paragraph is called: "we enjoy comparisons."
Not doing Yuletide this year; I could potentially use the time as a private urge to finish some stories, but the [EDITED] folder is holding very steadily at twenty-eight, and that's unlikely to change. This has been such a terrible few months.
Soonishly I will have the kinkmeme(-that's-not-a-kinkmeme) story back from its editor (KATE ARE YOU READING) and then we can take this post down and put that one up. I thought I was good at talking about myself, turns out I am not, good effort Livejournal.
"Hi Susan," he says, because what else can he say? "I didn't mean to call you." Adam pauses. He's been drinking all evening. "I don't think I did call you."
"You didn't. You called Davey and Mikey hadn't told me you were in town."
Must be autumn, time for bitter families in hockey rpf! This story is about the Ryder family because fuck last night's Devils-Oilers second period, or sometimes I talk a great deal about things I don't like very much at all. Maybe one day I will finish the Conn and Stafford Smythe story to no one's pleasure but my own.
"There is nothing to an atonement, it leaves a man penitent for his knowledge and powerless in his own mind."
"Saint Peter will have no comment, then, when I arrive with suitcases of money? It will all be mine." His son is so venal. What mistake did he make to deserve this creature, this bundle with his eyes and a wholly foreign grasping impulse, greedy and cowardly, this son of his?
Truly, it is amazing very wonderful. As good as or better than the third period of last night's Devils-Oilers game, and I have already seen more hockey this year than last: one full game is more than no full games. This paragraph is called: "we enjoy comparisons."
Not doing Yuletide this year; I could potentially use the time as a private urge to finish some stories, but the [EDITED] folder is holding very steadily at twenty-eight, and that's unlikely to change. This has been such a terrible few months.
Soonishly I will have the kinkmeme(-that's-not-a-kinkmeme) story back from its editor (KATE ARE YOU READING) and then we can take this post down and put that one up. I thought I was good at talking about myself, turns out I am not, good effort Livejournal.