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Geoffrey Tennant ([info]unhingedrapier) wrote in [info]utr_logs,
@ 2009-09-11 15:06:00

Previous Entry  Add to memories!  Tell a Friend!  Next Entry
Entry tags:ellen fanshaw, geoffrey tennant

Caught Up
Who: Geoffrey Tennant, Ellen Fanshaw and the agent of the gay retired model Geoffrey replaced
What: Someone didn't get the memo their client's gone.
Where: At Geoffrey's home in Luton, England
When: This morning
Warnings: Language, probably.


Geoffrey's in an obscenely good mood.

Those don't happen very often. And even less rarely do they happen in the morning hours. It probably doesn't hurt that he's gotten laid with startling frequency this last week or so, along the prospect of starting his own theatre up again without the irritating corporate involvement that the New Burbage festival so readily courted. No whiny executive complaining about the cost of installing a thrust. No ridiculous numbers of boxes of notes written by Oliver on a play he's never really liked all that much.

And oh, most importantly, no Oliver.

One could almost say he's approaching normalcy, as he pads around the ridiculously large kitchen in his bare feet, boxers and a pale green t-shirt this morning, his unruly dark hair the only potential giveaway to his sometimes unstable personality, carting around a mug of coffee while he seeks something for breakfast that he can make without potentially burning the house down.

It'll probably be toast. Again.



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[info]unhingedrapier
2009-09-11 08:12 pm UTC (link)
Geoffrey inserts four slices of bread into the infernal contraption, and gives it a suspicious look before jamming the lever down. A few seconds pass, and it appears to be cooperating; so he turns back to her, a faintly baffled expression crossing his face. "Are you always going to be this cranky in the morning, or is just the post-elopement hangover?"

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[info]dame_ellen
2009-09-11 08:15 pm UTC (link)
She raises her coffee mug a third time, then rises to cross the kitchen, the robe parting with a flutter of silk to display her legs as she joins him at the counter. "This isn't cranky," she asserts, slipping an arm about his waist. "This is simply a reasonable reaction to waking at an unreasonable hour."

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[info]unhingedrapier
2009-09-11 08:18 pm UTC (link)
"It's not unreasonable," he scoffs, duplicating her emphasis. "It's a glorious day out there, and we should enjoy it."

The toaster belches, popping up four slices of toast that haven't even begun to brown yet. Geoffrey's head snaps around to glare at it.

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[info]dame_ellen
2009-09-11 08:24 pm UTC (link)
"Will we enjoy it by going out for breakfast?" she asks, peering at the toaster. "I think that thing is broken. It's probably got one of those stupid computer ... things in it. Not like the old toasters. Those just worked. Without any computer things."

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[info]unhingedrapier
2009-09-11 08:31 pm UTC (link)
"Oh, no," he says dismissively, waving a hand around vaguely. He turns back to the offending appliance and jams the lever down again. It resists him, popping the toast back up almost instantly.

He tries again.

Four times he repeats this, before the toaster deigns to accept the bread product into its slotted depths once again. Satisfied with his triumph, he reaches for his coffee mug. "There. See?"

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[info]dame_ellen
2009-09-11 08:36 pm UTC (link)
"All hail the mighty Geoffrey, conquerer of toasters," she murmurs, her hand dropping down to caress his hip.

The doorbell rings, and she moves her hand back up to his waist. "Oh, god. Who the fuck could that be?"

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[info]unhingedrapier
2009-09-11 08:48 pm UTC (link)
Geoffrey looks sharply towards the hallway at the fresh noise. "Maybe it's more of those forms to fill out," he says, setting his mug down and moving past her to discover for himself.

Once at the door, he peers through the peephole. Very useful things, those.

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[info]dame_ellen
2009-09-11 08:51 pm UTC (link)
"Well, fuck that," she calls after him as she leans against the kitchen counter, eying the toaster with a wary gaze. "I've had my fill of Nazi language for the year, thank you. Tell Mrs. Mountie to fuck off; we're busy."

The woman on the other side of the peephole, however, is not Meg Thatcher. Nor is she content to simply ring the doorbell. After another ring, she begins knocking. Very briskly.

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[info]unhingedrapier
2009-09-11 09:00 pm UTC (link)
Geoffrey startles, straightening and stepping back from the door as if he's almost afraid this strange woman might come right through it.

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[info]dame_ellen
2009-09-11 09:03 pm UTC (link)
"Thorn?" calls the woman. "Thorn, darling, don't be like this. Let me in, darling. I've such wonderful news!"

Immediately Ellen strides from the kitchen to join Geoffrey at the front door. She looks ready to declare herself a woman with the heart and stomach of a king, a king of England. "Who the hell is that?" she growls.

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[info]unhingedrapier
2009-09-11 09:07 pm UTC (link)
Geoffrey, on the other hand, looks rather like a deer caught in the fresnels.

"I have no idea," he says plainly. He weighs the options for a moment, his brow creasing in thought, then he reaches out and yanks the door open.

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[info]dame_ellen
2009-09-11 09:10 pm UTC (link)
The blonde with impeccably lacquered hair beams as the door opens. "Finally. Honestly, darling, I don't know why you--"

She stops, then peers at Geoffrey. "Oh. I suppose you're his latest?"

Ellen once more has cause to hate her petite stature as she tries to look around Geoffrey.

The blonde woman gives Geoffrey a sweeping gaze, from head to foot. "Mmm. A bit older ... but I expect he's in a DILF phase again, is he? Tell me, sweetie-darling, who represents you?"

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[info]unhingedrapier
2009-09-12 05:23 am UTC (link)
Geoffrey cants his head, a bemused look of disbelief on his face. What?

"Who the fuck are you?" he asks from behind a fixed smile.

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[info]dame_ellen
2009-09-12 05:30 am UTC (link)
"Joanne, darling. I've known Thorn since he was still calling himself Thomas." She gives a delicate shudder. "Thank God he let me talk him into changing it. Too perfect, really. Thorn. Phallic symbol with a hint of danger."

The woman runs a hand down the lapel of her expensive-looking coat. "Now, if you're not currently being represented, I can see if there's room for you in my stable, though I'd recommend you drop a stone, sweetie-darling. Today's men must be lean. And cut. Which reminds me. Are you circumcised?"

Ellen gives up trying to see over Geoffrey and steps to the side so she can glare at the woman more effectively. "My husband's dick is none of your fucking business."

Joanne stares at Ellen, then cocks an eyebrow at Geoffrey. "My goodness. He is broadening his horizons."

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[info]unhingedrapier
2009-09-12 05:37 am UTC (link)
"Ellen, Joanne," he says, once more from behind that static, fixed smile as he keeps his gaze on the strange woman standing in front of him, "Kindly shut the fuck up about my dick."

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[info]dame_ellen
2009-09-12 05:41 am UTC (link)
"So prudish." Joanne gives a little shake of her head, then tries to step inside.

"Sorry, I'm sorry," says Ellen, holding out a stiff arm. "Just why the hell should we let you in here? Geoffrey--"

"Look, let's not be bourgeois about this," says Joanne. "I've been trying to call Thorn for days, though I imagine I know now why he hasn't been picking up the phone--"

She reaches out to touch Geoffrey's chin.

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[info]unhingedrapier
2009-09-12 05:46 am UTC (link)
Geoffrey does what he normally does when confronted with something he doesn't want to deal with.

He runs away.

Or rather, in this case, he leans back awkwardly like a shying horse, before asserting, "Okay. I think I'm done here," as he throws up his hands, turns on his heel and retreats, quickstep, to the kitchen.

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[info]dame_ellen
2009-09-12 05:48 am UTC (link)
"Geoffrey!" protests Ellen, half-turning away from the front door.

Unfortunately, this gives Joanne the opportunity to step inside. "Thorn?" she calls out. "Thorn, darling, wake up. Playtime is over. Send your playmates home until we've finished our business."

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[info]unhingedrapier
2009-09-12 05:51 am UTC (link)
"GO AWAY!" Geoffrey bellows from somewhere near the infernal toaster, which has spit out its contents again and has, by all accounts, quite effectively turned his breakfast to charcoal in the process.

God fucking dammit. This was a good day.

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[info]dame_ellen
2009-09-12 05:55 am UTC (link)
Joanne marches into the kitchen, her glare now threatening to rival Ellen's. "Not until I've spoken with Thorn, sweetie-darling. Wherever you've put him, speak the release word, thump him on the head, unlock the handcuffs--"

"Who the fuck is Thorn?" demands Ellen, scurrying to keep up. "You said your name was Joanne, but that means precisely shit since it doesn't explain what you're doing here or--"

"Oh, just ask Thorn!" Joanne snaps back. "Do you really think I have nothing better to do than to stand here bickering with you? Please. Why don't you run off and get some Botox? It'll do wonders." She gives Ellen a critical look. "And a seaweed wrap. Honestly, I hope you're a good fuck because as far as I can see--"

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[info]unhingedrapier
2009-09-12 06:06 am UTC (link)
Is it possible for someone to look threatening when they're clad in nothing more than boxers and a t-shirt, wielding a piece of cold, but incredibly charcoaled toast?

Geoffrey certainly makes the attempt, losing his famously limited patience.

"Thorn. Isn't. Here," he snaps. "He hasn't been here for eight days. He hasn't been here because I'm here, I now apparently own all his stuff, including his godawful wardrobe, his phallic Mercedes sports car and his piece of shit toaster--" at which he shakes the piece of toast in his left hand at her, "--and apparently his overbearing fucking agent who has about as much tact as a drunk at a funeral, so for the love of GOD, Joanne, shut the fuck up about Ellen and tell me what the fuck it is you want."

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