tigerstriped (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
tigerstriped) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
testrun_box2012-01-31 06:45 pm
tigerstriped) wrote in testrun_box2012-01-31 06:45 pm
Entry tags:
Gummed Up, Brain Dead [For mayfield_rpg ]
I. Action;
[The hounds are at Spike's door, and he's not in the mood for a lobotomy, so Spike has to cut the lawn today.
Passersby will definitely notice the very uneven, curvy line cut through Spike's lawn, ending abruptly in the middle. The lawnmower has been thrown on the ground, left unattended in a big pile of grass. It's like whoever tried to cut the lawn just gave up and wandered away to go do something else.
Spike is laying out on his back, sprawled along the gangly grass beneath him. There is a book on his chest and a cigarette in his mouth. He is staring up into the sky, his hands behind his head. He doesn't appear to be staring at anything in particular, just zoning out into the vast cerulean sky. As if drowning in thought.]
II. Action;
[ Anyone outside might see Spike coming home from work. He'll be holding both his coat and his briefcase over his shoulder in one hand, the other shoved into his pocket. Every once in awhile he'll stop to look at his surroundings, his expression as beige as his suit. ]
III. Phone;
Anyone know how to make actual suits?
Not the kind everyone's wearing. Brown sharkskin. Not my style. That store in the middle of town is a crock too, everyone with half a brain knows that. Guess I'm getting pretty desperate.
[ There's a soft simmer and a long exhale. Then - ] I want a leisure suit, something comfortable. I can pay extra, but don't go thinking I'm a pushover. I know a highway robbery when I see one.
[The hounds are at Spike's door, and he's not in the mood for a lobotomy, so Spike has to cut the lawn today.
Passersby will definitely notice the very uneven, curvy line cut through Spike's lawn, ending abruptly in the middle. The lawnmower has been thrown on the ground, left unattended in a big pile of grass. It's like whoever tried to cut the lawn just gave up and wandered away to go do something else.
Spike is laying out on his back, sprawled along the gangly grass beneath him. There is a book on his chest and a cigarette in his mouth. He is staring up into the sky, his hands behind his head. He doesn't appear to be staring at anything in particular, just zoning out into the vast cerulean sky. As if drowning in thought.]
II. Action;
[ Anyone outside might see Spike coming home from work. He'll be holding both his coat and his briefcase over his shoulder in one hand, the other shoved into his pocket. Every once in awhile he'll stop to look at his surroundings, his expression as beige as his suit. ]
III. Phone;
Anyone know how to make actual suits?
Not the kind everyone's wearing. Brown sharkskin. Not my style. That store in the middle of town is a crock too, everyone with half a brain knows that. Guess I'm getting pretty desperate.
[ There's a soft simmer and a long exhale. Then - ] I want a leisure suit, something comfortable. I can pay extra, but don't go thinking I'm a pushover. I know a highway robbery when I see one.
III.
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Well then. Let's just say I'm not too comfortable wearing another man's clothes.
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Anyways, I'm pretty sure there are a few people who do clothes. I dunno any of their names, but one of 'em will probably answer your call.