Cambridge; I. Moore (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sexting) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ataraxionlogs2013-02-13 10:10 pm
sexting) wrote in ataraxionlogs2013-02-13 10:10 pm
Entry tags:
a log full of english
CHARACTERS: Cambridge & Josias
LOCATION: chez St. John
WARNINGS: uh Cambridge wants to put his fingers in Josie's brain but that's about it
SUMMARY: Like all short, loud and highly opinionated men (Napoleon Bonaparte, to name one) Cambridge has got an unavoidable pathetic streak to him. Napoleon needs to pay a Josephine to stroke his hair and maybe tell him to stop saying 'cock' on the network so much.
NOTES: rl still sucks so this may take the record as the slowest log in existence, who knows
LOCATION: chez St. John
WARNINGS: uh Cambridge wants to put his fingers in Josie's brain but that's about it
SUMMARY: Like all short, loud and highly opinionated men (Napoleon Bonaparte, to name one) Cambridge has got an unavoidable pathetic streak to him. Napoleon needs to pay a Josephine to stroke his hair and maybe tell him to stop saying 'cock' on the network so much.
NOTES: rl still sucks so this may take the record as the slowest log in existence, who knows
[ Cambridge's visits to Josias had always been timed rather well. They always occurred at a point where his self-esteem to a highly uncharacteristic nose dive, and since Oxford had left Cambridge had noticed that they were beginning to happen with frightening regularity. It's an ugly look on him; pathetic isn't a colour that suits Cambridge very well, but he can see it in network presence more and more often. A certain desperation, maybe the odd joke or barbed comment that doesn't hit its usual lofty heights and actually ends up fairly below the belt. It feels uncomfortably like losing, somehow. He doesn't like it.
But that said, he doesn't much like anything on this boat at all. Everything is frustrating, nobody lets him play with their suits, and with Oxford gone there is 100% less people on board that he would actually bother to have sex with. Outing himself and his power in a fit of manic confusion to that Cillian fellow had left him feeling uncharacteristically stupid and the fact that he'd apparently been wrong about him in the first place was nigh-on unbearable. It was definitely time for more hair strokes and an ego boost.
When Cambridge makes his booking Josias is as accommadating as ever, something that Cambridge is certainly grateful for on some deep level but never really thinks to thank him for out loud. He arrives exactly five minutes late (of course) but at least offers Josias a semblance of a smile as he enters the little cabin, an act that he's sure the younger man can see through and doesn't bother to carry on with much further than the threshold. Without waiting for an invite he takes a seat at the edge of Josias's bed, hands gripping the edge of the mattress as the smile falls away and is replaced by something much more blank.
When it comes to his Tranquility-issued jumpsuit Cambridge usually wears it with all the trigger-hair explosive fury and barely-concealed injured pride of a cat in a Halloween costume - but tonight, as he sits on the edge of Josias's bed, he doesn't seem to care. He just loosens the collar with a finger and stares at the floor in thought as Josias shuts the door behind him. ]
I thought I might tell you a different kind of story tonight, [ he eventually says in a quietly conversational sort of tone. The stories so far had all been silly governmental farces concerning nobody of any real importance, the kinds handed down through generations of civil servants about people nobody had ever met - all of them interesting, but ultimately impersonal. ] A story about myself and some friends of mine, in fact.
[ He pauses, then adds as an archly defensive after-thought: ]
If you think that would interest you.
But that said, he doesn't much like anything on this boat at all. Everything is frustrating, nobody lets him play with their suits, and with Oxford gone there is 100% less people on board that he would actually bother to have sex with. Outing himself and his power in a fit of manic confusion to that Cillian fellow had left him feeling uncharacteristically stupid and the fact that he'd apparently been wrong about him in the first place was nigh-on unbearable. It was definitely time for more hair strokes and an ego boost.
When Cambridge makes his booking Josias is as accommadating as ever, something that Cambridge is certainly grateful for on some deep level but never really thinks to thank him for out loud. He arrives exactly five minutes late (of course) but at least offers Josias a semblance of a smile as he enters the little cabin, an act that he's sure the younger man can see through and doesn't bother to carry on with much further than the threshold. Without waiting for an invite he takes a seat at the edge of Josias's bed, hands gripping the edge of the mattress as the smile falls away and is replaced by something much more blank.
When it comes to his Tranquility-issued jumpsuit Cambridge usually wears it with all the trigger-hair explosive fury and barely-concealed injured pride of a cat in a Halloween costume - but tonight, as he sits on the edge of Josias's bed, he doesn't seem to care. He just loosens the collar with a finger and stares at the floor in thought as Josias shuts the door behind him. ]
I thought I might tell you a different kind of story tonight, [ he eventually says in a quietly conversational sort of tone. The stories so far had all been silly governmental farces concerning nobody of any real importance, the kinds handed down through generations of civil servants about people nobody had ever met - all of them interesting, but ultimately impersonal. ] A story about myself and some friends of mine, in fact.
[ He pauses, then adds as an archly defensive after-thought: ]
If you think that would interest you.