random rubbishment
Mar. 13th, 2010 06:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nnyI'm deleting all the snippets and ideas that I'll never get around to writing. It's kind of massively liberating, actually, and interesting to see those things I actually want to write - almost to a tale those that no one else'll want to read. I reserve the right to post some of the random crap that's getting deleted, though; it probably defeats the object, but it amuses me, at least.
When he finally got back inside, muddied to the knees and angry at the world in general and sheep in particular, it was to find Withnail stalking the apple he'd left on the kitchen table. The shotgun had become some sort of bizarre accessory and was no great surprise - like that time he'd taken to carrying the pub chalkboard with him every time he travelled on the tube - but god only knew where he'd found the safari hat.
Marwood watched the pantomime, the exaggerated tip-toeing and ducking and weaving for all of thirty seconds before he tired of it, letting himself fall backwards against the door and tugging at the plastic bags wrapped around his feet.
"You've returned, my beautiful boy," Withnail drawled without quite looking at him, focusing somewhere above his left shoulder and god knew where.
"Don't play the queen, Withnail, for god's sake. It doesn't suit you."
"And why not?" He tore the safari hat off his head leaving his hair looking like some sort of malignant alien growth that would devour the both of them in their sleep given half a chance. "And why bloody not? I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be. Am an attendant lord - "
"The day you're politic, cautious and meticulous, Withnail," he raised his voice, trying to outdo the racket (and some part of him wanted to shake Withnail for making him think such a word about Eliot - but then, some part of him almost always wanted to shake Withnail) - "is the day I'll eat your - "
"Not so loud!" Withnail's head whipped round like a paranoid rodent's, his gaze fixing back on the poor defenceless apple. "You'll startle it."
When he finally got back inside, muddied to the knees and angry at the world in general and sheep in particular, it was to find Withnail stalking the apple he'd left on the kitchen table. The shotgun had become some sort of bizarre accessory and was no great surprise - like that time he'd taken to carrying the pub chalkboard with him every time he travelled on the tube - but god only knew where he'd found the safari hat.
Marwood watched the pantomime, the exaggerated tip-toeing and ducking and weaving for all of thirty seconds before he tired of it, letting himself fall backwards against the door and tugging at the plastic bags wrapped around his feet.
"You've returned, my beautiful boy," Withnail drawled without quite looking at him, focusing somewhere above his left shoulder and god knew where.
"Don't play the queen, Withnail, for god's sake. It doesn't suit you."
"And why not?" He tore the safari hat off his head leaving his hair looking like some sort of malignant alien growth that would devour the both of them in their sleep given half a chance. "And why bloody not? I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be. Am an attendant lord - "
"The day you're politic, cautious and meticulous, Withnail," he raised his voice, trying to outdo the racket (and some part of him wanted to shake Withnail for making him think such a word about Eliot - but then, some part of him almost always wanted to shake Withnail) - "is the day I'll eat your - "
"Not so loud!" Withnail's head whipped round like a paranoid rodent's, his gaze fixing back on the poor defenceless apple. "You'll startle it."
