OOM: Before the virus takes hold....
May. 27th, 2006 09:23 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bohemian_markLike Kurosawa, I make films, ok, I don't make films, but if they did, they'd have a samurai.
Coming out of his room wincing, Mark cracked up. "Oh, come on, Roger. Why the hell're you the one singing about filmmaking in this Loft?"
"Gotta have appreciation for the BNL, man." Roger laughed, waving a chopping knife at Mark.
"What the hell're you doing chopping carrots anyway?" Mark blinked, and walked over to the sink, washing his hands. His usual cuts and acid burns from film developing were somehow worse today. He blamed not being able to sleep.
"Mimi dared me to actually cook dinner for once. I'm just attempting to give here a ... fuck." Starting, Roger looked at his hand. Blood was coming out of the palm at a rather high rate. Swearing, he walked over to the sink and started to wash his hands as well.
A moment went by. Later, Mark would maintain that the moment was longer than he'd intended. Swearing loudly, Roger pulled his hands back. "Oh, fuck me with a stick. Mark, you have -cuts- on your hands, and now you have my blood on you and...."
Mark stared at his hands, and went starkly pale. "Fuck. Uh." He just stood there for a moment, at the sink, staring, not even knowing what to do.
"Fuck it, Mark, get your ass into the bathroom, and wash that off. With a lot of soap." Roger went pale as well, staring blankly at the blood in the sink and his own bleeding hands.
Mark walked into the bathroom, stunned, and washed his hands, returning a few moments later. Roger and Mark stared at each other for a long time before Roger sighed. "It's going to be one fucking long month."
Staring out the windows, Mark nodded. "That's the understatement of the millenium."
Coming out of his room wincing, Mark cracked up. "Oh, come on, Roger. Why the hell're you the one singing about filmmaking in this Loft?"
"Gotta have appreciation for the BNL, man." Roger laughed, waving a chopping knife at Mark.
"What the hell're you doing chopping carrots anyway?" Mark blinked, and walked over to the sink, washing his hands. His usual cuts and acid burns from film developing were somehow worse today. He blamed not being able to sleep.
"Mimi dared me to actually cook dinner for once. I'm just attempting to give here a ... fuck." Starting, Roger looked at his hand. Blood was coming out of the palm at a rather high rate. Swearing, he walked over to the sink and started to wash his hands as well.
A moment went by. Later, Mark would maintain that the moment was longer than he'd intended. Swearing loudly, Roger pulled his hands back. "Oh, fuck me with a stick. Mark, you have -cuts- on your hands, and now you have my blood on you and...."
Mark stared at his hands, and went starkly pale. "Fuck. Uh." He just stood there for a moment, at the sink, staring, not even knowing what to do.
"Fuck it, Mark, get your ass into the bathroom, and wash that off. With a lot of soap." Roger went pale as well, staring blankly at the blood in the sink and his own bleeding hands.
Mark walked into the bathroom, stunned, and washed his hands, returning a few moments later. Roger and Mark stared at each other for a long time before Roger sighed. "It's going to be one fucking long month."
Staring out the windows, Mark nodded. "That's the understatement of the millenium."
