fahye | *kicks things*

Due to overwhelming demand we regret to advise that the Tori Amos concert at Canberra Theatre Centre has been moved to the Sydney Opera House on Saturday 14 May at 8pm.

NOT IMPRESSED, WORLD. NOT IMPRESSED AT ALL.

I slept for 12 hours last night. My body knows it is holidays. Je gagne à la vie, except for that part where I was meant to mark many many papers today and I didn't.

Also: writing Thom's part of the Millific when dead of brain produces some interesting things. Feverdreams = crack, though sadly sans l'ananas as yet:

(“Are you breaking up with me?” he asks. Incredulous. Nobody breaks up with him! He’s perfect.

“I’m sorry,” Anthy says sadly. “You only love me for my pants.”

Thom feels that this would be a bad time to point out that she isn’t wearing pants.

Especially because she is.)

ETA: PLZ HELP I AM TRAPPED INNA CRACKTHREAD. A CRACKTHREAD OF LOVE. WHAT HAVE WE DONE. I WEEP FOR MY POOR JOURNAL.

*loves on

schiarire,

shati and

villainny*

*goes away to die of ~~lobstrosities~~ random*

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

*staaaaaares*

...

The first thing I thought was, "Hah, Anthy wears skirts."

*cries at own brain and your brain both*

*weeps for our immortal souls*

... bugger, I was going to give you those Reg threads, wasn't I. Um.

*goes off to find them*

also OH CRACK HOW WE LOVE THEE.

I cannot work up a dialogue somehow but I will leave you this image:

Hob . . .

The 50s Hausfrau.

Thank you. And good night.

I lied!

- - - - - - -

"But your nose is so red," Lucifer said, sounding quite reasonable.

Hob's nose was indeed very red.

"And your eyes are so sad."

Hob's eyes were very sad.

"And your feet are so big."

Hob's feet were very big. He began to cry. "You don't love me anymore," he sobbed, "because my nose is too red, and my eyes are too sad, and my feet are too big."

"I'm sorry," said Lucifer, not sounding sorry at all. "But I don't date clowns."

Fin.

Hob walked away slowly. He had to, because otherwise he tripped on his too-big feet, and squashed his too-red nose, thus increasing the sadness in his already terribly sad eyes.

"Is there no one to love me?" He wondered, sadly, to himself.

And then, in his ear, a friendly little voice sounded.

"Hhhhallo..."

Dorsal Fin.

"Oh no," said Hob, "mother always said not to talk to strangers."

"Manuel is no' a stranger."

"But I just met you," Hob said.

"No," said Manuel, "Manuel has come from have sex with your family."

"Oh."

Fin[e] Dining.

"It's been a long time since I've had one of those," said Hob, and his eyes overflowed, sending a combination of salt water and vitreous humour (which is like slapstick humour only tastier ~~like sunshine dust~~} down his cheeks.

"Is so sad," said Manuel. He made his sad face, especially to show Hob. "But do not fret, little one. You hhhave a pretty face. Is shame to see it so sad. Perhhhaps you need more makeup to go with your red nose? You could be a mime."

Hob sniffled, sad eyes widening with the lustrous shine of hope. "Is that what you really think, Manuel?"

Manuel nodded seriously. "Is what Manuel really thinks. Mimeship is wonderful career. You will make everybody to smile."

And Manuel smiled for Hob.

"Gosh," said Hob. "I like to make people smile. Everyone should be happy. That would be a good world."

"Yes. Do you know why?"

"No," said Hob, "why?"

So Manuel explained for him, and it made perfect sense. "Because love makes the world go 'round, and if the world does not go 'round and everyone is sad then they cry like you and is no good for business.

"Or family."

"H-hello," said Hob. "I like rusty spoons. I like to touch them."

Thom stared at him.

Hob leaned forward. "Might I enquire . . . where you keep the spoooooons?"

Thom's head rose from his body, and he made a strange creaky-screamy-croaky noise.

"I see," said Hob.

"So I can pretend to be a mime trapped in a box for the sake of love?" said Hob, fascinated at the prospect.

"You can pretend to be mime in box of love." Manuel smiles all the wider. "Love box makes world go round, so is round box. You will hhhave to curl up tight to fit. Hhhow flexible is your tongue?"

"Then I must leave," said Hob. "But first I must caress your twin sister. HHHALLO! MY NAME IS HHHOB! I COME TO HHHAVE SEX WITH YOUR FAMILY!"

Thom's hhhead rose off his shoulders and span around and around and around.

"Pretty flexible," said Hob, but he wanted to show his new friend that he was not lying, and that he was a nice person even if he did have sad eyes, and a red nose, and freakishly large feet, so he stood on his oversized tippy-toes and licked Manuel in the FACE.

Manuel said, "OooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!"

Lucifer sidles over and glared at them with his giant bulging eye. Above it his head looked like a pile of cream cheese.

He said something.

"What?" said Hob.

Lucifer sidled nearer, sideways like a giant lobstrosity of sexuality. He said something again. It sounded like no language Hob had ever heard.

Thom blinked, one eye at a time.

Lucifer said something, and then held a carrot out.

"I love taps," Hob announced, and followed the carrot . . .

Manuel has been licked in the... in the FACE. That Hob hunted him down. And Manuel... Manuel is getting a strangely familiar feeling. He tries to deny it, but is too late...

MANUEL'S LOINS! THEY ACHE FOR HHHOB!

Hob reaches for Manuel.

This clown's not fucking around, as we like to say.

Manuel is. It is his reason for being, no? He reaches for Hhhob, also, who glows with happiness and sweat. His eyes spill over again and before he can reach into a pocket for a handkerchief, Manuel licks his face.

Hob was unable to resist Lucifer's wiles. He followed the tap, arms outstretched, humming 'somewhere over the rainbow' happily under his breath.

Thom watched them go, and rolled his eyes.

In different directions.

"ooooooooooOHHHHH," says Hob.

His eyelashes flutter with joy. He is smiling hard. So hard! Hard like good fortune. Diamonds are forever.

He tugs at Manuel's collar, saying coyly, "Pick a color, please, pick a color . . . "

Manuel backs away, suddenly horrified at what he has almost done.

"You are wearing loafers, no?!"

Hob doesn't understand.

"Yes," he says tearfully, beginning to cry again because what does this mean? will no one ever love him?

Not even goats?

His lower lip wobbles like jelly. "Do you not like them?"

Hob doesn't wait for an answer. "I knew I should have gone out shoeless!"

They knocked over 8 bowling pins each.

"Groovy," said Thom.

Then Meg bounced in, wearing a swan.

"Yo," said Zeus.

Manuel callously rips one fragile loafer from Hhhob's foot and drops it to the floor, where it shatters.

"Now you will no' find your prince. AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHHHAALLO!"

Hob drops to his knees, weeping piteously onto the shards of broken glass.

The shards cut his delicate skin as he tries to explain.

"I was cleaning a dish, and so I came out."

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