The challenge of developing and moving between sometimes 10+ different characters as a member of a show’s ensemble. It’s not just a 60 second change from an old lady costume into a showgirl costume - it’s becoming a different person entirely. Appreciate the ensemble!
Fawkes’ stiff fingers twitch between his; a jerky little shuffle, one after the other - although Lúcio is used to it by now, comforted by the familiar tweaks of Fawkes’ rusty prosthetic.
“Yeah?” he tries - but his tongue is still pressed to the back of Lúcio’s neck, so it comes out more like, lleyah? Lúcio huffs a sleepy laugh - he’s too tired to open his eyes, as tempting as it is to roll them. He squeezes Fawkes’ hand instead and Fawkes pokes the tip of his nose playfully behind his ear, apparently pleased.
“I probably taste like sweat,” Lúcio reasons.
Fawkes manages to hum without removing his tongue (‘aaaaaaaahnnmm’), like he’s considering this, then Lúcio feels it retract, leaving a little damp spot on his skin.
“That’s not sayin’ I mind,” Fawkes pipes up. Lúcio feels him lick his lips and wonders how long he’d been doing that, attached to him by the tongue like he’d licked a frozen telephone pole or something. the thought makes another laugh tease at the front of his chest, but he breathes through it, instead, not quite ready to wake up. “ ‘S healthy, after all, or somefin’. But!” He snuffles with the switch in pitch, and the rush of air tickles against the little wet spot. “You hate sleepin’ on your hair like this, didn’ want you to wake up regrettin’ - er, ahh.”
Lúcio grins, snuggling further back against Fawkes’ bony front, the rabbity beat of his heart warm and reassuring now, a long way from tripping Lúcio’s medical instincts. There are a lot of things that way now, he thinks, still remembers a time when he’d thought he’d known Rat better than he’d known himself.
(God, he’d offered when it’d occurred to him, a hand at the crown of his aching head, goddamn, you must think I’m a complete asshole.
Fawkes had only shrugged - a jerky yank of his wide, bony shoulders, up and down - and given him a smile, perfectly gentle for all his sharp features.
Takes one to know one, he’d offered, chipper - and he’d laughed about it. Right? Tha’s a relief, right? He’d put his hands on his hips, knuckles surreptitiously pulling his belt back up. Either you got nothin’ to worry about, or we get to be assholes together.)
“Thanks,” Lúcio finally says, totally content to stretch out even further under his hands like a cat. (He hears an ‘eep’ from behind him when he feels Rat’s hips against his ass, and the laugh against the back of his neck heats it up.)
I walk into the TV room to find that DynaPapa is watching Ghostbusters with the boys. When I ask, “Why?” his response is, “It’s rated PG.”
Yes, it’s rated 1984 PG. That was before the advent of the newest rating system which introduced PG-13.
DynaPapa points out that Common Sense Media rates it an age 11 movie. I point out that the twins are 10, not 11, and a young 10 at that.
When the doctor found the bone infection in my ear yesterday he said it could lead to “brain abscess, facial paralysis, deafness, meningitis, and bone infection of the base of the skull” if it spreads, hence the high dose antibiotic.
Should any of those happen, I’m thinking that at this rate my children will be watching Midnight Cowboy before my body is even cold and buried.
What? It starts with Sigourney Weaver in Ghostbusters and the next thing you know your kids are singing, “Everybody’s Talkin at me….” and wanting to take Greyhound down to Florida.
Or maybe this is all just the infection talking. Hard to know.
Argh! My MIL took my son overnight last night so that I could get up early today and go to the open figure drawing thing this morning. Instead, like an idiot, I forgot to set an alarm and then proceeded to forget all about it entirely. I woke up at around 9 (when it starts) and bummed around on my phone and before I knew it it was after 10 and I suddenly started to wonder why my son hadn’t woken up and called out to me. And then it all clicked. And I live 45 minutes away from school, so of course I would realize it when it was just too late to go. If I left now I would get there as it was ending. Urgh!