bakerstreet | The Reverse Other-Wordly Meme

The Reverse Other-Wordly Meme

Words are magical things; they can have so many lovely connotations and varied histories.
Words have family trees just like people. They are linked to each other.
Some words are full of flavor and color and describe things you never suspected there were words for.
Words are why we're here.

We've had the reverse picture prompt meme, why not the reverse other-wordly meme? Post a comment with your muse's name and canon in the subject line, and list any preferences you may have. Then head on over to the Other-Wordly blog and hit Random until you get a word. Post one or several, whatever speaks to you and your character!

Responders, use the word(s) as a prompt to write up an RP scenario. Mix and match. Have fun with it! Don't stop with a word, though! Words can often have etymologies that are at odds with their current meanings. Words can shift connotations over time. Let your imagination carry you with the words as its wind.

Adapted from this meme.

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SANKOFA :: B'SHERT :: MUTTERSEELENALLEIN :: EUDAIMONIA

[They've had sex and he's lying on his back, watching the shadows pass across the ceilling. Now and then, cars pass by on the streets outside their little house, lights rushing over the walls, the darkness split for seconds. It's not usually like this - that he's so stupidly alert and awake following orgasm. But that's how it is and now he's started thinking. Makes sleep even more impossible, doesn't it? So instead, he decides to talk, keeping his voice loud enough that Claude'll wake up and hear. If he's fallen asleep.]

Hey. Why don't we go to Africa?

[He's halfway asleep already. Dear God, it was good sex tonight. Tonight as well, would probably be the more correct phrasing. Isn't it always good sex anyway? He can't actually remember a time when it hasn't been, aside from the few times they've been drunk during the attempt... His thoughts are slowly disintegrating into nothingness, his consciousness slipping and his eyelids falling closed when Vincent speaks. Out of the blue. Or, well, out of the greyish darkness, in this case. The darkness that surrounds them, only interrupted every so often by car lights passing by outside their bedroom window.

He turns his head towards Vincent, his nose brushing over the skin of Vincent's shoulder, warm at the touch.]

What?

[Christ, what an intelligent mumble. He smiles, cocking his head very slightly to the side, resulting in a slight bump against Claude's nose. Then he stretches out a bit, gaze returning to the ceilling. Thoughts decidedly elsewhere.]

Africa. You should show me.

You wouldn't like Africa.

[He's waking up in stages, the words coming out in a kind of syrup-y mumble at first. Shaking his head slightly, clearing his mind, he turns onto his side - facing Vincent in the dark. Vincent's skin is definitely not made for the burn of the African sun and there's a... Claude would never call it primitiveness, but rather an originality to Africa that he isn't sure the other man would truly appreciate.

And besides... Africa is home. To him. Maybe a tiny part of him is reluctant to share it.]

Sure I would.

[Pause. He shifts sideways a bit, frowning in the darkness. He'd show Claude Berlin in a heartbeat at this point - but of course, there's a lot of water under the bridge about it, too. Necessary distance. He'd feel differently about Kent, after all.]

Why not?

[It's kind of second nature by now, throwing one arm over Vincent's stomach, not at all careful about the force with which he does it. If he knocks just a bit of air out of him, that's fine. Why wouldn't Vincent like Africa? Well, he supposes it does depend on what part of Africa they were going for. South Africa, he might actually like despite the heat. The Ivory Coast, sure - not as warm, either. Actually, anywhere without Didier, but Dakar is the closest you get to Claude's heart. When he thinks about Africa, he thinks about Senegal first.]

Because Africa would ruin your hair, darling. Just look at mine.

[... oof! That's a heavy arm, all of a sudden. He takes a moment to answer, thinking it over. It's rather plain at this point, isn't it, that Claude would rather not. Maybe it was a stupid idea, who knows. At this time of the night (and right after sex), one really can't expect him to be completely tuned in on Claude's every little minuscule, emotional hangup.]

Hey, whatever. [He yawns.] It's your fucking past, it's not like I have to give a shit.

[He could have been less aggressive and used the word 'pry', sure. Conversational edge, with Vincent, is always a very conscious choice, though.]

[Inwardly, Claude is sighing as soon as the word whatever comes into play. Then, Vincent begins talking shit, literally, and he is all but rubbing his temples in exasperation. Probably just as much at himself as at Vincent. It isn't that he doesn't want to share his African experience with Vincent. He married the man, didn't he? He wants to share pretty much everything with him. It's just that Vincent can be very unforgiving and sharp as a machete. It has nothing to do with the sunlight and everything to do with the new light that Vincent might shed on... everything.]

Don't be an arse. [It's said without any real impact.] No offence, Vincent, but you're a harsh judge to drag around the desert.

[A harsh judge? It's true that he's rarely -nice- when he's annoyed or uncomfortable. And sure, Africa would be hell on him for a number of reasons, most of them related to the climate. But it's kind of sad, though. The way Claude simply assumes that he'll be terrible about the place, like he won't know (or more precisely, care) that it means something to him. His frown deepens, the sharpness in his voice growing less prominent.]

You think I'd be a dick about it?

[It's not confrontational, merely honest. And direct as Vincent's prone to be in any case.]

I think the risk is there.

[That's the best he can manage. The most honest he can be without simply saying yes - yes, I think you would. Not only does he think that Vincent could very well end up being a first class dick about it all, but he's even more worried that Vincent might lead his attention to things he'd rather not see. Things that he's grown so used to seeing that they could as well not be there anymore. Inching closer in order to rest his chin on Vincent's shoulder, he glances up at his face through the shadows.]

Don't you?

[Like Claude always says, Vincent's an expert in communication. Implications rarely pass him by and right now, the underlying point of this whole transaction seems as clear to him as if they'd been verbalizing it directly. He's not really angry about it; that Claude doesn't know him well enough to realise that the risk isn't there. After all, who's fault is that? Really? He smiles faintly, shifting just a bit to close whatever remaining distance might be left between them.]

Guess so.

[Just because Claude doesn't work in politics and doesn't have to analyze every single move and every single word thrown his way, doesn't mean he isn't a perceptive person by nature. He couldn't survive in his line of work if he weren't, so naturally he picks up on the slight pause - on everything said in those two simple words. Guess so. Guess it was a serious proposal, then. He shifts the weight of his arm draped over Vincent's stomach slightly, for both their comfort.]

Sure you'd like to go? Because if you want, I can easily make arrangements.

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The Reverse Other-Wordly Meme

Claude Bérubé | OC | OTA

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