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Post by Jenny on Jun 17, 2007 15:59:43 GMT -5
She flinched and grimaced immediately, but he said nothing. Obviously he was eith er eferring to something else or just didn't want to talk about it.
'The fact that you wrote any is a little disturbing,' she laughed.
He shrugged. 'It was a novel. You have to make it real, don't you?'
'No,' she grinned. 'It's a novel.'
'Oh, be quiet. I'm the clever one, remember?'
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Post by Hanna Squalor on Jun 17, 2007 20:10:22 GMT -5
The walk home was long and it was great to get a cab and ride back. they had enough money to get back to the house. Esme climbed in the shower as soon as she got there.
Jerome made a snack in the kitchen. He was glad it wasn't the pent house, or he would have to go find his wife.
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Post by Jenny on Jun 21, 2007 11:00:25 GMT -5
She settled under his arm twenty minutes later, hair damp and drying into runglets on its own.
'Your hair's gone curly,' he said suddenly. It was longer now-- she hadn't had it cut or shaped in some time-- a break from her constant trips to the hairdresser when they were first married.
'I know. I'm having it vcut.'
Jerome gasped. 'No!'
She grinned at his reaction. 'Yes. Below the chin, like it used to be, and straight.'
He folded his arms stroppily. 'I won't let you.'
She smiled. 'Alright. I'll keep it blonde, just for you.'
'If you come home with black hair there'll be hell to pay.'
She punched him and he rubbed his arm.
'Ow.'
'Yeah,' she laughed. 'I bet there will be, weakling.'
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Post by Hanna Squalor on Jun 21, 2007 14:31:02 GMT -5
"Are you going to blackmail my hair too?" she asked.
"Maybe."
"Well what else are you going to use that book to get?" she asked. "Notify me in advance." she joked.
"I think I'm going to attempt to blackmail myself into the perfect marriage. " Jerome described.
"What is the perfect marriage?" she asked.
"A loving, pair that spend time together but don't smother each other. That have regular sex" this made Esme laugh "and have children. That they love." He added.
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Post by Jenny on Jun 21, 2007 14:36:26 GMT -5
'Look,' she laughed. 'You can't blackmail me into loving children. I'll never be able to do it. I kidnapped them, Jerome. For a living, virtually.'
Jerome smiled. 'Well, you'll pretend for me.'
'Besides, you'll get bored of that marriage,' she added, snuggling in under his arms again.
'I'm not you,' he laughed. 'You get bored of everything.'
'True. But even you'll get bored if the perfect marriage is invented. I can promise you that.'
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Post by Hanna Squalor on Jun 24, 2007 8:49:33 GMT -5
"Okay then whenever we get bored we'll go put on flamingo dancing outfits and lie on the highway until a car comes." Jerome suggested.
"You won't play chicken with me. I'll win." Esme warned.
"I think I can lay inront of a car longer than you can." Jerome said.
"Why?"
"Because you'll get bored."
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Post by Jenny on Jun 24, 2007 11:57:42 GMT -5
She stuck her tongue out at him, breaking free from his arms to sit at the other end of the sofa with her legs sticking out and poking him.
'Petulant,' he chuckled.
'Evil,'
'Well, now that I know that's the type you go for I followed the trend. And spoiled.'
'....Boring!'
'Not anymore,' he grinned. 'At least you don't seem to miss it.'
He'd won, again, as always. He coughed and sighed, a little.
'I must have been aterrible chore to you when you married me.'
She poked him again. 'No. You used to be nice. You're a pain now that you arguw with me all the time.'
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Post by Hanna Squalor on Jun 24, 2007 18:22:59 GMT -5
"I used to say jump and you'd jump. Now you just bug me to death about offsrping."
"Children. children. We are not animals."
"Pups." Esme laughed.
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Post by Jenny on Jun 25, 2007 14:27:50 GMT -5
'Not pups, offspring, eggs--'
'Ha! Eggs! I never thought of that one!' she chuckled. 'Now, where can I jot this down--'
'If we ever do manage to get friends,' Jerome said, thinking taht they never ever would get very far in society again. 'And you call our children eggs, I'll publish the book instantly.'
'Oh, Jerome, stop blackmailing me,' she groaned. 'Publish it or don't publish it. Just decide before I end up putting a pillow over your face at night.'
'Oh, goody, pillow fighting.'
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Post by Hanna Squalor on Jun 27, 2007 18:16:06 GMT -5
"Not so much fighting as struggling." Esme smiled.
They were quiet for a while. "You know techically they are eggs."
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Post by Jenny on Jun 28, 2007 15:06:25 GMT -5
'There's a reason I never paid much attention in Biology, Jerome. It creeped me out. Now, let's not talk anymore about eggs.'
'Alright.' she was curling back into him. No television-- or little of it, anyway-- back here by the sea. It was something she noticed and didn't miss. Neither of them enjoyed being told things through an ariel particularly. She supposed with a life less interesting it might be a suitable passtime.
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Post by Hanna Squalor on Jun 28, 2007 19:29:48 GMT -5
When Esme had fallen alseep the phone rang. Jerome looked at the phone with distain. He wasn't able to move with her on top of him, nor did he want to. He reached but failed.
He moved to the left and Esme's head fell from his chest into his lap. That's when Charles came in.
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Post by Jenny on Jun 29, 2007 12:07:10 GMT -5
Charles grinned, and motioned to Esmé, picking up the phone himself. Jerome took the time to adjust, setting her aside like a doll, breath soft against the cushions he'd laid her against.
'Who is it?' Jeorme mouthed at Charles, who was at the time wearing a pink apron. Esmé would have laughed out loud had she been awake to see him.
'Mr and Mrs York.' Charles said. 'They say you became acquainted earlier.'
Jerome motioned for him to put the phone down.
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Post by Hanna Squalor on Jun 30, 2007 13:43:13 GMT -5
Esme woke up now, the motion in the room rousing her. She looked at charles and laughed then tried to decipher what Jerome was waving his arms about. She grabbed the phone.
"Hello, Squalor residence, Esme speaking." she greeted, just to see what the fuss was about.
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Post by Jenny on Jun 30, 2007 14:10:29 GMT -5
'Hello, dear.' she recognized that interfering old bat's voice over the phone, trying to deny it to herself hopelessly. 'I was wondering if we could talk.'
'We've done that,' Esmé pointed out, cold. 'And plenty of it. Now that's settled, I think--'
'No,' Mrs York interrupted. 'Really, we must talk. It's about the Baudelaires.'
'I don't care about the Baudelaire's anymore,' Esmé snapped. 'Or where they are.'
'Or about Kit's daughter, I suppose.'
'No.' Even Esmé herself was surprised at the verocity of the reply.
'They called her Beatrice.'
'Apt, I suppose,' Esmé spared the older woman a comment impatiently.
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