king of witty snark

❝ the sexy TIGER to my fierce lion ❞ ❝ the PARTNER in crime ❞ ❝ boy GENIUS prodigy❞

[snarkbastian-smythe]

DEBONAIR

[dalton-boy-jeff-deactivated2014]

{Jeff leans in and whispers back.}  Yes, the sarcasm monarch you most certainly are.  {Jeff waggles his eyebrows.}  Feel free to mess me up all you want once we’re back in our bedroom.  I’ll look forward to it.

A toast indeed.  To my beloved Sebastian.  The most sexy and talented actor/singer in his freshman class.  And more importantly, the love of my life.

[snarkbastian-smythe]

DEBONAIR

[dalton-boy-jeff-deactivated2014]

I’d hope you were kidding.  I can’t see as AI messed up that cutie’s puberty.  {Jeff chuckled as he joked back.}

{Jeff let his eyes wander across Sebastian’s face.  Handsome with perfect skin and features that were forever seared into Jeff’s mind as the most wondrous features Jeff would ever lay eyes upon.  He loved the other man, every last bit of him, and the sheer joy on Sebastian’s face warmed his heart.}

{Jeff chuckled again and sipped his water.}  I’ll leave the French to you, Bas.  You’re better at it and oh so sexy sounding.  I prefer the simple English.  I love you, Bas.  Congratulations.   {Jeff held up his glass.}  A toast to your success.}

[snarkbastian-smythe]

The king of sarcasm is moi and my queen is Shane Harvey, Mr. Sterling--but we all know that. In fact, (Sebastian whispers as he forwards his head) how about I mess you up when we get back to the house?

(Sebastian smirks: he loves the attention Jeff puts on him.)

I can do the French, you can do the blowjob with your mouth. And then we'll exchange--that's part of the congratulations package, I believe. (He chuckles, quirking an eyebrow.)

A toast!

[snarkbastian-smythe]

DEBONAIR

[dalton-boy-jeff-deactivated2014]

More like lucky that the owner is head over heals in love with Mom’s fall line and that said affection is constant and recurring.  Though the Disney probably didn’t hurt. 

Regardless, I’m glad we have the table and the chance to celebrate in style.  {Jeff smiled to Sebastian and raised his water glass in a sort of salute before taking a sip while he gazed at his boyfriend over the rim.  Sebastian was his suave and sexy self as always and Jeff couldn’t help but feel luck that the man he faced was his, a feeling he’d had every day since that first back at Dalton.}

No, now you have to tell me, Bas!  Anything that has you concerned over the implication of an image of softening up has to be worth hearing!

{Jeff gave Sebastian a bright and pleading smile, holding the puppy dog eyes in reserve for now.}

{At the request for a French accent, Jeff gave Sebastian an amused and indulgent grin.}  That’s your specialty, Bas.  Not mine.  Still….

Je t’aime.

[snarkbastian-smythe]

Nah--it's my famedom, Jeffrey! Don't ruin my tenure, just as American Idol ruined David Archuleta's puberty. Kidding!

(A salute! As he permit himself a sip, Sebastian concerned himself with the marvel at Jeff admired him; he bathed in the beady eyes, the way he flicked his hair ever so slightly; the dumb smile. Ah--he relished it all, so much that his eyes jaded down to return the loving gaze between them, caught in a trance of infatuation.)

(He snapped back at Jeff's sudden question. Softening up? Hah! French accent abound, he replied:) Lordy Logan Lerman, as if! Lets rephrase it: I was in admiration of a twinkly ol' blond sitting before me, just as he did. I was merely returning the favor to that tiger. (It had to be the eyes. Damn it. They were about as pristine as a siren's call, willing the words from his mouth; but every intention of it felt right.)

(Widening with a smirk, Sebastian quirked an eyebrow and bore the most stupid smile possible. Jeff's attempt; it was so--) Artistic, Jeffrey! Aren't you quite the French man! How about you don more of that French accent and I'll practice being Simba.

[snarkbastian-smythe]

DEBONAIR

[dalton-boy-jeff-deactivated2014]

It’s a very nice place, Bas.  I don’t think we’d have gotten in tonight without name dropping.  I think they reserve out a least a week in advance for the most part.  {Jeff sipped his water while he glanced around the elegant establishment.  He was wearing one of the suits from his mother’s current line in progress and it suited the atmosphere perfectly.}

 Nothing but the best for celebrating your accomplishment, Bas.  {Jeff grinned brightly at Sebastian.}

[snarkbastian-smythe]

A week in advance--more like months on end! And, luckily, we used my charismatic charm that I would soon be Simba to snag us a spot. What luck!

(It's apparent that Sebastian is feeding his own ego; but he does it jokingly, lifting a martini glass of water--oh the height!--and permitting himself. Unlike Jeff, Sebastian kept his gaze clear on his boyfriend, eyes glazed over with admiration. His smile coyed down, just bathing in the sights: the natural wave of golden hair, the suave physique, the facial geography. Ahhh--how far they had come since Dalton, and yet Jeff seemed as handsome as always.)

(Sebastian was never the oblivious type, but Jeff's words has danced past him. He grins, because that is all he can offer, façading as though he has made sense of his boyfriend's words. He snaps back, and delivers a crisp line of words in his French accent.)

I swear on my hundred euro loafers, I am not the sappy type--quoi que ce soit, mais que! Just feeling a bit sentimental sharing this date with you, tiger, considering how--never mind. I just  had to affirm that I wasn't softening up. It's nothing.

(He sips out the moment after.)

So, I've decided, Mr. Indiecrombie and Fashion--tiger; Jeffrey Sterling--that I want to hear your best French accent. After all, we are in a European restaurant, and nous savons tous combien sexy j'ai l'air quand je parle français. (He winks)

[snarkbastian-smythe]

DEBONAIR

(The Italian restaurant is a prim, fussy sort. Waiters--elegantly dressed in high end Victorian suits with towels draped over the radius and ulna, sturdy, silver platters resting on the base of five fingers at max--scurry by with a hasty, albeit graceful, swan in and out of the chef's quarters. There's a particular air: a supple orchestra of instrumental strings--did Antonio Vivaldi reincarnate?--keeps the high-end order, British and European accents accentuating the conversational natter, and formal suits dotting every corner. Sebastian can't help but have his eyes fixed on the restaurant itself, from the arabesque moldings plastered over white-hued walls and dangling chandeliers that convey the utmost of Aristocratic society.)

(After placing their orders, Sebastian is able to swallow lightly and ease the tension in his body.)

This is a nice place, tiger, no? (For his own taste, he riddles his words with his French ancestry, all too easily.) And all this just to celebrate my status as Simba?

[snarkbastian-smythe]

CALL: Sebastian || Jeff

Jeff: Hmm...I'll be sure to look for the sexiest guy around when I come out of class.

Jeff: Hmm...mother did make me a new suit.

Jeff: Love you too Bas. Always.

[snarkbastian-smythe]

CALL: Sebastian || Jeff

Jeff: You're welcome for taking you, but this...this is all Bas!

Jeff: Oh, I totally do. Boyfriend rules! And I with you!`

Sebastian: Oh, I know it's me. It's my night, tiger--and if I were La Roux, I would add that Lily to the end. Sorry, had to get that off my tongue.

Sebastian: Anyways, I'll be waiting outside your last class. Looking forward to tonight, and I'm expecting to see you dressed from head to shoe in an elaborate, fucking sexy dress clothes. We'll figure all that stuff out. See you soon, tiger.

Sebastian:

Sebastian: I love you, Jeff. I really do.

[snarkbastian-smythe]

CALL: Sebastian || Jeff

Jeff: Can't wait Sexy Bas!

Jeff: If we go out, we'll have to bring stuff back for the cat...so take your pick. Your good news so I buy and you select!

Sebastian: Thanks for making this happen. I mean, I saw Lion King because of you...

Sebastian: Oh, you don't have to do that--we'll make Hunter pay for his pussy cat. I just want to spend the evening with you.

[snarkbastian-smythe]

CALL: Sebastian || Jeff

Jeff: Re-oww.

Jeff: Fancy or casual? Actually, if you want the cat we have to order in. So what sort of food?

Sebastian: Rawr, mon amour. You'll have to hear my lion's roar later.

Sebastian: I say we go out, fancy, with something we've never done before. African, to suit the Lion King--or, we could just be casual. A Chicago-styled pizzeria near downtown with some rigatoni and deep dish pizza, no?

[snarkbastian-smythe]

CALL: Sebastian || Jeff

Jeff: Hey, Simba. {Jeff chuckled.}

Jeff: What do you want to do to celebrate, Bas? We could go out to dinner maybe?

Sebastian: (bites his tongue with a victorious smile plastered over his face) Hey, Nala--tiger.

Sebastian: Dinner sounds good. You and moi, are we including Jace and Hunter, plus the cat?

[snarkbastian-smythe]

CALL: Sebastian || Jeff

Sebastian: I'm going to be a fucking amazing understudy!

Jeff: A freshman understudy? Wow, some sophs and juniors have egg on their faces.

Sebastian: Well, you can call me Simba, now! And--

(Tae is looking over Sebastian's shoulder, who is ardently texting Jeff; the guy throws him an eyebrow, lips smirked. "Just remember who's the real Simba," he tilts his head, tone convincingly vindictive. Though he would typically be snarky, Sebastian can't help but brush it past him. He walks away, having won to himself.)

Sebastian: Wow--I'm just really excited, Jeff. I can't believe this is happening!

[snarkbastian-smythe]

CALL: Sebastian || Jeff

Sebastian: JEFF! I GOT THE ROLE!

Jeff: That's great!!! We have to celebrate, Bas!!

Sebastian: I'm going to be a fucking amazing understudy!

[snarkbastian-smythe]

CALL: Sebastian || Jeff

Sebastian: JEFF! I GOT THE ROLE!

[snarkbastian-smythe]

CALLBACKS

TIME FRAME In the intermediate of Fall; perhaps a slight propensity inclined towards Winter.

LOCATION The glossy halls of NYU: students crowd in the callbacks room, chipping at each other for sights on a paper. There's a faint heartbeat in the room.

SYNOPSIS Sebastian--oh gosh. He did something that morning and now he wants Jeff. But, now, It's callbacks time.

WARNINGS None.

Bearing the weight of a substantially life-changing secret rooted deep in the trench of his leather satchel, Sebastian kept a dogged gait winding down the polished New York University halls. The tiles, cultured and invoking, were a terrace for legendary footsteps: in the methodically composed tiles that he saw his face, Sebastian resolutely admired the way a geography of stardom laminated over his face. If his royal flush went untrumped, then the next few months of his life would be a waiting game: his throat went tight, stomach coiling in an anxious knot just as unyielding--if not, tighter--and the skin kept his pounding jugular down, as if his pulsation was beating for liberation--and the truth. 

But Sebastian also splintered over how his shadow eclipsed the stray tiles, parting for his movements on glossy, kept tracks; the stars never swanned by the wallpaper, sifting their way through the crowds. His face never dropped, keeping neutral with a smudge of confidence hanging. Who had he fought for the crown, and was it worth it? There were years of Dalton backed behind him, the people he quashed for stardom; and, by the way his heart beat with Jeff, Jeff, Jeff hours before, it now was sodden with ambition for his own career. But, what if Sebastian's phantasmal shadow loathed the center of the hall, favoring the shadows just as it did?

The thought made him shiver.

The filtering, afternoon glint from the cool, New York haze was anything but a glare, but it casted his shadow up against the wall, just as it did the others. And, yet, Sebastian stood firm, hands grappling the smooth, durable feel of his leather strap to meet the silver buckle, determined to pass as some upperclassman, even though it was clearly not the case.

Though he spent the morning in complete adulation for Jeff, it was now his turn. Sebastian could still feel the tender gaze of his boyfriend's lips written on his own, the soft cradle encouragingly strong and alive in his mouth. He had enslaved himself a promise that morning--and the frizzy, indigo-hued box never left his mind--and could not take it out.

As much as Sebastian denied it, he was rooting himself in tangible security. He wished this wasn't the case

Vernacular entered his attention seamlessly: Korean, amongst English. The room wasn't distinct of anything but a mass of students and peers, eyes furiously adorned on a single piece of paper. The parchment was bleached white, and, from afar, was just a clump of words in Times New Roman separated by a string of periods.

But, approaching, it was the cast list.

The tension eased in his sternum when he fished out a staple in the far, upper left-hand corner of the paper; students veered between the two pages with a steadfast, some laden with panic more than others. Sebastian kept a cool air, but couldn't deny the falling gravity. His shadow soon meshed with those around him, his approach inevitable, but quivering. He wasn't dumb to what was occurring: rejection.

"Good luck, Smythe," Sebastian heard from across the ways. Tae. Exactly what Sebastian needed; he felt his confidence shot, almost uncharacteristically. This wasn't his Dalton self--or was it?--but the young adult found himself rattled, forcing himself to bear a faux grin and reciprocate the tension. Snark dripped from the edge of his tongue, wanting to seep like poison. The Asian--sleek in his pose backed against the wall, one leg grounded and his eyes dead on his nails--gave a taunting grin, as if he had others to daunt as well. "Might want to check that list. I could spoil it for you like half-assed Wikipedia page on carrier pigeons, but I figure you'd rather figure out yourself. Every performer deserves that."

Holding back everything--a Harold and Kumar quote was hanging awkwardly off the roll of his eyes--Sebastian shot a quirk of an eyebrow. Keep it together Smythe.

"And I'll leave your fate for your uncovering, Chau Presley," he snided, averting his gaze with a reborn confidence. He rejected the offer of smirks lobbed at his form.

"You got this, Freshie Frosh Smosh Smythe," and Tae was applauded by his posse.

There was a part of Sebastian that trembled at the very sight of the latin characters, as if he wanted to forfeit his volition to read; he wanted to freeze the moment, find to Jeff, and destroy his secret. Now, Sebastian wanted to walk into the scene with a tight grip on his boyfriend's established palms, ready to face the truth--with someone he loved.

But, it was just himself. Sebastian Smythe.

The way his heart writhed and drummed felt overwhelming, each step against the mirroring tiles--he couldn't see himself in the midst of so many faces, unless he truly looked--echoing his fate. His veins boiled, lungs swelling against the tautness of his ribs.

When he made it to the list, Sebastian clenched his lips and made a bold dive, shooting himself onto the words and searching tenaciously for his name. It had to be at the top, but, for some convincing reason, he had stopped at the bottom. His eyes swifted from the trench of the page, shooting upward.

'... Sebastian Smythe.'

It was there, listed periods away from Simba - Understudy. And, for a second, he could rest without tension.

[snarkbastian-smythe]

TEXT: Sebastian || Jeff

Jeff: Does it involve a present for me? I like Bas style presents.

Jeff: That I can do. See you in a bit.

Sebastian: Can't tell you! ;)

Sebastian: Can't wait to make out with that suave face of yours, sexy tiger.

[snarkbastian-smythe]

TEXT: Sebastian || Jeff

Jeff: Hmm...the plot thickens.

Sebastian: It's complicated... I can't tell you unfortunately because, well--yeah! In time.

Sebastian: But I will tell you the Simba outcome when the list is posted!

Sebastian: On another note we should meet when you get on campus because I demand a make-out session with you before I get the part. ;)

[snarkbastian-smythe]

TEXT: Sebastian || Jeff

Jeff: Well that's not suspicious at all. ;)

Jeff: Let me know how it goes!!!

Sebastian: Uhhhh--got someone to meet. Sorry!

Sebastian: I will, tiger!