#voirverite

[peterwoods]

@voirverite asked: "they call that, shag carpet, my love."

   his face, glazed over with perturbation, is fixed in the direction of a very orange and hairy expanse that blankets a sizeable portion of the floor. “i wouldn’t shag on that,” he insists gravely, “not in a million years.”

[metuere-now-exspiritment]

@voirverite

“Perry — your guests keep asking me questions about god. Make them stop.”

[undepth]

“ suppose we’re both full of surprises. ”  esme…

‘Hm,’ a plume of smoke settles in the air between the two of them, ‘not so much.’

She dismisses him as easily as she’s dismissed every other man that’s tried to talk to her in this house; Faye’s husband, that hermit man who lives nearby, and now Perry. She even dismissed the dog, who had nudged his nose against her knee like he expected something from her. The children care little enough for her that she doesn’t have to brush them off, but Perry takes the role they had neglected to fill: the fly buzzing around her face, constantly coming back for more, even after you’ve rolled up the latest edition of vogue magazine and started waving around all 600 pages.

Esme cannot tell the difference between persistence and stupidity. Perhaps she’d argue there’s no difference at all.

‘Have you seen the children? I assume she’d appreciate you watching them for a while.’

[brawnfare]

@voirverite.

     she is wearing corduroy trousers, chocolate brown and flared at the ankle in a way that almost fully obscures the top of her shoes. slyly, bennie catches perry’s attention, flicking her eyes downward, urging him to follow her gaze. she lifts the hem of one leg much like a high society lady would gingerly lift the edge of a skirt, putting her gaudy socks on display for him (and him alone). 

[camillelafaye]

@voirverite​ sent:  [launches perry into cam's ask with confetti cannons] HAPPY BIRTHDAY LOVELIEST LOVE!

“thank you sha’!!!” 

“now call whoeva in charge an’ tell ‘em quit makin’ me get old as hell!”

[ecritverite]

@voirverite said :  he’s stroking the flame of his partner’s tie, a cat with its plaything. dingle-dangle. more or less intelligibly, but liquored amorously: “you are a fetching bouquet of people, you do realize. woodsie to few, woods to most. but -- oh peter, my peter.”

      it’s one of those droning grey days, where thought blends with desaturated figments of reality; in these particular circumstances, woods always finds himself staring into space, a writer’s imagination behind his eyes. like an aimless kite being lightly reeled in to safe grounding, his attention follows gravity to the colourful display sprawled partially into his lap, then to his toyed-with tie. silence is warmed by perry’s lilted tones of endearment, and woods lulls his temple against a relaxed hand, sentiment pulling the thread of a tender smile. 

         “i don’t believe anyone has come to know this peter before. no one’s been patient enough,” the writer begins thoughtfully, pinching his tie, smoothing it - then prances his brows to tease : “fancy you being patient. congratulations.” 

[outsidelost]

“Well, don’t I feel foolish?”

          “Maybe y---you-you should.” He wipes his nose, running with mucus from the aftermath of unearthing things he’s been adamant about keeping buried. For all he’s worth, Alan can’t fully match Perry’s smile, the upturn of his mouth made heavy by the weight of the things he’s just confessed. Things about prison, about after, too. It’s a heavy subject. Alan is hurt. Maybe not by the questions asked but by the answers he’s given, things he hasn’t thought about in years finally laid bare here in the open air before his unlikely friend.           “Sorry,” he amends shortly after, gathering his wits and setting his lower lip straight. “Y’know, nobody’s ever asked me that b---buh-buh-be-be-before.”           People come and go, they make small talk then go on their merry way. Alan doesn’t always want them to stick around, but the feeling of surprise, of belonging, is something he takes home at the end of the night. Perry has always stuck around, sometimes to Alan’s discomfort, but stuck around nonetheless. He thinks people like him can’t really look gift horses in the mouth.

@voirverite - THE MIST (2007) - accepting

[sleazygoing]

‘  what  did  you  dream  of?  ’

QUESTION STARTERS;

          “Mmmoney,” says Kennedy, no hesitation. He’s lying on the floor right next to a perfectly good couch, his legs propped up on it as he all-too casually ‘borrows’ Perry’s ring right from his hand and tries it on his own. It won’t go on his middle finger, so he tries it where he used to wear his wedding ring.

          “Whatchu think?”

           See, Perry is one of the few people able to keep pace with VFK’s infamous conversational meandering, routinely covering a variety of topics from what he likes in the sack to his beliefs on life after death within the space of a minute.

           “What was I saying again? Oh yeah. Way back when, it was pretty much all about the money, you feel me?” 

           He watches the ceiling fan for a while. Runs his fingers through his hair.

          “I always wanted a bitchin’ red sports car that looks kinda like a praying mantis. A cool earring. At least two girlfriends. A gold-plated semi-automatic. Maybe a TV in my bathroom? I got four outta five, that ain’t bad! The earring didn’t last long though. I had the car too but I torched it in a parking lot when Monalisa and me divorced ‘cuz the debt on that sucker was brutal.”