God only knows. Technically I was an accomplice. The goods are out of my hands. Unlike dinner. Have you got the stomach for wine?
[ not really the thing for a doctor to bring to the table, but something about the way the evening's warm air feels to breathe reminds him of it. a glass or two might be nice. ]
[ and he will be, actually. 10 or so more minutes spent ignoring any more attempts at communication in a gallant effort to do his doctorly duty (but mostly because he's been having to pause every time he types out a text and there's only so much multitasking a man can do between carrying and walking and texting and trying to fend off generous strangers with free samples of - all sorts of things) and there's a certain Dr. Watson waiting on the porch, as it were, not that many of the places they were able to find for themselves here have anything really deserving of the use of the word porch. ]
[Prior's door has a little arch of greenery over it, a shady spot for John to wait while he texts back]
You'll have to break down the door.
[A moment later, just in case he was somehow taken literally, Prior leans out of a window to one side. He looks - well. Where well is a comparative term, but the weather's brought some colour to his skin, and the amount of water he's drinking just to keep from overheating does wonders for a sallow complexion - even if the same humidity has largely stolen the vague whims that pass for his appetite. He eats better in company, anyway.]
In fact, I'd be grateful if you could. The darn thing's stuck - something's grown under there and taken root. But you can climb through here and still make a dashing entrance.
[ there's been joking of vines and the like before, but standing here listening to Prior announce, apparently seriously, that the door's stuck and it's clamber in or sod off isn't exactly expected. isn't really a surprise either - the joys of jungle living.
at least there's no real climbing to be done, save for over the window-ledge. ]
I wouldn't hold your breath.
[ for a functional door or a dashing entrance? John, somewhat adjacent to Prior's relative glow, bears all the trademarks of a day spent working in the heat. never having had the time or inclination to find clothes suitable for here, he's still living off variations of a shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the most lightweight trousers he's got. sweat at his temples, bottle of wine wedged under an arm otherwise occupied with a hide bag of something or other, other hand equally laden. still, he looks a lot better than he had the night he'd turned up to fall down for some desperately-needed rest. relief and a job well done suit him much better than harrowed and harried had. it's its own sort of glow.
and maybe it's the lighter mood that casts his concern for his dignity out (or in?) the window. but abandoning the door - might give it a go later but better spare everyone the embarrassment now - John passes Prior the first of his bags, the second and the wine to follow and, after that, intention clearly that he'll be coming in himself. ]
[Well The door's stuck, anyway, and Prior May have imagined the vine to compensate for his own unwillingness to exhaust himself dragging the thing open, but it's possible and anyway, this way really is more dashing.
Handed off bags of provisions and bottles of wine he's forced to make a retreat to avoid dropping them - though only back into the kitchen where he's laid out plates and napkins, and a centerpiece made out of various flowers he's not currently in a fight with. The chairs are wreathed with blossoms too - it's clear he's been finding ways to occupy himself long before this suddenly offered dinner - but that he's made a particular effort more recently, too.
As John climbs through the window, Prior's settled in one of the kitchen chairs, offering a round of applause.]
[ it's not the most graceful of entries, but he's in. in to applause, no less, and John affects a little bow (somebody really is in a good mood today). standing up and wandering through is the first opportunity he has to pay any proper attention to his surroundings, and he greets them with raised eyebrows, the curl of his mouth notably impressed. ]
You've been busy. [ which is to say that this is a lot, and very well done, only in not so many words.] All you?
[ a smirk - clever - turns rather quickly into a grin as the joke carries over. hands coming to claps behind his back, John ambles forward, takes pause to inspect Prior's work more thoroughly. and it does seem to be an inspection, equipped with pomp and narrowed eyes and leaning in to squint at the flowers in their various collections. a sound to suit: Hmmm.
then, straightening rapidly, he shrugs. ]
They'll do, I suppose.
[ earlier's smile to break the play, adding: ] Anyone would think you've had a lot of time on your hands.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Don't think I missed seeing your name in lights. Well, paint. You mean the signs?
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And by mysteriously gone missing I mean I'm also a petty criminal now. Keep an eye on those pearls.
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Can it be criminal if it has your name on? Unless it was a wanted poster...
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Good point. I'll call you in to defend me if I get caught.
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And what are you doing with it? There's a nice open spot on your office door.
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God only knows. Technically I was an accomplice. The goods are out of my hands. Unlike dinner. Have you got the stomach for wine?
[ not really the thing for a doctor to bring to the table, but something about the way the evening's warm air feels to breathe reminds him of it. a glass or two might be nice. ]
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But wait, you stole the sign about yourself for someone else? An admirer?
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And he is handsome.
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Except dinner. How long did you say you'd be?
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There in a bit.
[ and he will be, actually. 10 or so more minutes spent ignoring any more attempts at communication in a gallant effort to do his doctorly duty (but mostly because he's been having to pause every time he types out a text and there's only so much multitasking a man can do between carrying and walking and texting and trying to fend off generous strangers with free samples of - all sorts of things) and there's a certain Dr. Watson waiting on the porch, as it were, not that many of the places they were able to find for themselves here have anything really deserving of the use of the word porch. ]
Still conscious?
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You'll have to break down the door.
[A moment later, just in case he was somehow taken literally, Prior leans out of a window to one side. He looks - well. Where well is a comparative term, but the weather's brought some colour to his skin, and the amount of water he's drinking just to keep from overheating does wonders for a sallow complexion - even if the same humidity has largely stolen the vague whims that pass for his appetite. He eats better in company, anyway.]
In fact, I'd be grateful if you could. The darn thing's stuck - something's grown under there and taken root. But you can climb through here and still make a dashing entrance.
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at least there's no real climbing to be done, save for over the window-ledge. ]
I wouldn't hold your breath.
[ for a functional door or a dashing entrance? John, somewhat adjacent to Prior's relative glow, bears all the trademarks of a day spent working in the heat. never having had the time or inclination to find clothes suitable for here, he's still living off variations of a shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the most lightweight trousers he's got. sweat at his temples, bottle of wine wedged under an arm otherwise occupied with a hide bag of something or other, other hand equally laden. still, he looks a lot better than he had the night he'd turned up to fall down for some desperately-needed rest. relief and a job well done suit him much better than harrowed and harried had. it's its own sort of glow.
and maybe it's the lighter mood that casts his concern for his dignity out (or in?) the window. but abandoning the door - might give it a go later but better spare everyone the embarrassment now - John passes Prior the first of his bags, the second and the wine to follow and, after that, intention clearly that he'll be coming in himself. ]
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Handed off bags of provisions and bottles of wine he's forced to make a retreat to avoid dropping them - though only back into the kitchen where he's laid out plates and napkins, and a centerpiece made out of various flowers he's not currently in a fight with. The chairs are wreathed with blossoms too - it's clear he's been finding ways to occupy himself long before this suddenly offered dinner - but that he's made a particular effort more recently, too.
As John climbs through the window, Prior's settled in one of the kitchen chairs, offering a round of applause.]
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You've been busy. [ which is to say that this is a lot, and very well done, only in not so many words.] All you?
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[He smiles, and reaches to adjust a blossom in a floral arrangement.]
And well, one does have to make the effort when one entertains celebrities.
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then, straightening rapidly, he shrugs. ]
They'll do, I suppose.
[ earlier's smile to break the play, adding: ] Anyone would think you've had a lot of time on your hands.
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[He inspects John as obviously, if not as formally.]
And you? [A gesture to the goods on the table.] What have your highly skilled hands been up to?
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