[ Quentin nearly collides with him, one foot out the door before he realizes that Eddie is immediately on the other side. Looking--his eyebrows raise, lips purse for a low whistle as he gives Eddie the onceover. ] Whoa. Dapper.
See, you don't need a wife, you can iron clothes all by yourself.
Don't be try and be a comedian. A woman's role is more than just ironing clothes. ( though, if she can't do that much, she does have to die. ) She provided the backbone to the entire family structure. Without her, there's no unit. There's no love. Only... emptiness.
[ He was ready to fight about wearing the vest, but Eddie keeps dropping hints about how empty he is inside without a wholesome godfearing wife, so--fine. He takes the garments of Eddie's arm and rolls his eyes by way of inviting him into the small, cluttered apartment.
[ He even places them nicely on the bed so nothing gets scrunched while he peels back out of the clothes he just put on. He talks through the open door as he changes. Eddie is welcome to peruse the books, notepads, and half-drunk cups of various drinks scattered all around. ]
Genuinely, man, I'm sorry about this one. Maybe you're looking for the right girl in the wrong place, you know?
( eddie doesn't hide the way he scrunches his nose at the sight of such an unkempt space. clearly lacking a woman's touch, not unlike eddie's own abode. they're men. men are messy. it's in their nature. even so, it's not something he'd like to surround himself with. the company men isn't something he prefers, but it'll suffice in the absence of a decent rebound.
at least he has decent reading material. that's the mark of a good man: intelligence, passion, a desire to nurture the mind. it's a mark of a good woman as well — in moderation. )
I've looked in all of the 'right' places. Grocery stores, yoga studios, swaddling courses, goddamned children soccer games! And yet a good woman evades me!
( he's close to throwing the books to the ground in frustration, but he's a guest, so he resists. )
Okay, you have got to stop hanging around children's soccer games. [ Mostly mumbled to himself as he tucks the shirt into the slacks. His hair is still a mess and (sorry) he still only really has his chucks, but when he wiggles from the bedroom into the bathroom and looks himself over, that's....okay, admittedly, that's pretty nice. He grabs a comb to wet and tame some of his curls--to try anyway. ] You ever smoke, Eddie?
( quentin can take as long as he wants; eddie's preoccupied by reading through his notebooks. the more personal, the better. )
It's a dreadful habit... But we men need something to curb the edge. I only smoke Peterson, as my father did. And his father before him. And you? You prefer a Mac Baren pipe?
[ The notebooks are extremely personal, every one--but at a glance, they look just like research. He takes these things very personally: notes on dream symbology, insomnia, Shadow work, boogiemen from cultures all over the world. Serial killers, pedophiles, GED prep course. The usual. The notes rarely fill a whole page; he's distractable. But they're intense when he writes them, handwriting cramped and frantic. ]
Ah--I was just thinking about weed. [ Look, he's pretty cleaned up when he comes out, hair swept up out of his face with a stretch comb. He opens his hands up at his sides to show off for a second, then goes into a cabinet above his sink for an old cigar box. ] I don't really fuck with indicas, cuz I get too groggy? But this blend I get from my guy really mellows me out when I'm wound up. You should take a hit.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
( a solid twenty minutes before eddie shows up dressed to the nines with an additional dress shirt, vest, and trousers folded over his arm.
look on the bright side; at least it’s not a wedding gown. )
Knock-knock.
no subject
See, you don't need a wife, you can iron clothes all by yourself.
no subject
( with that out of the way: )
Here. Put this on.
no subject
[ He even places them nicely on the bed so nothing gets scrunched while he peels back out of the clothes he just put on. He talks through the open door as he changes. Eddie is welcome to peruse the books, notepads, and half-drunk cups of various drinks scattered all around. ]
Genuinely, man, I'm sorry about this one. Maybe you're looking for the right girl in the wrong place, you know?
no subject
at least he has decent reading material. that's the mark of a good man: intelligence, passion, a desire to nurture the mind. it's a mark of a good woman as well — in moderation. )
I've looked in all of the 'right' places. Grocery stores, yoga studios, swaddling courses, goddamned children soccer games! And yet a good woman evades me!
( he's close to throwing the books to the ground in frustration, but he's a guest, so he resists. )
no subject
no subject
( quentin can take as long as he wants; eddie's preoccupied by reading through his notebooks. the more personal, the better. )
It's a dreadful habit... But we men need something to curb the edge. I only smoke Peterson, as my father did. And his father before him. And you? You prefer a Mac Baren pipe?
no subject
Ah--I was just thinking about weed. [ Look, he's pretty cleaned up when he comes out, hair swept up out of his face with a stretch comb. He opens his hands up at his sides to show off for a second, then goes into a cabinet above his sink for an old cigar box. ] I don't really fuck with indicas, cuz I get too groggy? But this blend I get from my guy really mellows me out when I'm wound up. You should take a hit.