scandalicious (![[info]](https://www.scribbld.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} scandalicious) wrote in ls_mod, |
His Nefarious Plots for World Domination aside, Sasuke’s pretty easy to cope with (by which one means, ignore.) He’ll bitch and moan if pestered, and he’ll bitch and moan even harder if his regular program of photography OCD is interrupted. (Yes, get off his gd lawn, it was in his shot). He has a soft spot for (good, that means not you, Ino) theatre, which is partly why he services acting students with their portfolio pictures. He’s willing to talk about particularly cheesy police thrillers at length, and he has no qualms about forcing people into a shot.
His single consistent woe and source of frustration is his sight, which puts into perspective that the more he pushes himself, the harder he’ll pay on the long run – and that, in an end, a long run exists. Every other concern is, by and large, someone else’s emo territory.
Oh, and secret: he has a (dry) sense of humour, and every now and then seems rather smugly pleased to have exasperated the people around him. Yes, you read it here first.
tl;dr: Sasuke doesn’t have a place, but he ultimately isn’t making one for himself either.
First person writing sample:
Three grown rats in the cafeteria. Their tails are approximately 10 cm. Too long for mice.
University paper, today’s edition: two rats in the cafeteria. Administration has nothing to say. A picture. They took the shot too fast, so the angle’s poor. It wasn’t a complicated scenario. Somehow, they succeeded in the impossible for that hall: their lighting was too strong. Overfiltered. Photoshopped.
There were three rats. The fur was jumping off the bones of one. It slid behind the counter. The cafeteria registry women said enough. There are no quotations from them.
Note: misrepresented information propagates.
Let’s make a wager.
I have nothing to say. The rats have nothing to say. The cashiers don’t speak proper Japanese. One of them is fat and waddling. The swell of her stomach isn’t uniform. She has a cancer, or a child in it. If she finds the rats’ nest alone, she will miscarry.
There will be no article on that subject.
Note: unpleasant information that isn’t scandalous doesn’t propagate.
The wager is, at the end of the week, there will be only one rat, because the missing third will have eaten up the other two.
Behind the counter. In front of the pregnant foreigner. Wherever. He’ll eat them alive.
His single consistent woe and source of frustration is his sight, which puts into perspective that the more he pushes himself, the harder he’ll pay on the long run – and that, in an end, a long run exists. Every other concern is, by and large, someone else’s emo territory.
Oh, and secret: he has a (dry) sense of humour, and every now and then seems rather smugly pleased to have exasperated the people around him. Yes, you read it here first.
tl;dr: Sasuke doesn’t have a place, but he ultimately isn’t making one for himself either.
First person writing sample:
Three grown rats in the cafeteria. Their tails are approximately 10 cm. Too long for mice.
University paper, today’s edition: two rats in the cafeteria. Administration has nothing to say. A picture. They took the shot too fast, so the angle’s poor. It wasn’t a complicated scenario. Somehow, they succeeded in the impossible for that hall: their lighting was too strong. Overfiltered. Photoshopped.
There were three rats. The fur was jumping off the bones of one. It slid behind the counter. The cafeteria registry women said enough. There are no quotations from them.
Note: misrepresented information propagates.
Let’s make a wager.
I have nothing to say. The rats have nothing to say. The cashiers don’t speak proper Japanese. One of them is fat and waddling. The swell of her stomach isn’t uniform. She has a cancer, or a child in it. If she finds the rats’ nest alone, she will miscarry.
There will be no article on that subject.
Note: unpleasant information that isn’t scandalous doesn’t propagate.
The wager is, at the end of the week, there will be only one rat, because the missing third will have eaten up the other two.
Behind the counter. In front of the pregnant foreigner. Wherever. He’ll eat them alive.
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