[ Carlos being a creature of scientific habits and skewed priorities is wholly unrelated to his burgeoning love life, thank you very much.
He isn't the type to willingly take detours for social niceties, either — accommodating what he can as a human being with a hair-trigger propensity for routing out logic and tearing the core of irrationality from its framework, burning his bridges before he's even spanned the distance. A manifesto for the regular working man, one composed primarily of water and a predilection for leaving no rock unturned in the name of discovery. Cecil has his limits, certainly. That goes spoken. But the distinction between is like comparing pomelos to clementines: different consistency, same manner of hybridized citrus.
... Well, they're both orange varieties. How about that.
This is by no means related to John Peters (you know, the farmer), but if he's wrenching nature metaphors out of thin air, he might as well scope out an agriculturist for boyfriend advice. His analogies have already gained sentience. It's only a matter of time before they diffuse into the atmosphere alongside the private, collective hopes of a town revolving solely around its own circuitous, self-absorbed axis. The gravitational force of a community that guards its cryptic secrets to the last. Cecil is no exception.
Gaze flickering, he eventually settles on a stilted grin, addled on both corners by moored resignation. Eyes softening, heart incapable of faltering syncopation but still capable of leaving him weirdly breathless; Carlos really is tactless when it counts. ]
Don't be so hard on yourself. You've had an inordinately long day at work. Like, literally. The afternoon lasted three hours longer than usual today.
[ The air reeks of unspoken avowals, but he isn't unreliable when it comes to promises in the corporeal world. Workplace-related decorum's become slightly stringent ever since the sky bled red during a bout of acid rain that one Sunday, but it feels necessary, somehow, to provide even temporary consolation to his overwrought SO. ]
If it'd help reduce stress, I can spare some time during lunch tomorrow to drop by the station and come see you. Or would that be too inconvenient? I know you've booked that anonymous guest speaker for weeks on end now. I wouldn't want to disturb you in the middle of work.
no subject
He isn't the type to willingly take detours for social niceties, either — accommodating what he can as a human being with a hair-trigger propensity for routing out logic and tearing the core of irrationality from its framework, burning his bridges before he's even spanned the distance. A manifesto for the regular working man, one composed primarily of water and a predilection for leaving no rock unturned in the name of discovery. Cecil has his limits, certainly. That goes spoken. But the distinction between is like comparing pomelos to clementines: different consistency, same manner of hybridized citrus.
... Well, they're both orange varieties. How about that.
This is by no means related to John Peters (you know, the farmer), but if he's wrenching nature metaphors out of thin air, he might as well scope out an agriculturist for boyfriend advice. His analogies have already gained sentience. It's only a matter of time before they diffuse into the atmosphere alongside the private, collective hopes of a town revolving solely around its own circuitous, self-absorbed axis. The gravitational force of a community that guards its cryptic secrets to the last. Cecil is no exception.
Gaze flickering, he eventually settles on a stilted grin, addled on both corners by moored resignation. Eyes softening, heart incapable of faltering syncopation but still capable of leaving him weirdly breathless; Carlos really is tactless when it counts. ]
Don't be so hard on yourself. You've had an inordinately long day at work. Like, literally. The afternoon lasted three hours longer than usual today.
[ The air reeks of unspoken avowals, but he isn't unreliable when it comes to promises in the corporeal world. Workplace-related decorum's become slightly stringent ever since the sky bled red during a bout of acid rain that one Sunday, but it feels necessary, somehow, to provide even temporary consolation to his overwrought SO. ]
If it'd help reduce stress, I can spare some time during lunch tomorrow to drop by the station and come see you. Or would that be too inconvenient? I know you've booked that anonymous guest speaker for weeks on end now. I wouldn't want to disturb you in the middle of work.