SV fic post: East of the Sun part 24
4/12/08 01:55 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyTitle: East of the Sun
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters: Lex/quite a few people, eventually clex of course
Rating:PG
Word Count:2428
Summary: Lex learns about trust and love from an unlikely source.
Notes/Warnings: my version of the swing era. Sure, it's weird—it's me!
Many, many thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
danceswithgary expert hand holder, who didn't get a chance to look this over for me 'cause I'm all in a rush—sorry!
Alex exited the car in a daze—nothing was real, nothing had substance—he was blank inside and out. He walked across the miles and miles of lobby, out the etched glass doors and into the street. The wet, the cold, the *sound*, hit him like a slap in the face--suddenly he was overwhelmed by noise, smell, the beat of the street. The world was back, plucking at him, mocking him. Wet flakes swirled and banked, dashed about by the wind, they plastered themselves against his eyes, his mouth—he almost choked on a sudden inward gasp of air, and blinked back tears brought on the by the icy breeze.
He walked, slowly at first, and then, faster and faster—he kicked around the idea of rousting Pete out of bed, making him keep him company, he thought about calling Beebs, but he didn’t think he could stand to have this evening thrown in his face, or--his mouth twisted in a wry grin--*afford* to. He wished he could call on Clark, but…he yanked the brim of his hat lower, pulled his collar higher. He dashed across the street, dodging through traffic and ignoring the horns and shouts. Each step sent icy slush sloshing over his shoes, soaking his cuffs.
He stopped on the curb, considering a cab and going…somewhere, anywhere…he shrugged, and kept walking. Maybe there was a silver lining in this damn cloud. If Wade was telling the truth, he'd finally be able to safely talk to Jules. That alone almost made this thing…worthwhile. His tongue searched out the rawness inside his mouth. Worthwhile, yes. The last time he'd spoken to Jules, it'd been a hurried few words and a hug on the steps of his school, hoping that Lionel or one of his men weren't watching. A barbed thought slithered through his mind…what if…what if the kid didn’t want anything to do with him anymore? Alex stopped under an awning, automatically searched his pockets for his cigarettes.
What if Lionel had turned Jules against him? Hell, the old bastard excelled at turning people against each other. There was something in Dad that loved searching out what made him happy, whatever was pure and decent in his life and pruning it, twisting it until it was deformed or it died…that twisted son of a bitch would probably like nothing better than to pit his brother against him—destroy any hope of love. Hell, it wouldn't be the first time he'd done it. And if he showed any kind of weakness, it wouldn't be the last.
He flipped the butt into the street and walked slowly back to his apartment.
@@@@@@
He bathed, and brushed his teeth, drank a little brandy. Walked around the apartment, drank a little more brandy. He turned on the radio, and listened to music, drank more brandy…'Where or When' was playing, and he threw himself down on the little couch, long legs splayed over the arm. He sipped from the bottle, and laughed to himself. Sure, sure, that was just what he needed, a reminder of why he was here, alone and…and…the song segued into 'East of The Sun', cranked out by one of those sweet bands… "Up among the stars we'll find…a harmony of life, to a lovely tune…east of the sun and west of the moon, dear…east of the sun and west of the moon…" He sang quietly to himself, by the end of the song, he was feeling comfortably numb, and decided it hadn't been a bad arrangement really, and more brandy helped to make it even better. Funny, he thought—it doesn't taste like anything anymore… He gulped down the warm tasteless liquor, swore that in the morning, he'd put this all behind him. Clark, Chloe, Jules…he'd be just what he should be again. Calm, collected…a Luthor.
By the time he fell asleep, the bottle was empty and the radio was silent.
@@@@@@
Clark wandered around his little room, walking from the window to the door and back, feeling…strange. He'd gone along with Walt to take Chloe to the train station, and right before she'd boarded, they'd hugged and she kissed him. It was…quite a kiss. Not at all like the kiss that he he'd had with Lana. It was…he shook his head. It was good, of course it was good. And Chloe *tasted* good, like spearmint, and coffee…he smiled. Chloe really was a java fiend. And a real peach too, cute, tiny—but strong, he liked that. She was small in his arms, but she didn't feel like porcelain, not like Lana….his mind veered away from the thought, back to Chloe and her beautiful eyes, so full of excitement and life, the way they sparkled like sunlight on Elbow River, like….
"Oh God." He threw himself on the little bed and it rattled wildly, trying to hold his weight. Oh God. Why did he keep going back to Smallville? And not even really to Smallville--Whit, that's who'd been on his mind at the station, and the cab ride home and…maybe he was thinking of him because of this evening…Walt had shocked him good earlier. Alex was queer? How in the heck could he *not* notice that? Everyone else knew. He was just stupid, that's what it was. He couldn’t tell Whit was that way, or Reggie…and hadn't seen that Alex was that way. Every time he thought he had a friend—they ended up being homosexual. Pansies. Fairies…whatever they called it.
Alex…Chloe…it was all confusing. For a while, he'd thought they were stuck on each other. They were always kissing and hugging, and she was always really close to him. Too close not to be an item, but as he was learning, the city was a different world. Even though she was sort of his girlfriend, she still kissed and hung off of Alex, and Walt and Pete and…the city really was different.
He sat up quickly, attention focused outside of himself. Was that a yell for…no, just some kids playing around…He lay back down and closed his eyes. He saw Alex smiling, joking with Chloe, his arm around Pete…his arm around Pete. Pete! Oh! He felt like he'd jumped into an ice-cold bath. Alex and *Pete*. It made sense now, of course Alex didn’t have any interest in Chloe at all—it was Pete he liked. Clark exhaled a long breath.
"Alex." Clark smiled. He was so smart. He was smart enough to look past the outside, see what really counted. Of course, being a colored man was a pretty damn long shot from not being human, but…if Alex could be friends, more than friends with Pete, maybe he'd be as pleased as Reggie had been to know about his abilities. It would be so nice to have someone who knew, who wouldn’t be afraid, or sickened. Alex seemed like someone a guy could take a chance with.
He lay back in his bed, arms behind his head, yawning—truly tired for the first time in days. Gable smiled down on him. He agreed with Clark. Oh yes, Alex definitely was a fine fellow, a real gentleman, and had Clark noticed, he had eyes bluer than Chloe's and the sweetest curve to his mouth…he had a little scar and Gable wondered if it felt different then the pink swell of his lip…don't you want to touch, to know… Clark smiled in his sleep and squeezed his pillow, drifted deeper into his dreams.
@@@@@@
BANG BANG "Hey, open up!" BANG BANG "Open the door"
Alex snorted, rolled off the couch and fell to the carpet. "What the fuck…" what am I doing on the couch…
"Alex! Let me in!"
Who the fuck…"Walt? Walt, what the hell…" Alex's head was pounding, and he was less than happy to be awake, and every damn memory was bright and sharp and hard as diamonds—"God damn it, Walt!"
"I got you something," Walt crooned in a wheedling tone, and if he could hear Walt banging and whining at the door, than the whole building must hear him—what time was it? He glanced down at the gold face of his watch. It was three in the morning and…and Walt was drunk? Walt didn't drink…
"Alex, I'm telling you…got you a preeeesent."
Alex stumbled over to the door and leaned against it for a moment. "It better have a prick attached to it," he growled, and unlocked the door. "I was down for the count, Gee. This better be good." He opened the door, about to yell at Walt for being *drunk*, for God's sake, and yelling in his hallway…he took one look at Walt's broken expression, and pulled him inside. "Jesus, Cook--what in the world is *wrong*?"
"I…I should know better than to…Alex, how are *you*? Are you okay…"
He looked like a comic picture of upset, his mouth working and eyes red and watery. Alex threw an arm around his shoulder. "Hey, hey, no skin, babe. We talked, that's all." The welts running down his head and neck were faint enough that he was certain Walt wouldn't see. He was pretty certain Walt wasn't seeing *much*, pickled as he was.
Walt sighed, a deep shaky sigh and leaned into Alex. "Oh, that's—that's good. Chloe's gone. Dropped C.C. off and stopped to have a drink—ah. Maybe more than one."
Alex sighed. "Walt, you know you can't drink…and why don't you just speak to Chloe? She's not a shrinking violet—she'll tell you what's on her mind. I admit, Clark's stiff competition all right…"
"Oh Alex, Alex…does it make you sad…" Walt ran his hands over Alex's face, pressed them around his cheeks. His eyes blearily searched Alex's, and his whisky-scented breath washed over him. Now matter how far he leaned away, Walt followed, like a puppet on strings. "He's like…like your whazzit, your Shangri-la or something, ain't he? Like your dream guy…stinks, old man, love stinks. I know…Clark. Fuck him…Chloe." Alex managed to peel Walt off, and then, not knowing what else to do, cracked open the bottle Walt waved at him, his 'present'.
He and Walt got drunk. Drunker. Alex talked about Clark, how sexy he was, how much he wanted to just…touch him, his hands, his face….and Walt told him that he thought Chloe was a nightingale, the Mona Lisa, the hottest dame ever, from the first moment he'd seen her, he'd fallen head over heels in love. He broke a little, and Alex patted him awkwardly on the shoulder, and that was all it took for Walt to break completely. Alex ended up holding him as he soaked his shirt and babbled his love for Chloe. He pulled his suspenders out, up and down, climbed into Alex's lap and told Alex he loved him like crazy and he wished he was gay too, because he could fall for him like a ton of bricks if it wasn't for that cock thing but…he hiccupped a few times and gently, quietly passed out.
Alex took his shoes off, dragged him into the bedroom, and tipped him into the bed. He eased him flat; stroked sweat dampened hair from his forehead, and said, "Yeah, I love you too." And smiled wider and wider, and with a wicked laugh, began to undress him. He scattered the clothes across the rug, searched through his own pockets before finding what he wanted. Smirking evilly, he placed the tin of rubbers just so on Walt's lap, and hoped he wouldn’t move much in his sleep.
He left the apartment feeling pretty damned pleased with himself
@@@@@@
Walt woke up with a start, blinking wildly—his arm shot out from under the bedcovers and flailed around over the night stand, looking for something….
"Here." Alex threw a pack of Chesterfields at him.
"God damn it, why are you—how did you—give me the matches too." He grabbed the match box out of the air, "Try not aiming at my head—" and lit up gratefully. "Ah…you know, sitting in my room while I'm sleeping—s'creepy. Like waking up to Dracula—why are you here?" He stopped in mid-sentence, looked around the room—his eyes growing larger and larger—he choked in a mouth full of smoke when he realized the bed he was in was Alex's. He gasped, and coughed, but managed to hang onto the butt. "God damn, Alex…what did I do?" He ground out the cigarette and knuckled his eyes. "Shit. My conk feels like it's full of rocks. Why'd you let me drink?"
Alex leaned back in his chair, and waited.
"This isn't—this is your place. Wow—how drunk did we get—" He looked down at himself, pulled up the sheet and looked. "I—I'm--I didn't—did we--you bastard."
Alex burst out laughing. "What? Feeling a little sore?" he teased and Walt rolled his eyes, held up the tin of rubbers and pitched it at Alex.
"You only wish," he growled. "Hah—do I at least get breakfast?" He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and grimaced when Alex grinned, a slow, lascivious smile that made Walt roll his eyes. "Fuck—I should move into your place—the bed's nicer than mine--" He drank the coffee Alex handed him and made a face.
Alex tossed grease spotted brown bag to Walt. "Donuts. Don’t ever think I only love you for your body."
Walt grinned and dug into the pastries. "Yeah," he said around a mouthful "Listen—sorry for muscling in on you last night—I'm—a sap, I know. I was afraid for you, no foolin'. That Wade's a flat out crazy mug—junk yard dog crazy, you dig? Whatever you said-- won't work—for long. He's got glims on Chloe, and his mitts are itchin'—we gotta keep her out of his way." He sighed and put the bag down. "This is—I'm telling you--it's not good, Alex. Not good at all. He's Edge's personal button man—he's poison."
"I can guarantee you, Walt, that I'm very well aware of the problem he poses." Alex blew out a sharp breath and rested his feet on the edge of the bed. "Don't sweat, buddy-boy. I'm not about to get in dutch with that guy."
Walt stood. "Yeah." He pulled the top sheet loose and wrapped it around his waist. "I hope--" He shook his head. "Keep your eyes off my ass; I'm going to take a shower."
"Can I come in and help you drop the soap?"
"For the love of Mike—tell me *why* I don't fire you?" Walt laughed.
Songs this section:
East Of The Sun, West Of The Moon
Lyrics by Brooks Bowman
part 25
TBC
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters: Lex/quite a few people, eventually clex of course
Rating:PG
Word Count:2428
Summary: Lex learns about trust and love from an unlikely source.
Notes/Warnings: my version of the swing era. Sure, it's weird—it's me!
Many, many thanks to
danceswithgary expert hand holder, who didn't get a chance to look this over for me 'cause I'm all in a rush—sorry!Alex exited the car in a daze—nothing was real, nothing had substance—he was blank inside and out. He walked across the miles and miles of lobby, out the etched glass doors and into the street. The wet, the cold, the *sound*, hit him like a slap in the face--suddenly he was overwhelmed by noise, smell, the beat of the street. The world was back, plucking at him, mocking him. Wet flakes swirled and banked, dashed about by the wind, they plastered themselves against his eyes, his mouth—he almost choked on a sudden inward gasp of air, and blinked back tears brought on the by the icy breeze.
He walked, slowly at first, and then, faster and faster—he kicked around the idea of rousting Pete out of bed, making him keep him company, he thought about calling Beebs, but he didn’t think he could stand to have this evening thrown in his face, or--his mouth twisted in a wry grin--*afford* to. He wished he could call on Clark, but…he yanked the brim of his hat lower, pulled his collar higher. He dashed across the street, dodging through traffic and ignoring the horns and shouts. Each step sent icy slush sloshing over his shoes, soaking his cuffs.
He stopped on the curb, considering a cab and going…somewhere, anywhere…he shrugged, and kept walking. Maybe there was a silver lining in this damn cloud. If Wade was telling the truth, he'd finally be able to safely talk to Jules. That alone almost made this thing…worthwhile. His tongue searched out the rawness inside his mouth. Worthwhile, yes. The last time he'd spoken to Jules, it'd been a hurried few words and a hug on the steps of his school, hoping that Lionel or one of his men weren't watching. A barbed thought slithered through his mind…what if…what if the kid didn’t want anything to do with him anymore? Alex stopped under an awning, automatically searched his pockets for his cigarettes.
What if Lionel had turned Jules against him? Hell, the old bastard excelled at turning people against each other. There was something in Dad that loved searching out what made him happy, whatever was pure and decent in his life and pruning it, twisting it until it was deformed or it died…that twisted son of a bitch would probably like nothing better than to pit his brother against him—destroy any hope of love. Hell, it wouldn't be the first time he'd done it. And if he showed any kind of weakness, it wouldn't be the last.
He flipped the butt into the street and walked slowly back to his apartment.
@@@@@@
He bathed, and brushed his teeth, drank a little brandy. Walked around the apartment, drank a little more brandy. He turned on the radio, and listened to music, drank more brandy…'Where or When' was playing, and he threw himself down on the little couch, long legs splayed over the arm. He sipped from the bottle, and laughed to himself. Sure, sure, that was just what he needed, a reminder of why he was here, alone and…and…the song segued into 'East of The Sun', cranked out by one of those sweet bands… "Up among the stars we'll find…a harmony of life, to a lovely tune…east of the sun and west of the moon, dear…east of the sun and west of the moon…" He sang quietly to himself, by the end of the song, he was feeling comfortably numb, and decided it hadn't been a bad arrangement really, and more brandy helped to make it even better. Funny, he thought—it doesn't taste like anything anymore… He gulped down the warm tasteless liquor, swore that in the morning, he'd put this all behind him. Clark, Chloe, Jules…he'd be just what he should be again. Calm, collected…a Luthor.
By the time he fell asleep, the bottle was empty and the radio was silent.
@@@@@@
Clark wandered around his little room, walking from the window to the door and back, feeling…strange. He'd gone along with Walt to take Chloe to the train station, and right before she'd boarded, they'd hugged and she kissed him. It was…quite a kiss. Not at all like the kiss that he he'd had with Lana. It was…he shook his head. It was good, of course it was good. And Chloe *tasted* good, like spearmint, and coffee…he smiled. Chloe really was a java fiend. And a real peach too, cute, tiny—but strong, he liked that. She was small in his arms, but she didn't feel like porcelain, not like Lana….his mind veered away from the thought, back to Chloe and her beautiful eyes, so full of excitement and life, the way they sparkled like sunlight on Elbow River, like….
"Oh God." He threw himself on the little bed and it rattled wildly, trying to hold his weight. Oh God. Why did he keep going back to Smallville? And not even really to Smallville--Whit, that's who'd been on his mind at the station, and the cab ride home and…maybe he was thinking of him because of this evening…Walt had shocked him good earlier. Alex was queer? How in the heck could he *not* notice that? Everyone else knew. He was just stupid, that's what it was. He couldn’t tell Whit was that way, or Reggie…and hadn't seen that Alex was that way. Every time he thought he had a friend—they ended up being homosexual. Pansies. Fairies…whatever they called it.
Alex…Chloe…it was all confusing. For a while, he'd thought they were stuck on each other. They were always kissing and hugging, and she was always really close to him. Too close not to be an item, but as he was learning, the city was a different world. Even though she was sort of his girlfriend, she still kissed and hung off of Alex, and Walt and Pete and…the city really was different.
He sat up quickly, attention focused outside of himself. Was that a yell for…no, just some kids playing around…He lay back down and closed his eyes. He saw Alex smiling, joking with Chloe, his arm around Pete…his arm around Pete. Pete! Oh! He felt like he'd jumped into an ice-cold bath. Alex and *Pete*. It made sense now, of course Alex didn’t have any interest in Chloe at all—it was Pete he liked. Clark exhaled a long breath.
"Alex." Clark smiled. He was so smart. He was smart enough to look past the outside, see what really counted. Of course, being a colored man was a pretty damn long shot from not being human, but…if Alex could be friends, more than friends with Pete, maybe he'd be as pleased as Reggie had been to know about his abilities. It would be so nice to have someone who knew, who wouldn’t be afraid, or sickened. Alex seemed like someone a guy could take a chance with.
He lay back in his bed, arms behind his head, yawning—truly tired for the first time in days. Gable smiled down on him. He agreed with Clark. Oh yes, Alex definitely was a fine fellow, a real gentleman, and had Clark noticed, he had eyes bluer than Chloe's and the sweetest curve to his mouth…he had a little scar and Gable wondered if it felt different then the pink swell of his lip…don't you want to touch, to know… Clark smiled in his sleep and squeezed his pillow, drifted deeper into his dreams.
@@@@@@
BANG BANG "Hey, open up!" BANG BANG "Open the door"
Alex snorted, rolled off the couch and fell to the carpet. "What the fuck…" what am I doing on the couch…
"Alex! Let me in!"
Who the fuck…"Walt? Walt, what the hell…" Alex's head was pounding, and he was less than happy to be awake, and every damn memory was bright and sharp and hard as diamonds—"God damn it, Walt!"
"I got you something," Walt crooned in a wheedling tone, and if he could hear Walt banging and whining at the door, than the whole building must hear him—what time was it? He glanced down at the gold face of his watch. It was three in the morning and…and Walt was drunk? Walt didn't drink…
"Alex, I'm telling you…got you a preeeesent."
Alex stumbled over to the door and leaned against it for a moment. "It better have a prick attached to it," he growled, and unlocked the door. "I was down for the count, Gee. This better be good." He opened the door, about to yell at Walt for being *drunk*, for God's sake, and yelling in his hallway…he took one look at Walt's broken expression, and pulled him inside. "Jesus, Cook--what in the world is *wrong*?"
"I…I should know better than to…Alex, how are *you*? Are you okay…"
He looked like a comic picture of upset, his mouth working and eyes red and watery. Alex threw an arm around his shoulder. "Hey, hey, no skin, babe. We talked, that's all." The welts running down his head and neck were faint enough that he was certain Walt wouldn't see. He was pretty certain Walt wasn't seeing *much*, pickled as he was.
Walt sighed, a deep shaky sigh and leaned into Alex. "Oh, that's—that's good. Chloe's gone. Dropped C.C. off and stopped to have a drink—ah. Maybe more than one."
Alex sighed. "Walt, you know you can't drink…and why don't you just speak to Chloe? She's not a shrinking violet—she'll tell you what's on her mind. I admit, Clark's stiff competition all right…"
"Oh Alex, Alex…does it make you sad…" Walt ran his hands over Alex's face, pressed them around his cheeks. His eyes blearily searched Alex's, and his whisky-scented breath washed over him. Now matter how far he leaned away, Walt followed, like a puppet on strings. "He's like…like your whazzit, your Shangri-la or something, ain't he? Like your dream guy…stinks, old man, love stinks. I know…Clark. Fuck him…Chloe." Alex managed to peel Walt off, and then, not knowing what else to do, cracked open the bottle Walt waved at him, his 'present'.
He and Walt got drunk. Drunker. Alex talked about Clark, how sexy he was, how much he wanted to just…touch him, his hands, his face….and Walt told him that he thought Chloe was a nightingale, the Mona Lisa, the hottest dame ever, from the first moment he'd seen her, he'd fallen head over heels in love. He broke a little, and Alex patted him awkwardly on the shoulder, and that was all it took for Walt to break completely. Alex ended up holding him as he soaked his shirt and babbled his love for Chloe. He pulled his suspenders out, up and down, climbed into Alex's lap and told Alex he loved him like crazy and he wished he was gay too, because he could fall for him like a ton of bricks if it wasn't for that cock thing but…he hiccupped a few times and gently, quietly passed out.
Alex took his shoes off, dragged him into the bedroom, and tipped him into the bed. He eased him flat; stroked sweat dampened hair from his forehead, and said, "Yeah, I love you too." And smiled wider and wider, and with a wicked laugh, began to undress him. He scattered the clothes across the rug, searched through his own pockets before finding what he wanted. Smirking evilly, he placed the tin of rubbers just so on Walt's lap, and hoped he wouldn’t move much in his sleep.
He left the apartment feeling pretty damned pleased with himself
@@@@@@
Walt woke up with a start, blinking wildly—his arm shot out from under the bedcovers and flailed around over the night stand, looking for something….
"Here." Alex threw a pack of Chesterfields at him.
"God damn it, why are you—how did you—give me the matches too." He grabbed the match box out of the air, "Try not aiming at my head—" and lit up gratefully. "Ah…you know, sitting in my room while I'm sleeping—s'creepy. Like waking up to Dracula—why are you here?" He stopped in mid-sentence, looked around the room—his eyes growing larger and larger—he choked in a mouth full of smoke when he realized the bed he was in was Alex's. He gasped, and coughed, but managed to hang onto the butt. "God damn, Alex…what did I do?" He ground out the cigarette and knuckled his eyes. "Shit. My conk feels like it's full of rocks. Why'd you let me drink?"
Alex leaned back in his chair, and waited.
"This isn't—this is your place. Wow—how drunk did we get—" He looked down at himself, pulled up the sheet and looked. "I—I'm--I didn't—did we--you bastard."
Alex burst out laughing. "What? Feeling a little sore?" he teased and Walt rolled his eyes, held up the tin of rubbers and pitched it at Alex.
"You only wish," he growled. "Hah—do I at least get breakfast?" He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and grimaced when Alex grinned, a slow, lascivious smile that made Walt roll his eyes. "Fuck—I should move into your place—the bed's nicer than mine--" He drank the coffee Alex handed him and made a face.
Alex tossed grease spotted brown bag to Walt. "Donuts. Don’t ever think I only love you for your body."
Walt grinned and dug into the pastries. "Yeah," he said around a mouthful "Listen—sorry for muscling in on you last night—I'm—a sap, I know. I was afraid for you, no foolin'. That Wade's a flat out crazy mug—junk yard dog crazy, you dig? Whatever you said-- won't work—for long. He's got glims on Chloe, and his mitts are itchin'—we gotta keep her out of his way." He sighed and put the bag down. "This is—I'm telling you--it's not good, Alex. Not good at all. He's Edge's personal button man—he's poison."
"I can guarantee you, Walt, that I'm very well aware of the problem he poses." Alex blew out a sharp breath and rested his feet on the edge of the bed. "Don't sweat, buddy-boy. I'm not about to get in dutch with that guy."
Walt stood. "Yeah." He pulled the top sheet loose and wrapped it around his waist. "I hope--" He shook his head. "Keep your eyes off my ass; I'm going to take a shower."
"Can I come in and help you drop the soap?"
"For the love of Mike—tell me *why* I don't fire you?" Walt laughed.
Songs this section:
East Of The Sun, West Of The Moon
Lyrics by Brooks Bowman
part 25
TBC
Tags:
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4/12/08 04:05 pm (UTC)*flails*
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4/12/08 04:16 pm (UTC)(no subject)
4/12/08 05:17 pm (UTC)*has doubts*
*is skeered*