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Post by QUENTIN CHOU on Nov 12, 2013 22:08:53 GMT -8
tagged: aria time: 12th May, approx. 7 am. speech: quentin. notes: trolololol Quentin knew that Paris was most definitely not a patient person. He'd seen the signs even from when they were both young-- Paris not wanting to get in line, Paris not waiting to wait for food, Paris protesting about this, Paris protesting about that. It had been mildly amusing at best, irritating at worst.
However, in the real world, patience was a virtue, and Quentin had decided this was something he was going to have to train.
It was seven in the morning when Quentin picked Paris up from Rhiannon's home. He could probably have picked a timelier hour, but that wasn't going to do anything for Paris in terms of training. Quentin of course was a morning person, which certainly helped. Then again, not many people had seen Quentin sleep. It was just one of those things that added to his mystery.
"Sit up straight. You're going to get a backache if you flop all over the seat like that."
At 7:30 in the morning, Quentin was now driving his brother across Los Angeles at breakneck speed. He always made it a point to cut more corners and to overtake more people, his car flying expertly through traffic, nearly brushing against others by the skin of his teeth. It built character, he believed. And trust him, Paris had a long, long way to go.
"I told you to go to bed early last night. I'm going to guess that you were up late messaging someone on Facebook. Something else tells me that it was a boy." He also knew that his name was Kittim Curtis and that he had an ego to rival Paris', but Quentin would save that information for later. Ah, the power of Paris' terrible password.
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Post by PARIS CHOU on Nov 16, 2013 14:29:32 GMT -8
tagged: rogue. time: 12th may, 7 fricking am. speech: paris. notes: let the madness begin.. Running on precious little sleep was a feeling Paris was well acquainted with. The puffy eyes and cottony tongue that accompanied such a feat were the bane of his existence, not to mention not in the least bit cute. But what could he say? The hours between one and four in the morning slid by like water on glass. If only hours spent sitting in early morning classes went by so quickly. The fact that he was used to it, however, did not make him any more enthusiastic about it. Every time he tried, it was waking to a fresh new hell. Quentin had practically had to carry him out the door when he’d showed up at Rhiannon’s place that morning. He totally deserved it though; as much as he loved his brother the fact that they were in transit and it wasn’t even eight in the morning was ludicrous.
Then again there was nothing like Quentin’s driving to put the fear of god into you in the early hours.
“This seat is the only thing standing between me and untimely doom and there is nothing you can do to make me let go,” Paris retorted to Quentin’s tutting. The thrill of nervousness in his voice was half exaggerated and half horribly, horribly genuine as he plastered himself to the passenger’s seat, one hand clutching the arm rest and the other white knuckled around the door handle on the other side. His whole body was a little ramrod of NO, knee pressed against the dashboard just in case airbags wouldn’t be quick enough to save him as they wheeled around yet another corner at breakneck speed. If he hadn’t been awake when they’d gotten in the car, he certainly was now.
Jesus though, it was scary how quickly his big brother caught on to things like boys. Not that Kittim counted as a boy in his life like Quentin seemed to be suggesting. Ew. Ew no. They had kissed once. For work. With both hands occupied saving his life, Paris had to bite his lip to get rid of the burning tingle that threatened to creep up into his cheeks. “I didn't actually think you would show up on the doorstep at the buttcrack of dawn! It's not like you even told me what we're doing today. Besides, how do you know what I was doing last night? I could have been in bed by like ten and you would never know because I'm just not a morning perso- oh god,” he whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut as they sailed through a three-lane merge. “Quent please I’m too young and way too promising to die in something as unexciting as a car crash, it won’t even make the news, please please please slow down I will love you forever… !“
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Post by QUENTIN CHOU on Nov 21, 2013 23:29:33 GMT -8
tagged: aria time: 12th May, approx. 7 am. speech: quentin. notes: trolololol He wondered whether his taking such pleasure in Paris' misery broke some sort of unspoken code between brothers, but then decided that he probably didn't care. Paris was going to have to learn to pull his big girl panties up and act like a man. It was a harsh, cruel world out there, and if the other male wasn't going to tolerate a simple fishing trip and some slightly reckless driving without complaining, he wasn't sure how he was going to survive in the real world.
That was what big brothers were for-- to educate, and to torment. More so the former than the latter, but it was a fun bonus, of course. So Quentin made yet another swerve as he cut through the traffic, eyes narrowed as his car nearly brushed against the car by his right. Close, but not quite. He would chalk that up as a success. The pink-haired male turned to Paris, choosing to ignore everything the younger Chou had said up to this point. Or well, almost everything.
"I won't allow you to die without having contributed something remotely useful to society." The implication that Paris had yet to do anything useful, was a disappointment of an Asian and actually a total waste of space went unsaid between the two, but Quentin knew that Paris would hear it loud and clear. Not that he believed that Paris was actually a waste of space, of course, but it was just one of the subtleties of their dynamic. Whatever Paris believed was up to his own interpretation, of course.
"We must get there early before all the fish go into hiding."
With that, Quentin slammed his foot on the accelerator extra hard for dramatic effect, and a slightly evil smirk curled up onto his lips as they continued blazing through the crowd. Whatever Paris believed about the fish was secondary, and whether fish had feelings was once again irrelevant to the conversation. The younger Chou certainly needed to be taken down a peg, perhaps two. Perhaps three. Perhaps so many that his tent ended up collapsing onto the ground in a crumpled heap.
Yes, Quentin understood the implications of Paris' tent. No, he wasn't particularly grossed out by the thought-- sex was a normal human function after all. But he was very aware that Paris was far too young to be pitching it wherever he wished.
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Post by PARIS CHOU on Dec 15, 2013 21:46:02 GMT -8
tagged: rogue. time: 12th may, 7 fricking am. speech: paris. notes: none. “You’re such an ass,” Paris pouted, digging carefully manicured fingernails hard into his seat as they sped up at a frankly alarming pace. It wasn’t like he expected anything less from Quentin, at least. Ever since they were little, his brother had taken a certain sadistic joy in teasing him and poking his nose into everything it really shouldn’t be. It was a good thing Paris had never been overly protective of his personal space. It was never quite malicious, though. Paris knew his brother loved him (obviously, everything about him was loveable) and would be the first to jump to his defence in the face of genuine threat or insult, but it seemed like he and Rhiannon both just could not lay off the snark if it killed them.
… And people wondered how he was so confident. Hah. At this point, thanks to the damnably frequent doses of misguided sibling affections and in addition to being naturally robust, Paris’ ego was probably bullet-proof. The joke was on them.
None of them would ever admit to it, but Paris knew that one of the biggest reasons he ended up whining to Rhiannon for attention so often as opposed to his brother was because even though she blustered Rhiannon would always cave to him and coddle him in the end, and that’s exactly what he wanted. Quentin was more tough-love. He gave attention on his terms, where and how he saw fit, and that’s where he and Paris didn’t quite see eye to eye. Even if his advice was sometimes (or maybe, possibly, maddeningly always) right. Whatever.
Quentin should just give in to his latent paternal instincts and spoil him like their sister. What was the use in resisting? Paris had faith that he’d come around eventually. Everyone gave in to him sooner or later. “On second thought go faster,” he huffed cheekily. “If we scream up at this pace, the fish are all going to keel over and die with fright and we can go home. I just know you’re dying to get me coffee as an apology for getting me up so early, Queque. Tormenting your darling, precious little brother, for shame!” |
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Post by QUENTIN CHOU on Dec 31, 2013 2:53:58 GMT -8
tagged: aria time: 12th May, approx. 7 am. speech: quentin. notes: trolololol If Quentin had a penny for every time Paris had made an insult that affected him, he would likely have no money at all. The comment about his being an ass brushed off like water from the back of a graceful swan. Once again Quentin debated mentioning that this built character, but decided against it. Chances are, it would help Paris contribute to the noise pollution that had been plaguing the Chou household since the very minute of his birth. The best way Quentin could make Paris fume was to give him as little fuel as possible, and then watch him slowly fall apart.
Some people were just too easy to read. Quentin took yet another sharp corner, zipping past two cars, making sure to look as though he was going to brush oh-so dangerously close.
"Caffeine is bad for your teeth and skin. Haven't you heard?" At first, he didn't say anything in response to the rather fishy statement, though it was quite tempting to note that if Paris was kicking up a fuss, the fish might all swim closer to note the spectacle. Then again, it was probably a bad idea. The last thing Paris needed was any more attention, or the delusion that fish actually cared about what he said and did. Come to think of it, there was probably something to say.
"Fish have a very short memory, and won't remember this ten seconds later. Sounds like a certain strawberry shortcake that I am aware of. Or is this all in my head?" With that, Quentin veered off the highway, dashing at breakneck speed towards where the lake was going to be. Ah, the dulcet sounds of his brother suffering at seven o' clock in the morning.
And people said that being an older brother was suffering?
It was only a matter of minutes before they arrived at the lake. Quentin found a parking spot easily, zooming into the lot and braking as abruptly as he could. Finally, Paris was going to get a break. Quentin turned to the other male.
"Get out of the car. The fishing gear is in the boot. I expect you to carry your own; you are not a sloth."
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Post by PARIS CHOU on Feb 16, 2014 22:27:00 GMT -8
tagged: rogue. time: 12th may, 7 fricking am. speech: paris. notes: none. Paris rolled his eyes at his brother’s nit-picking. He knew perfectly well that Quentin was just fishing for a reaction, pardon the pun, and he was sooo not going to give him the satisfaction. “Caffeine also magically transforms you into a human being, haven’t you heard?” he said brightly. “Maybe you should try it sometime~.” Of course, that sentiment was generally held by the sleep-deprived students and six a.m. commuters of the world, but it applied just as well to snarky, perfectionistic older siblings. Sometimes Paris caught himself checking Quentin for cable ports and power buttons—his brother was too obnoxiously immaculate, too precise, too calculating to be an actual human being and a little part of Paris still clung to the childhood belief that Quentin was secretly a robot sent to critique and scrutinize him into submission like literal 1984-style Big Brother.
Cupping an exaggeratedly delicate hand around his ear, Paris leaned over the arm rest to catch Quentin’s grumbling about the length of his attention span. (Grumblings, which, by the way, were entirely subject to older sibling bias. Paris had a perfectly fine attention span for anything and everything that involved or benefitted him, and if Quentin wanted to contest the ethics of that he should probably take a good hard look in the mirror first.) “Sorry, what was that you said? I just have the worst memory for petty baby snark, it’s like a totally different language to meeeeEEHOLYSHITWATCHWHEREYOU’REGOING!!”
Paris was only slightly ashamed to admit that he wailed on the imaginary brake pedal like a middle aged soccer mom teacher her sixteen-year-old how to drive as Quentin screamed into their parking space at the lake. Needless to say, it took some time to unclench. Slumping bonelessly in his seat, Paris glared half-heartedly up at Quentin as he undid his seatbelt and took a good long, deep breath before hopping out. “One of these days you are going to literally kill me and I hope I come back to haunt your ass for all eternity,” he glowered. “I will do so with gusto and will make sure to put fishing hooks in all your cornflakes to remind you exactly how I died.”
Tellingly, despite his grumbling (and despite the fact that he may or may not have given into juvenile impulses and stuck his tongue out at the back of Quentin’s head outside the car) Paris actually trudged obediently around to the back and grabbed his own stuff—sixteen years of sibling conditioning condensed into one simple act. He leaned against the side of the car with a yawn, poking despondently at his iPhone as though he could make the little wifi bars in the top left light up in a blaze of glory if only he just clicked enough apps. “You know I’m half starting to think you’re doing this just to torture me,” he called to Quentin over his shoulder. “In sixteen years I’ve seen you fish like, what, once? I don’t think you even know how. We should’ve at least picked someplace with wifi so I could Google it if you choke, don’t you think?”
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