There's too much to account for here, and Martin's left grasping at the remnants of his composure while John babbles on. For his part, he seems innocuously delighted at the idea of 'swapping surnames' - how quaint, &c. - oblivious to any lateral connotations the idea might bring to bear. That, and he uses the word spooky of his own volition.
That, and plausible.
There is nothing worse, Martin thinks, than that pause as John considers the sound of 'Martin Sims', the strangling tension of wondering if he'll wake up to what he's unthinkingly implying and things will take a sharp plummet for the unbearably awkward; nothing worse than that until the word plausible.
Christ. He drinks his just-refilled cup a little too quickly and buries his mortification in the resulting cough, which also conveniently accounts for the heated flush in his cheeks.
Apart from all that, John's insistence that his name be on this venture, that they're... business partners, it's, well, it's sweet, sort of. Insofar as sharing this burden constitutes anything sweet.
"I... yeah," he says with a loose smile. "S'pose we are." He rubs at his face, bringing himself the rest of the way back down. The alcohol helps. "Sims an' Blackwood," he offers, still with a twinge of nervousness, as though saying it will have him caught out. "Mmnh. Not right. Blackwood an' Sims? S'better like that. The rhythm, or meter, or something. Two syllable and one." It reminds him of something, but his brain is mostly full of static. "But I don't think my name should be first." It's like a logic problem. Cabbages and goats or something. John's probably good at those, he can puzzle it out.
no subject
There's too much to account for here, and Martin's left grasping at the remnants of his composure while John babbles on. For his part, he seems innocuously delighted at the idea of 'swapping surnames' - how quaint, &c. - oblivious to any lateral connotations the idea might bring to bear. That, and he uses the word spooky of his own volition.
That, and plausible.
There is nothing worse, Martin thinks, than that pause as John considers the sound of 'Martin Sims', the strangling tension of wondering if he'll wake up to what he's unthinkingly implying and things will take a sharp plummet for the unbearably awkward; nothing worse than that until the word plausible.
Christ. He drinks his just-refilled cup a little too quickly and buries his mortification in the resulting cough, which also conveniently accounts for the heated flush in his cheeks.
Apart from all that, John's insistence that his name be on this venture, that they're... business partners, it's, well, it's sweet, sort of. Insofar as sharing this burden constitutes anything sweet.
"I... yeah," he says with a loose smile. "S'pose we are." He rubs at his face, bringing himself the rest of the way back down. The alcohol helps. "Sims an' Blackwood," he offers, still with a twinge of nervousness, as though saying it will have him caught out. "Mmnh. Not right. Blackwood an' Sims? S'better like that. The rhythm, or meter, or something. Two syllable and one." It reminds him of something, but his brain is mostly full of static. "But I don't think my name should be first." It's like a logic problem. Cabbages and goats or something. John's probably good at those, he can puzzle it out.