Moonlightaholics

Mick shrugged, “It looks like cream to me.”

“Have you ever seen cream that looks like that? It’s been a few centuries, but I’m pretty sure if cream turns that color, it’s time for a new goat.”

Color notwithstanding, Josef approached the sofa in question, flicked open the button of his jacket, and fluidly poured himself onto the not-cream couch. Leaning back, he extended an arm in either direction and, looking from one end to the other, smiled with a measure of satisfaction.

“How many freshies do you think this would hold?”

“Do you really need more than one at a time?” Mick chided, but having been answered with a slight quirk of the head and a wide-eyed, not-so-innocent smile, he continued, “I don’t even want to know. Can you just make a decision?”

“In good time. Sometimes,” Josef said pointedly, “when it’s right, you just know it.” He rose gracefully, casting a meaningful glance in his friend’s direction, and continued his quest.

librarian_7 wrote:I wanted to bump this in honor of the showing of "What's Left Behind" on Sci Fi tonight.

Besides, it's brilliant.

Lucky

wpgrace wrote: OMB Lucky! As you know, I just wrote about this in the Coffee House "Moments" thread and then when I watched WLB tonite and the boys came walking in, I about died laughing! Just thinking about where they had just come from and their wonderful conversation and the goat comment and the whole evening... this little fic has become my favorite scene in WLB... just a minor technicality that it isn't actually IN WLB...

“Mick – that’s not cream,” Josef corrected, “It’s ‘mushroom.’ In the eighties, it was ‘taupe’ or, in La-z-boy lingo, ‘tan’ - but it’s definitely not cream.”

Mick shrugged, “It looks like cream to me.”

“Have you ever seen cream that looks like that? It’s been a few centuries, but I’m pretty sure if cream turns that color, it’s time for a new goat.”

“Yeah, right.” Mick considered, “What about that cream one over there?”

Josef glanced over his shoulder in the general direction that his friend had pointed. His eyes narrowed and he looked back at Mick. “Where?”

“That one.” Mick insisted. “The cream one.”

“Mick – that’s not cream,” Josef corrected, “It’s ‘mushroom.’ In the eighties, it was ‘taupe’ or, in La-z-boy lingo, ‘tan’ - but it’s definitely not cream.”

Mick shrugged, “It looks like cream to me.”

“Have you ever seen cream that looks like that? It’s been a few centuries, but I’m pretty sure if cream turns that color, it’s time for a new goat.”

“I thought we were going out for a drink. What is this place? Some kind of furniture store?”

“Not a furniture store, Mick. The Roche-Bobois Design Center.”

“They sell furniture, don’t they?” He craned his neck to get a look at the huge glass windows that extended from the storefront around the side of the building.

“Of course they sell furniture.”

“Then it’s a furniture store.”

“And a Stradivarius is a fiddle.”