#like what are they even sayinggggggggg

[cornertheculprit]

also zak and phoenix's interactions are actually hilarious because you have zak trying to catch phoenix off-guard over and over or at least make him chuckle like the performer he is and phoenix just sitting there unknowingly wearing his poker face and saying shit with the flattest voice ever until zak gets legitimately unsettled and is just like fuck it. i give up. look at this:

[when examining juice crate]

Zak: This... is grape juice? Is it refreshing?

Phoenix: I usually drink too much and it ends up making me thirsty.

Zak: ...Oh, Mr. Wright. There is something inside that bottle.

Phoenix: Huh...? It's my business card.

Zak: ...... You aren't surprised at all. Perhaps you don't like magic?

Phoenix: (I sure felt surprised. Maybe I had my poker face on.)

[when examining piano]

Zak: I must say, it comes as quite a surprise. I never knew you played.

Phoenix: I'd do anything else if I could, believe me. Oh yeah, there's something you could help me with. Do you think you could make that piano disappear? ...It'd help out in a lot of ways, really.

Zak: ...... Wah ha ha ha ha ha ha! You say the funniest things with the straightest face!

Phoenix: ...People always tell me that. (Except I wasn't joking.)

[when examining table]

Phoenix: One of the restaurant tables. This one's the closest to the piano. ...Which makes it the hardest to eat at, I hear. ...On days when I'm playing, that is.

Zak: What do you think about the ukulele? The sound is slight, the annoyance, curtailed.

Phoenix: A ukulele in a Russian restaurant?

Zak: Then, you must go to a Hawaiian restaurant.

Phoenix: Hawaiian shirts don't go with my complexion.

Zak: Wa ha ha ha ha ha ha! ...I give up.

[darabeatha]

@corrchoigilt said ; *stares at moriarty for an uncomfortably long time* " . . . Why are you wearing clown makeup?" / 𝐔𝐍𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐃 .

Ohh no...

no no no-

It's THAT feeling again- that exact same feeling he gets when he overhears his older archer self trying to use modern slang. His skin is crawling !! his fingers are slightly twitching, he feels itchy all over- his heartbeats are rapidly increasing, and he feels dizzy; nauseous even !! his mouth is wide open.

Absolutely speechless.

This is... This feeling...! yikes!!

CLOWN? What is he even talking about!!? he's clearly pulling at his hair! there is no way his makeup is making him look like a clown!! it's there to make him look sophisticated AND simultaneously soften his intense stare !! blue is elegance itself, it conveys trustworthiness! ❝ WRONG- That doesn't even make sense !!? ❞

[livesincerely]

real mean and real pretty davey my beloved!!!

I’ve been sayinggggggggg!!! This is truly the hill I will die on istg

00000

“You should’ve let me get’cha that ice,” Jack says, piling into the seat in front of him.

Jacobs looks up from his textbook, spots him, and scowls. “What do you want?”

“Can’t a guy just make some friendly conversation?” Jack asks, offering up his most charming grin.

“No,” he says flatly.

“You’re a real tough customer, ain’tcha?” Jack notes, undeterred.

“Or, maybe you’re just not that interesting,” Jacobs counters, pointedly flipping to the next page.

“But seriously, how’s your hand?” Jack asks, eyeing Jacobs’ swollen, scabbed over knuckles. “You gonna be okay to do all those fancy flips and tricks of yours?”

“I’m sure I’ll find some way to muscle through,” Jacobs says dryly.

…

“That’s the sort of thing they make a point of teaching in scouts, ya know,” Jack teases. “Just saying.”

Jacobs gives him a shrewd once over.

“You weren’t actually a scout,” he says confidently.

“Nah,” Jack admits with an easy shrug. “But I could’ve been! I’d‘ve made a great Boy Scout, probably.”

Jacobs snorts, turning back to his book.

“No, you wouldn’t have,” he says. “You’re not the right type of asshole to have been a Boy Scout. They’d have eaten you alive.”

“Ey!” Jack cries. “I’ll have you know that I keep my assholery well-maintained with a healthy mix of diet and exercise. That shit’s AKC certified, sweetheart.”

The corner of Jacobs’ mouth twitches up before he manages to school his expression—even that tiniest concession feels like a game-winning pass.

“Don’t you have someone else you can bother?” he wonders. “Anyone else?”

“You wound me, Jacobs,” Jack says, clasping his hands dramatically over his chest. “Shot right through the heart! Cut right to the bone—“

“It’s David, actually,” he interrupts with a long-suffering sigh. “My name is David.”

“Davey,” Jack tries, testing the feel of the name in his mouth.

“David,” Davey stresses, but there’s a softness to his features that tells Jack that he’s not as annoyed as he’s pretending to be.