impure_tale

[The Marquis has been mostly absent from the network, his days spent at his desk writing with piles and piles of manuscripts on paper starting to form. The edges of these can be seen around the screen when he appears there, looking conversational. Given his habits of late he is taking a rare, rare break to spend time with you lovely people.]

That was...oddly exhilarating, and I will be the first to say it. No one is particularly fond of being forced to love another person, much less become obsessed with them. However, this struck me more as harmless, flighty admiration. One ought to look to feel that way about someone quite regularly; it adds a touch of color to one's cheeks.

Ah, to be young again, when the beating of one's heart for the simple chance of a look or a smile, much less to know the object of your affection better, was what drove us toward love.

[A chuckle]

Where, I ask, is the fun in that?

Thankfully we all seem to be much cured of it, even my poor Renate.

[Private to Lua]

I suspect the flood turned your eyes toward someone else. If that is the case, then you are all the more gracious than you are credited, cheri, to still provide me the aid that you did whilst I fawned and my words failed me.

[Private to Stildyne]

Are we still pretending that you did not leave me little gifts?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Too late to get rid of me now.

I suppose you're right.

I do wish I had access to a proper publisher, here.

You were well read, in France? [Stildyne doesn't know so much of his history-- but the imprisonment. And the notoriety of his name.]

I would hardly call it that. I'm an acquired taste, you see. Most simply liked burning my books.

That's a cultural mark of... something or other. I remember the cry that went up a bit ago. O'Brien.

I'm fond of your stuff. It's filthy; I approve.

Unfortunately, you make up a small number of people in existence. [Heavy sigh] But then, I never wrote because it was popular.

Would it be prying if I asked?

Asked what, dumpling?

[The endearment, as always, raises a half-smile.] Why you do, to such distraction. I ask only for my personal benefit, as I'm the one's got to massage your hands.

[He shrugs needlessly.]

Better to vent them on paper than keep them in my head, oui? It helps me to relax.

So much, lately. They've been that preoccupying for you?

Making up for lost time. I've rather neglected my hobby.

Well, write what you can before I come over. I intend to distract you thoroughly.

Wicked beast.

Flattery won't save you and you know it.

[playfully] What about desperate pleas?

Oh, I don't know. I'm feeling merciless.

I suppose I will have to be strong. Hurry along, now.

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