And so, dear reader, we embark on a further adventure of blood-curdling tales, poisonous grubs and barbarian hordes readying themselves for plunder...
I write, needless to say, of that most curious of habits known as 'lunch'.
'Tis true, travelling with a lascivious dwarf seemed to ready me for your suppertime efforts. He neither groomed nor washed, insisting upon activities with nugskin rugs best left undescribed... Yet, here, dare I say it, he would find himself in great demand amidst the competition.
I trust there is a prize on offer, yes? For those who fancy themselves the speediest or who can create the largest mess? No...? A pity, then, for there seems to be much expended in these pursuits.
Meanwhile, the library would seem to be adequately stocked with enough history and tales to entertain an entire guild of bards and I applaud many of you for having the decency to remain far away, for fear of compulsion to learn. 'Twould be fearful, indeed, were you to desist with complaints of boredom and strain yourselves by reading. No doubt, our physicians are grateful for the lack of strained eyes and exhausted minds, to say nothing of the tiredness it would provoke.
No, she would not respond to these fool-minded gestures of flowers and other wholesale slaughter of vegetation. Was the work of bards and simpletons - and is easy enough to confuse the two. If, indeed, they not be same... Morrigan, for one, would counsel in favour of a re-examining that, should her opinion ever be asked.
But no, she would not blush like some peasant girl in the presence of muscle in shining armour! She would not show favour to poetry! And she would not be wearing that infernal gift of dress!
Velvet, indeed... Morrigan could just picture a certain red-haired former travelling companion taking joy in holding it to the light, speaking of this and that, how it emphasised one's bosom and all but make love to the troublesome garment before she was done.
Instead, the tokens of affection were gathered up and placed into box. One's first instinct being to set them publicly on fire, but instead being followed through with a more devious train of thought. One involving leaving them at the door of another, complete with bundled poems. Let dawdle-minded fools argue amongst themselves over who wooed who. Perhaps that would teach the offender not to compare her to flowers without taking account of thorns.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2013-08-21 11:11 pm (UTC)And so, dear reader, we embark on a further adventure of blood-curdling tales, poisonous grubs and barbarian hordes readying themselves for plunder...
I write, needless to say, of that most curious of habits known as 'lunch'.
'Tis true, travelling with a lascivious dwarf seemed to ready me for your suppertime efforts. He neither groomed nor washed, insisting upon activities with nugskin rugs best left undescribed... Yet, here, dare I say it, he would find himself in great demand amidst the competition.
I trust there is a prize on offer, yes? For those who fancy themselves the speediest or who can create the largest mess? No...? A pity, then, for there seems to be much expended in these pursuits.
Meanwhile, the library would seem to be adequately stocked with enough history and tales to entertain an entire guild of bards and I applaud many of you for having the decency to remain far away, for fear of compulsion to learn. 'Twould be fearful, indeed, were you to desist with complaints of boredom and strain yourselves by reading. No doubt, our physicians are grateful for the lack of strained eyes and exhausted minds, to say nothing of the tiredness it would provoke.
Further examples:
http://community.livejournal.com/dear_mun/35026119.html
http://community.livejournal.com/dear_mun/36424959.html
Example - scene:
No.
No, she would not respond to these fool-minded gestures of flowers and other wholesale slaughter of vegetation. Was the work of bards and simpletons - and is easy enough to confuse the two. If, indeed, they not be same... Morrigan, for one, would counsel in favour of a re-examining that, should her opinion ever be asked.
But no, she would not blush like some peasant girl in the presence of muscle in shining armour! She would not show favour to poetry! And she would not be wearing that infernal gift of dress!
Velvet, indeed... Morrigan could just picture a certain red-haired former travelling companion taking joy in holding it to the light, speaking of this and that, how it emphasised one's bosom and all but make love to the troublesome garment before she was done.
Instead, the tokens of affection were gathered up and placed into box. One's first instinct being to set them publicly on fire, but instead being followed through with a more devious train of thought. One involving leaving them at the door of another, complete with bundled poems. Let dawdle-minded fools argue amongst themselves over who wooed who. Perhaps that would teach the offender not to compare her to flowers without taking account of thorns.