kingdomsofrain | tfln open post

I'm not certain who this is, but luckily for you, O Stranger, I am very good at two things in this life: keeping people away and being exceedingly dramatic.

Whereas they save their most sordid gossip about one Treavor Pendleton for speaking to my face.

Or they did. There's a chance they'll be keeping some of that behind my back now. Pity; I'll need to learn the latest rumors second-hand.

Valiant of you to stand up for my wine bottles, but they aren't worth your effort, plentiful though they may be.

[ What. Is?

He's going to start to shout for Wallace. He's going to cut himself off, recalling that the man ran out for... something, some errand, Treavor really hadn't cared what.

Fuck's sake. He should stop texting while drinking, but if he stuck to that rule, he'd never be able to text.

So. All right. He can handle whatever the fuck this is meant to be. ]

Didn't do a particularly effective job of keeping me away, did you?

At least that leaves you with one skill to fall back on.

Well who knows who you are. I might welcome you.
Likely not, but there is a slim margin of a chance that you could be acceptable.
Especially as I am attempting to be more sociable these days.

What sort of people are you wanting kept away?
And in what sort of condition do you wish them to leave?

Well, I could do it because I am fond of you.

And because she is a horror of a human being.

And I am bored with samplers.

If you care to go after Waverly, I'll make no effort to stop you.

What is it with you and those samplers?

Aren't you a valiant soul, doing your best to play at society's games.

Oh, and to play at mutilation. Let's not forget that.

That IS what you're suggesting, isn't it? Christ, what kind of—

This is a joke. I don't care for it.

Who is this.

I have nothing else to do, have I? Wallace cooks, Johanna cleans, there is no livestock to tend, no wool to spin, no fabric to weave. I have read all of my books. You have very little use for me.

And this is, apparently, what Manhattan ladies do with their time when they aren't visiting one another.

Even then, they take their god-forsaken embroidery along with them. Oho, another handkerchief with little flowers on it. How cleverly we women make use of our time.

An existential question I do not always have the answer to, myself.
Usually I merely sign my letters Fdel'O, if I am running short on time, which I sometimes am. I'm a busy man.

Well, less busy, these days. Mostly retired, in fact.

Might I remind you that you were the one who began the conversation with your hypothetical death, guests to be kept away, and dramatically flinging oneself across your coffin.
You have no real room to judge.

~~Yes, of course, I'm so sorry we haven't a cow or a pig shitting up the place, all so you can imagine yourself to be useful.~~

Are you suggesting we ought to rendezvous more frequently?

You know, you're free to bring new books into this house. We aren't utterly strapped for space.

And I do have books of my own.

I am suggesting you have no use for me beyond our

"Meetings."

Not that I would object to an increase in frequency.

[...]

May I borrow them?

And still I'll judge as I please.

All those words, and you've yet to answer my question. Oh, no, I'm sorry; you've offered a clever - terribly clever, deftly managed - sketch of what you've been. Am I to take that in lieu of your name?

Dramatic, indeed.

If you won't extend the courtesy of your NAME, might you at least tell me what it is you've retired from?

To be fair, I also have little enough use for myself.

Borrow them if you like. Only put them back when you've finished; I'm not going to force that task on Wallace.

Most things, really. What have I not been in this long, loathsome life of mine?

Architect (though I am currently constructing a house for my new bride, so only semi-retired there)
Magician
Maker of labyrinths
Lover of trap doors
Circus performer
Master of mirrors and mirages
All around handyman and entertainer to terribly powerful people
An admirer and experimenter in the art of knot making

And yourself? You have given me neither name nor occupation.

~~Really. Have you ever known me to be anything but tidy?~~

Thank you.

[...]

Perhaps I could sit with you while I read.

If I am perfectly quiet, and make no trouble for you.

...

Please?

I'm not sure what the point would be.

You might try, if you wish.

And if you should choose to make trouble once in a while, I suppose I might not argue.

Now, really.

What do you suppose the point would be, if you must guess at my motivations?

[ That right there? That's the sound of Treavor's eyes rolling far the fuck into the back of his skull. Did he ask for a resume? A resume or a... what is this, a collection of nonsensical words and phrases? ]

I don't recall your asking.

Still, since you've been so blessedly thorough:

Schemer
Disappointment
Drinker of fine wines
Drinker of lesser wines
Societal performer
Master of snide remarks and withering glances
All around entertainment to terribly powerful people
An admirer and experimenter in the art of oblivion

All that in my own long and loathsome life.

I'm not fond of guessing games.

To make trouble, of course.

And to be near my husband, whose companionship I enjoy on occasion.

You ARE a walking agitator, aren't you? Unmanageable and delinquent.

What ever shall I do with you?

Aside from gracing you with the gift of my consummate company.

Mother says I was an uproar from the moment I was born. I see no reason to change my behavior when it has worked so well for me until now.

Can you imagine it, if I were some sort of frail and shrinking little thing?

Like Venetia!

~~Likely I wouldn't be married to you, but rather some young and dull man in Sleepy Hollow~~ How terribly bored you would be with me.

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