tfln open post

[byanyname]

***

either leave a message (or set of muses) for one of my assholes, or request a message from one of them. choose messages from the classic source, from your own skull, or whatever you may please.

Comments

[lostyourheart]

If you wish to remain among the living, you need to eat.

I will bring you as much wine as you like, but you'll also be having supper.

[loyalless]

Why go to the trouble when I'm liable to die within the week?

...I suppose I might manage it. So long as the wine is no lie.

[lostyourheart]

You will not die. I'll protect you, as will Wallace. Agreed?

[loyalless]

As you like.

Just bring the wine.

Please.

[angelnorghost]

I have not heard enough of your snide remarks to proclaim you a master so I shall withhold judgement until a later date.
Though we do seem to cross over in many of our areas of interest and occupations.

Aside from lesser wines, that is something I cannot abide.

Do you mean the art of oblivion in more of an existential or a physical way?
Or both, depending on the occasion.

[loyalless]

I don't recall requesting your judgment. Nor do I recall seeing 'authority on snide remarks' on your list of accomplishments. Which I assume makes you the bane of existence: an amateur judge.

An amateur souse, as well. Drink enough, and you learn not to be too picky.

I would encourage you not to tell anyone I said as much. I do try to maintain a minor reputation for discernment.

As for oblivion, I'll leave that to your imagination.

treavor pendleton | dishonored

[loyalless]

1) Maybe you should start leaving anonymous bottles of booze on his doorstep with love notes attached. That always gets me.

2) I just made my bed perfectly before realizing that I'll be too drunk to appreciate it tonight.

3) What I do when I'm blackout drunk is none of my business.

4) I'm sorry I got drunk, then got really loud and bitchy at your party and judged your choice in one night stands.

Wait you know what, no I'm not. I'm not sorry. You have terrible taste.

5) I am NOT overreacting. THE COW IS STARING AT ME. I know it's up to something. If you don't hear from me again, you'll know who the culprit is.

6) Don't act as if you didn't hear every word.

Did you know, when she says my name, I feel as if— Be smug all you like, but it IS better than wine.

6

[lostyourheart]

I shall be extremely smug, and insufferable as well. Completely intolerable for at least a week.

There will be no living with me now.

But. You really ought to send those messages to their intended recipient.

[loyalless]

... ... ...

It's a lesson I've been slow to learn. Apparently.

I'll need to message Wallace all over again.

...

You're so certain I was speaking about you.

[lostyourheart]

Perhaps you weren't.

Perhaps you might like to tell me what other woman has been warming you better than wine could manage?

Dangerous territory, my darling.

[loyalless]

As if I'd let anybody else lay a finger on me.

Please. You know yours are the only hands I trust.

Wallace aside, of course.

[lostyourheart]

Not to interfere with your relationship with your manservant, which I have already acknowledged is of great importance -

But I should hope he is not putting hands on you the way I do.

[loyalless]

No, he isn't.

You know I haven't 'been with' anyone else since— Mm. I believe since you returned from your first visit to that farm of yours.

[lostyourheart]

[ On one hand, she knows - or rather, has had her suspicions. She pays close attention to the goings-on of the house.

On the other hand. He is being rather...

'Sweet' seems like a poorly-applied word here. ]

Haven't you?

Better than wine AND alternative companions. That is quite the reputation to uphold.

[loyalless]

You can say 'whores,' Katrina.

Yes.

'Alternative companions.'

You needn't worry; I've no doubt you'll continue to make good on that reputation of yours.

You've proven to be a singularly steadfast woman.

[lostyourheart]

There is no compliment loved so well by women as hearing that one is 'steadfast'. Next, you'll call me 'sturdy'.

I might swoon.

Or -

No, no sturdy woman would ever swoon. I shall have to think of some other response to such tender words.

[loyalless]

I can't tell whether you're being facetious; in any case, I'm only speaking the truth as I've observed it. For all that you flit from one mood to the next, for all the resemblance you bear to the most inveterate coquette, you don't shake off easily.

I might say it's an admirable quality.

It does, in any case, make me a fortunate man.

1/2

[lostyourheart]

You are becoming a problem.

I can't very well explain to Venetia et al why I am so fascinated by my phone without breaching your privacy.

Nor why I am smiling.

What does

2/2

[lostyourheart]

What does 'inveterate' mean, please?

Don't laugh.

[loyalless]

I've no interest in laughing at you.

'Confirmed.' 'Established.' In this case, one for whom careless flirting and breathing go hand-in-hand.

Let Venetia et al guess at your fascination all they like. It's no business of theirs whether I find my wife charming.
Or a natural in bed. Or worthy of what little trust I'm capable of entertaining.

[lostyourheart]

...Well, that certainly makes more sense than 'vertebrate'.

Do you truly think I

Am I so natur

I have no earthly idea what I'm doing in

I'm certain I -

There is always room for improvement. In any endeavor.

[...]

You are being a dreadful flirt.

[loyalless]

Am I? From a could-be-inveterate coquette, I'll take that as a compliment.

If you'd like, once you've made your way back home, we can see about a few of those improvements.

[lostyourheart]

Only 'could-be' now? Have you lost faith in my coquetry?

I shall have to show my ankles to some poor prig and then send him to tell you that I am just as much a flirt as I was five minutes ago.

[...]

As to the other.

Perfection is only achieved through dedicated practice.

[...]

And I am particularly enthusiastic about perfecting my art.

[loyalless]

That 'poor prig' ought to count himself honored; should he die on the spot, he would meet his end knowing he's seen what most can only dream of.

I suppose the trouble comes if he doesn't instantly expire. After glimpsing what you have to offer, the poor prig will never be satisfied with any other. Flash your ankles, and you've consigned a man to a fruitless, life-long search for what he simply cannot have.

Foolish of him to focus on those ankles, when there's so much else he's missing.

[ ... ]

I'll send Johanna home.

[lostyourheart]

Ah, that explains the madness men suffer from a provocatively short petticoat: they haven't expired as they ought to have done, right on the spot, and with a smile on their faces.

Living with such unquenchable desire must be dreadful.

[ ... ]

I suppose I could make my excuses - but really, Treavor. I have had four headaches already this month. And if I were to stop going out entirely, people would talk.

And come to the house.