kingdomsofrain | tfln open post

[ Most certainly Treavor is not racing home in a carriage! By no means had he slipped off early from the Boyles' the night before in order to face down his father. Nor did he wake before dawn, or slip out of the manor without - somehow! miraculously! - finding himself curtailed. Nor has he been tapping his foot nervously, posing admittedly asinine questions to Wallace, or feeling pleased with himself in spite of his nerves and a lingering hangover (not as wretched as it could be; he'd been careful last night).

Certainly none of these things can be true, and certainly he can't be heading home, because it isn't Tuesday, at all! ]

If you possess the secret to immortality, mijn vrouw, be so kind as to speak it in my ear, and I'll join you gladly.

Or have you granted me this gift already? Ah, I might have known! The sight of your smile is enough to grant an eternity's sustenance; you've spelt my fate already, haven't you? Magnanimous minx! I suppose I must consign myself to remaining infinite beside you. (Endless days, and three whole weeks beyond!) Ah, what ever shall I do?!

Make the best of it, I suppose. Learn a few new tricks every week. Hmm... And give my wife whatever she might ask, so that she never need tire of this world, or of the husband beside her forever. Do you know, Dearest? I believe I'm up to the challenge.

Nothing would please me better than to see to your satisfaction without end.

As to the matter of my would-be-flipping, I suppose the succinct answer is 'Because I'm feeling petty.' And I've seen more than enough of Deforest Scarlett's smirk to last a lifetime.

This entire convocation is pointless. Painfully, wretchedly pointless.

[ Katrina has been fielding texts from Treavor all day, though she has resigned herself to the obligation of tending to all the chores and errands she has been neglecting, ha - for precisely this reason. Treavor, and his messages. All of them may be blamed for her preoccupation, her indolence, the way every task takes three times as long: she is even now leaning against a tree near the back awning of their (oh, their!) (or not theirs, but not-theirs together!) house, smiling at each new line of text.

But they are so distracting.

It's distracting to be the center of attention. To be adored again. (And openly! Oh, openly adored! Remember how he looked at her beneath that tree, and Newell disclosed to her that Treavor turned the conversation her way a time or four. I know an enamored man when I see one, he'd said. He would know! He, enamored with Johanna!) Her heart pounds with every buzzing alert, though she thinks forlornly that she wishes Saturday would hurry and arrive. ]

Oh, I need nothing at all to keep me from tiring of you! (The husband beside me forever!)

And no, Dearest, I have not yet granted you immortality. There is a trick to it: it must be given with a kiss, in a particular time and place. I will not tell you where, for fear you might go without me and try to seek it from another. Then where will I be? Doomed to live forever without you, watching you enjoy eternity with someone you perhaps like better?

(Silly, I know. Who could you possibly like better than me? Who could I like better than you? We misanthropic pair, we have found one another and are happily carrying on without any impositions from those without.)

Ah ha, I misread your message and at first thought you said 'I'm feeling pretty'! And you are pretty, but that would be my reason for 'flipping'. Or any crude gesture at all.

Now, let me think. Is Deforest Scarlett the one with the very buoyant hair? Surely he had nothing of interest to say. His insults and insinuations are like jellied daggers.

[...]

Floppy.

Charming creature.

I'm relieved to hear you've discerned the abyssal fractures endemic to your fear. Who indeed could I bother to afford a second thought - let alone a third, a fourth, a fortieth? (such ceaseless, uncounted thoughts!) - or deign to consider kissing? The very notion repels me!

I'm afraid I've no kisses for anyone except my wife. Everyone else will simply have to suffer in longing. (Ha ha.)

Well. And my wife might find herself obliged to suffer an excess of kisses when next we meet. I won't promise immortality from my lips, but I believe I can offer a not wholly unsatisfying experience.

Your p(r)etty husband wishes heartily that we were more fully unimpeded. As it is, I find myself beset by buoyant coiffures and flaccid aspersions. And perhaps you find the day's occupations crying for your attentions? Or are your energies snared by the cries of fields and flowers, all in need of mijn liefst's restorative light?

(Mijn liefst, my light.

Hm.)

You might not want to let Scarlett know that we've found his jellied secret; the man prides himself on his unparalleled virility.

[ She hasn't smiled this much in years. Lifetimes, it seems. Her thumb strokes the screen of the phone - pitiable replacement though it is for him. For his hand. For his cheek, caressed so tenderly. (And Saturday feels so far away, and farther with each promise of a kiss.) (An excess of kisses!) ]

'Ha ha' he writes, as though he doubts himself desirable. As though he is unaware! Though not to the tastes of everyone, it's true, he has much to offer. Not only a fortune ('ha ha'), but irreproachable tenderness. And is he unaware of his eyes, and their allure when he finds ease? I cannot attest to his kisses, but I know what wonders his mouth may work: words from a honeyed tongue, hm? Surely kisses must follow in kind.

Mijn liefste, I will not allow you to stifle the man who has been my light in dark places. No more 'ha ha's then, for I do not think you worthy of mockery, and find no amusement in your 'vanity'. Everyone will suffer in longing, or live in ignorance.

As to the matter of my occupation: I have been about my errands that were sorely neglected while I was in residence of your study. I have even deigned to speak a word or two of neighborly pleasantry with old Meneer Van Ripper, and young Ingrid, off sparking with a boy whose name will not matter in the least by Tuesday next. I was the picture of charm and grace, and I am certain you will be proud to call me 'wife' when you hear that I have been both industrious and social - contrary to my manner of the past, oh, five years. Indeed, there are many who will credit to you the abrupt shift in my countenance from mournful to damnably cheerful - and rightly! Oh, rightly.

I believe I am happy, Dearest.

Now, however, I am home, and having found the house terribly empty, I am enjoying the air from our porch. The sky is overcast today, and all seems leeched of color, but I don't mind in the least. All the shining brilliance of the world is here in my hands.

[...]

Well. All the shining brilliance, and talk of Deforest Scarlett's limp denigrations.

I wonder; is his virility unparalleled because all others exceed it?

Yours does. Five is a rather impressive number when it comes to...Coming to. (...Ha ha?)

[ He very nearly drops his phone.

Fumbles and barely, barely catches the damned thing, pointedly ignoring Wallace’s barely, barely lifted eyebrows, and returning at once to her message. ]

~~Why, Katrina! I never thought~~

~~’Come’ indeed, oh, who’s ‘ha ha’ing now, very clever!!~~

[ … ]

Katrina, my dear, what is your husband to DO without recourse to his ‘ha ha’s? You must know that it’s a mainstay of his expression!

(Hm, perhaps… Perhaps, if my wife is hellbent on speaking such honeyed words of her own, if she persists in speaking of her husband’s [ … ] less repulsive qualities, he’ll learn to lean less on those modes of self-mockery.

Perhaps! Regarding this matter, I can offer you no promises!)

I’m happy to report - and you may be surprised to hear - that the Deforest Scarlett experience is alien to me. ~~Not to say he hasn’t attempted to ingratiate himself, or that I never considered it~~ ~~Fuck’s sake, that also isn’t anything you need to be told right now~~ ~~Fuck’s SAKE~~ To hear him speak, he might run through an entire county and still hold get-up-and-go to spare.

Still, the man IS fond of spinning his own gossip, and whether he can truly manage five occasions - and that when his partner is miles distant from the room! - is a question one might hotly contest!

Five times! Five times indeed, you inveterate minx!

Skilled enchantress. I do adore you.

And how pleased I am to find myself capable of lending light to a dreary home. Or, no, I say ‘pleased,’ when what I mean tends closer to ‘grateful’ or ‘honored.’

Both, I think.

[ … ]

Do you know, Dearest? I [ … ] ~~believe~~ ~~wonder whether~~ believe our home needn’t ever be dreary again. What do you think? If we take care never to be parted. If we keep close watch over one another’s hearts?

The sky’s blue never struck me as remarkable before I met your eyes. Now it holds me captive; now I would brave the beating sun to bear witness to that blue.

How many other colors will you deepen for me? How rich will the world turn around you? You, mijn vrouw, are a wonder, and yes, of course, you may expect kisses to follow my every word when we’ve been reunited.

Saturday, my Dearest, Saturday. We must endure until then!

[ He might be smirking while he types that last line. A little. (Smirking with a hint of honest joy. Smirking without acerbity, or any measure of ill will. Soon, oh soon, e’ll see her! (And he hopes. (Tries not to anticipate. Tries not to worry.) He hopes Katrina will be pleased.)) ]

[ Every line buoys her, sends her toward ecstatic heights. (What he said of their home, oh - how could she ever hope to find better than this man? How could she be so fortunate now, after all the misfortune that plagued her?)

She even draws the phone to her breast, presses it to her heart as though embracing it, her eyes closed and smile blissful.

And then reads his final words and feels a bitter, mercilessly sudden plummet into desolation.

Saturday. Damn his brother. Damn his father.

But she won't make him feel worse about it! No, he shouldn't know (until he returns home) (they'll have to let him come home eventually, surely!) just how miserable she is at the distance. ]

For you, Husband, I will endure anything - anything at all! Just as you brave a cruel sun for my sake. And I shall do so with a smile, because the reward is inevitably your kiss.

As for Meneer Scarlett, he may run through the county all he pleases, but you have my word of assurance that he has not one fair lass (or lad) to run with him. The gaggle that followed him at my father's party was - how did your friend put it? 'Having a go'?

Sporting with him. At his expense - laughing at him for days after. Not one of them would show her petticoat for his knife, jellied or otherwise. (And the men here who would invite virility instead of the blush of womanhood are far too cautious to take a stranger's assignation.)

I expect he was left to the same 'get-up-and-go' as you have been, perhaps (probably) (definitely) without someone as enjoyable as myself to assist.

Oh, no more talk of Deforest! He speaks enough of himself. Let's play a game to help you pass the dreary hours!

(Not THAT game, mind you. Just now, anyway.)

You find the world's color deepened by my eyes? Oh, let's do try to brighten it across the miles. Tell me a color you see, and I shall try to guess the form it takes!

A kiss and another, and more to follow! You'll find, Katrina, that where I care to kiss, I become a singularly generous man.

~~Well, and I have~~

[ ... ] [ ... ]

Well, and I have a prodigious store of kisses left untouched all these years. You didn't know, did you?, that your fortune in marrying me would be a wealth of fond kisses, my lips brushed soft against your cheek, imploring at your throat. I have such devotions for you, mijn liefste. I can't believe we'll ever see their end.

(That, dear wife, is one form of the fortune I bring. The other is... Mm. Well. We discussed the other recently, did we not? Your stroke of fortune stokes my own.)

(...And it is my fortune's fortune to have had your assistance, while jellied daggers could only quiver and sag to the tune of their self-styled fabrications.)

A game, Dearest? I confess, you have my interest. In point of fact, you charm me. You, possessed of this knack for play even alongside your familiar misanthropy. You, who smile and set the weary world at ease. You, who might draw the dourest of men convivial. (And you must understand that I speak for the dour men, being a paragon among their kind. Finding that my gloom disperses with a single glance from you. Charming creature; my darling enchantress.)

Mm, let's start with something striking. I see... A deep, shimmering amethyst.

What might it be, Katrina?

A deep, shimmering amethyst?

What might a man see amid the socialites of Manhattan, bearing such a hue as that. A bodice, with a pale hand pressed to the stomacher? A man's frock-coat, or the embroidery thereupon? The flash of a jeweled choker, a bracelet, a ring? Feathers in finely-coiffed hair?

Oh, but you. You have eyes for no other living form, isn't that so? You have spent your waking moments with your attentions wholly on your languishing wife. No cloth or adornment, no matter how richly purple, could attract your eye, because you have no care for the wearer.

I shall close my eyes and pretend I see through yours. (And I shall not pretend any further than that, for I would never wish to grasp your fortune at such an inopportune time!)

Hm. I see. Your eye is terribly clouded with the ghostly image of your darling, your enchantress, and even across all these miles, you see the flowers I picked as I strolled home-ward!

(An audacious guess, no doubt, because you will be inclined to say I have guessed correctly, because my answer is so very charming. My dour husband with his dour pursuits, who is so lovely when awakened. Who indulges his liefste in her every whim. Ah, I am fortunate. Truly, truly.)

An honest guess, then: is it a painting you've seen?

1) You need 4-7 business day to recover from a fingering like that.

2) Fuck my brother, I don't give a shit. Punch him in the dick while you're at it. Ungrateful little twat.

3) Who shows up to the big fucking get-together still drunk and freshly high on blow and and bags the negotiation of the decade? This guy. Good at business. Super good at being fucked up. Congratulate me.

4) You might've broken his nose at the bar but he still went home with me.

5) Is he the one who was handing out home-made business cards that read "finger slamming the good puss since 1986"?

6) I got cut off for calling the flower girl a slut. What are you doing?

1) I know ur sleeping, sorry for waking you but i just saw a girl with mittens on using her nose to control her ipod touch

2) Yes, if by 'finishing my business' you mean vomiting in the bathtub and losing my watch.

3) I wish pancakes were everywhere. Just pancakes. I want lilies at my wedding. No dress. No suit. Just priest. Just lilies.

4) No, no, the problem isn't that he's a drug dealer. The problem's his inefficient and ineffective business model.

5) When she said she was from California you started sobbing. You begged her not to melt your popsicle because you paid good money for it and you just wanted to eat it in peace.

6) My ultimate hope is that people will hug me, smell me, and realize I'm classy.

Edited 2021-03-26 01:41 (UTC)

1) Nope, not going out tonight. We're trying to grow the toy donkey in whiskey instead water. Serious fucking science. Have fun at the boring bar while we Bill Nye it up in this bitch. That's SCIENCE!!!

2) my socks are broken :c

3) Long story short, I left a note on the car that said " please dont tow, im to drunk to drive. safety first!"

4) syrup is magic cleans the dishes over night boom no chores forever!

5) Followed a squirrel across the sidewalk everyone was very safe! Anyway I walked it home and now the squirrel's okay.

6) Kiss me on the forehead like I'm in a movie! :3

that doesnt leave a lot of time for more fingering

[...]

glad you liked it ;)

'Liked it'? No need to play modest, Puppy. You know the cries of a god undone, hm?

As it happens, your Daddy is uncommonly quick to mend. Four days, and you'll have another chance.

Until then, I'm certain we'll find other pursuits. You're a creative boy, yes?

i dont know about creative

enthusiastic though

[...]

[...]

would you like coffee ?

i'm getting coffee.

[ The next text is a screenshot of an article about rimming. ]

google is creative FOR me

[...]

too slow. bringing you coffee

Oh, you'll find your creativity in time. Patience, Puppy. Build the basics and the rest will follow.

A note for the future: you might do best to guard your research. A little bit of suspense will carry you a long way.

Still. My proactive Puppy deserves a reward. Lucky thing he's coming around with coffee (no sugar; almond milk); perhaps Daddy will have a gift waiting.

force of habit

i ~~have to~~ use google a lot.

going to need a second phone so i can talk to you while i run searches for half the words you use. ;)

I still can't find corick. Korick? Coric?

joke's on you.

daddy IS my gift.

[...]

no sugar, though? ILLEGAL

ugh

can you believe i'm going to do such filthy fucking things to a guy who doesn't put sugar in his coffee?

bet you don't like froot loops either

Are you surprised? Daddy's got a bitter heart; I take my coffee to match.

Or would you prefer I say it this way: My Puppy is the only sweetness I require.

Which is true, do you think? Or is the truth manifold?

I bet my Puppy can guess.

In any case, the next time you consume Froot Loops, you WILL scrub your mouth before bringing it anywhere near me. That goes beyond the pale, my Enri.

'Choric,' Enri.

Edited 2021-03-26 02:57 (UTC)

your puppy guesses the bitterness is froot loops related.

i'm going to have to ban them ~~until i solve that heart problem of yours.~~

~~for this week~~

~~fuck~~

[...]

[...]

:)

i'm on to you daddy.

almond milk sweetens it up.

" of, relating to, or being in the style of a chorus and especially a Greek chorus "

?

trade you a kiss for a hint ?

[...]

just pretend i wasn't planning to kiss you anyway. it's fine.

I beg your pardon, was the traditionally accepted spelling not enough of a hint? It seems you already owe one kiss, Enri; are you prepared to fall further into kiss debt?

Think carefully, my boy: payment compounds as the hints add up.

(Plus the kiss you initially intended! As this rate, we'll have no chance to find other employment for your mouth, hm?)

Your second hint: It's a theatrical term. Convention. What do you know about the Greeks, Enri?

A wise decision on the Froot Loops ban. Perhaps I'll factor that in against the weight of your debt; some slight alleviation of payment for sound planning.

Keep the almond milk between us, would you? Our little secret.

lucky for you i will never default on my kiss loans

i'm good for it. i have a ~~subs~~ substantial kiss savings.

then again maybe you're trying to con more kisses than the info's worth???

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