kingdomsofrain | tfln open post

[...]

seriously though

[...]

greeks. i don't know

not much i guess

[...]

i guess i know about euclidean geometry and pythagorus. math shit.

[...]

Μπορώ να μιλήσω ελληνικά

?

that's not what you mean though is it

fuck

[...]

i don't know.

I'm sorry.

~~What in god's name for?~~

Don't be.

You answered my question, Enri: 'math shit.' And, apparently, you've some hold of the language... Or Google has come to your aid again. A handy trick, and aptly applied, if so.

Tell me what you know about Euclidian geometry, if you like.

Their theatre, Enri, typically employed the use of a chorus of commentators. Heightened language; focused portraits of emotions. Speakers, singers often attuned to the machinations of man and gods alike. Aware of existence in dizzying heights and prideful falls. Evoking fervor in the minds of those who heard.

[ Later, he'll circle back and read everything Darius said.

For now, he's going to zero in on -]

trick

[ That might just be an answer of its own. ]

Well?

i may not be smart

but i'm not going to pretend i can speak a language when i can't.

give me some fucking credit

[...]

~~have i lied to you about anything~~

[...]

yeah. googled it.

Did you.

Enri.

[...]

[...]

[...]

Edited 2021-03-26 04:29 (UTC)

[ In Greek, and then English in the quotations: ]

No, I didn't fucking 'google it'.

[ In English: ]

i'm not going to deadass tell a lie about knowing another language

to you

how stupid do you think i am

fuck don't answer that

i only get a week. i'm not going to ~~jepa~~ ~~jepor~~ waste it on something that doesn't matter.

Language, Enri.

[ In Greek— ]

'Fucking'?

Tsk.

A language known or a cute ploy; it might have been either.

Listen when I speak, Puppy. Do you know my bite from my query, or don't you?

[ A length of "..." here, though Enri is stunned to wordlessness.

No one knows Greek. He only gets the opportunity to speak it with Felix - or, ha, Lydia. When Lydia feels like speaking at all.

What does he do with this? (Or. What does he do with Darius, or the absence of Darius after this week, when everything feels so fucking perfect now?)

He curbs his excitement - mostly. He does respond in Greek. ]

I don't need ploys to be cute.

[ Other than acting like a brat. ]

I admit when I don't know something. I thought you would know that by now. I'd give examples, but I'm not allowed to say 'fucking' anymore.

Pookie, you're missing the point.

Rather, those are indeed salient points from the perspective of one Rin ('Pookie') Renault - and I assure you, I do intend to give you the floor to elaborate upon the most efficient and effective business models for a purveyor of methamphetamines.

However. From the perspective of one who might wish to keep their oldest and dearest null unmolested by inefficient/ineffective businessmen of the sordid variety, I feel it bears repeating that he is a drug dealer, but also (and also?) (perhaps more demanding of acknowledgement than his line of work or business model?):

He is neglecting what was said by the old bard - Mr. Notorious B.I.G. himself, (may god rest his soul). He is getting high on his own supply.

Therein, Pookie, rests the likeliest problem with his business model.

I implore you. I beg. Please stop antagonizing the meth head.

I am most emphatically not calling flower girls 'sluts', if that is the direction you were heading with your question.

- A question which, by the way, has arrived almost two years to the day since our last word exchanged via text.

I am at present sitting at the entrance of a very gay establishment, ensuring no one attempts to enter said gay establishment before they have reached the arbitrary age of twenty-one, at which time they may legally enter and be as gay as they please. And drink, if they so desire.

And you are right where I last saw you, it would seem. Cut off from your Manhattans? Excellent. We can pick up where we left off. Prior to the last text, sent at 3:45 a.m. on March the 26th, 2019 - 'Fuck you and the cock you rode in on' - we were discussing the merits of neo-classical architecture. I can assure you that I still find it laughably pretentious, particularly in its American iteration. Thomas Jefferson should be resurrected and beaten with Monticello's tacky "Doric" columns.

Have you come to your senses?

Flower girls notwithstanding. (Don't slut-shame flower girls, Darius. Don't slut-shame anyone under 18. In fact, don't be in the same room as anyone under 18. You're a walking moral violation. A man of equal caliber to de Sade, himself.)

Edited 2021-03-26 07:53 (UTC)

And this is precisely why I told Sheldon not to give you Nyquil if he didn't intend to stick around and keep an eye on you.

That shit-for-brains

Fuck, I just want to be home

Fuck this storm fuck these planes fuck this cas

[...]

Thank you for doing the chores, Bunny.

Hey. Hey, why don't you hop into bed now? ;) Talk to me until you fall asleep. By the time you wake up, I'll be home. Probably

Fuck I hope

No more syrup without me, okay? Just [...] Bunny burritos. Wrap up!

~~I'm going to drown that boat-humping jackass~~

May a null not defend their position when - having stepped out for the sole and only smoke they allow themself of a week (old habits, etc.) - they find themself accosted by bad business and worse breath?

The man has no scope. The man keeps no accounts. The man jacks up prices on a whim and insults clients when they tell him promptly and justly to go fuck himself. He's burned more bridges than you or I will ever see, his product sourcing is dubious at best, and he! Has the audacity to assail me with 'insider business tips.'

Sen! Sen Ben Benice! It isn't an insult to be borne.

On which note - beg pardon - I am your WHATest and dearest friend?

Edited 2021-03-26 15:43 (UTC)

I did not say you were my anythingest or else-est "friend". If you review the transcripts, you'll see I said you were my oldest and dearest "null". While that does not dismiss the grievous error I've made with my use of the dreaded "o" word, I would hate to see this case overturned on a technicality.

However. Acknowledging I never did say "friend" - though "friend" you are! - please allow me to extend to you my most humble apologies for the insinuation that you are anything but spry, vital, a gleaming monument to the pleasures held in memorium, perpetually bathed in a golden summertime glow one may only associate with youth.

You vain little creature. Let me rather state that you are my most long-standing (and slightly less dear) null, friend, and embodiment of Peter Pan himself.

Please, now. May we turn focus to the most important aspect of this exchange?

No, nevermind the kingpin.

I am utterly devastated that you had your weekly smoke without me.

What the fuck.

[ That wasn’t his intended recipient. Darius knows who it is - impossible to mistake, even after two years of silence - but it takes a minute to process that this is Senan the incurable bombast, who, last Darius knew, had been eminently unreachable. Who hasn’t crossed Darius’s mind in months. Who Darius apparently messaged while awaiting Enri’s return.

And, yes, who Darius hadn’t felt any particular urge to speak with again. Ever. Christ. ]

The question foremost in my mind right now: Why for fuck’s love is your number in my phone after two years of blessed silence?

You live and breath again. A Lazarus for our modern era.

Pursue this line of conversation and I’ll condemn you back to that old cock. We are not doing this. Surrounded by shit music and chattering skulls as I am, I’m not going to risk adding Monticello to the mix.

Christ.

~~So you found~~

Renault’s put you to work. Careful; someone might mistake you for a responsible adult.

(Don’t, by the by, tell them I say hello.)

As for this wreck of a wedding and my choices in behavior, ‘Il est très doux de scandaliser.’ And I’m bored.

And the flower girl IS a little slut.

Asshole.

Edited 2021-03-26 23:53 (UTC)

You're an incorrigible brat, aren't you?

Capably cute without ploys, as well; I'll allow as much.

Though regarding your aversion to 'deadass lies,' I might direct our collective attention to the boy whose response ran, 'yeah. googled it.'

Tsk, Enri.

Do you meet many people who hold fluency in Greek?

[ There's a lengthy pause here. Enri stands stock-still in the lobby of the hotel with a coffee in one hand and his phone in the other, and frowns.

And.

Says out loud, mournfully, Shit, drawing some skeptical looks from passers-by. ]

I didn't think about it.

I guess it was a lie, though.

[...]

I'm sorry, Daddy.

Edited 2021-03-27 00:04 (UTC)

I don't know anyone who speaks Greek except my ~~parents~~ cousins.

And my brother.

[...]

I lied about something. I can't tell you the truth or what the lie was. But there's a lie and I'm sorry for it.

I don't want to lie to you. Ever, about anything. You're my god.

Well done; you've mended the error, and won my prompt forgiveness. My ego prospers, and life welcomes me anew. The earth, Sen, is brighter, the unseen stars sing soft anthems, and even the would-be druglord seems—

Oh, no. No, that one remains a nattering waste of space. Still, I'll wrap myself in your praise and endeavor to weather the sputtered end of his would-be diatribe.

[ ... ]

Perhaps I was in a rush.

Perhaps I know a man who could use a little rest.

Or. And. And/Or. Perhaps I've no wish to become a bad influence. Are you sure you should be smoking?

I live as I have lived. I breathe as I have breathed. My resurrection is in progress, and progressing apace.

Rin has been accommodating. My salvation, my ally, my truest friend, my light in the darkness, etc. (I abbreviate my praise of them for your sake only; I'm certain your time is limited, and I could wax poetic about my Not-Knight, Not-Damosel, Nor in Shining Armor for hours yet.) Bread and board, and means by which I might repay the cost of both in some small way.

If that small way is standing guard at the gates of their empire, then I am pleased to repeat until I am hoarse the none-too-ignoble refrain: "Let's see some ID."

Rin received your not-greeting with not-indifference - which is to say, they attempted to suppress a murderous glare, said 'no', and stalked off. It was a very swishy sort of stalking, but stalking nevertheless.

Je sais que vous adorez scandaliser, mais si ça ennuyez-vous, peut-être que vous pourrez trouver un autre divertissement. Or do you still take pleasure in impotent complaint?

Whose wedding, whose wedding. That of the illustrious Waverly, I should imagine. A gauche affair? My invitation must have been lost in the mail. (Or Rin shredded it in the garbage disposal.)

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