(no subject)

[fruktansvard]

[ He's haphazardly dressed in something that could be considered vintage pieces of a noble era long gone. A tiny little glass of liquor by a bottle of it. To the side lay a small plate of smoked meat and a pen and a paper with notes and scribbling inside and this is all that occupies the otherwise open table.

He puts the pen down and looks outward with a calm exhale. ] What philosophies shape your life?

Comments

[fruktansvard]

[ She has sound reason in her own way. He would dare to say that many people function this way. Merely some are more subtle about it. Yet he'll let her finish her bombardment of questions and statements before addressing any of them. ]

And yet people still partake. A reflection of character, no doubt. [ the easily persuaded mind believes what the world tells them and never questions why or simply says 'that's not me'. ]

Isn't Halloween coming up? Perhaps I'm practicing. [ A beat ] And what is it that you do, fine stranger?

[meanwhileback]

Pretty boring costume, then. Maybe if you wore one of those horse masks it'd have a better effect. Much more unsettling.

[AS IF THAT'S A GOOD THING, PENELOPE, WHAT ACTUALLY IS WRONG WITH YOU]

I'm a designer. And a tailor. And I curse people for piles and piles of cash. How's about you, Dorian Gray?

[fruktansvard]

[ He seems almost disinterested in her horsemask comment. Such a boring thing compared to the ancestor masks of shame. Those were eerie. He attends to the meat instead for a moment. ] You can do better than that. I have faith in your imagination.

[ A beat ] I write, I paint, I sometimes undo curses for piles and piles of cash.

[meanwhileback]

Your faith in my ability is deeply moving. [Her tone strongly suggests otherwise! Good lord what an annoying person she is.]

Oh, so you're a white hat! Exactly as boring as I'd always imagined you people to be. Nice to meet you, then. [She drinks more of his booze, for punctuation.]

[fruktansvard]

[ Oh, if she only knew how heavy a burden he bared from the days he was very much not white. Oh well!

Fabian wonders, briefly, if she'll exhaust her own obnoxiousness when she keeps hitting a wall or if she'll just keep hitting a wall. He's almost 400 years old, Penelope. He's been a stone wall to many an obnoxious person. Especially with this new age wiccan bullshit becoming a thing. ]

I suppose mentioning that what you put out to the universe comes back to you falls on deaf ears. [ So much so that he didn't even bother forming it as a question, but just saying. He'll just lean back again with a smile. ]

Pleasure is all mine, clearly.