(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]

[ 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.