(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

[peratic]

[ The idea that a degree of self-absorption isn't terrible is something Gisela decides to contemplate later. Her eyes lower briefly, thoughts of something far away passing through her expression, only to be replaced by returned focus on Fabian. ]

Gisela. It's good to meet you. [ She doesn't have the neatly professional doctoral grip yet, when she shakes hands, but she's getting there. She's good at steadiness. ] I didn't get a chance to ask about yours, yet — philosophies you consider influential, that is.

[ As with the sartorial choices, she notices (but does not comment upon) word choices that strike her as unique in contemporary speech. ]

[fruktansvard]

[ It's really because he's a poet that he speaks this way time to time and has nothing to do with anything other than being (occasionally) a pompous shit. He's not that outdated. Although he can speak Swedish like it hasn't changed in a hundred years. It's more likely to notice his accent and moments he struggles with sentence structure over dated language. Alas, no harm. ]

Pleasure. [ a beat- okay maybe two. Fabian inhales deeply and considers this with great measure. There's a pain in thinking about it because what his heart wants to say is also what his heart tears him apart for. ]

Let love in. Be inspired by the world, love the earth, see beauty in everything.