(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?

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[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 He's not that outdated.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.