"She Thought Me Handsome, My Opera Dancer..."

[psalm_onethirtyone]

Received Florian's letter this morning. Zara is sitting in my head reeling off a string of obscenities, but actually I don't know what she's upset about (exactly, I mean).

Patrice, on the other hand, is ready to strangle himself. He knows exactly what he's upset about. Combeferre or Musichetta are necessary to prevent imminent death. >_> Why do my socken do such dreadful things? I would beg to know; but, hey, I'm the one who said I liked figment angst.

To work!

Also, guh, Kali. I need you. ;_; Come home.

Comments

[rainbowjehan.livejournal.com]

Amn't either. I know when I'm being ridiculous, and it's not right now. But yay, apples, yes. We grew the trees ourselves. Would you like it if I did?

*clings to and nurses wounds*

[metaphora.livejournal.com]

Right, you're likely not. I've just gained a love for the word 'ridiculous' since last month, and want to use it all the time. That, and as of yesterday, 'cadswallop', but you're quite obviously not cadswallop at all. --Um. Well, um. I'd love you so terribly much not that I don't already, but really. Apples. That are more than likely not terrible and mushy and weeping-inducing. Mm.

At least I got cheddar popcorn today for my trouble. Though I hope I get more than that. *fakes more injuries to get extra attention*

[rainbowjehan.livejournal.com]

Well, that's understandable. Ridiculous is a good word. At the moment, I'm tossing 'affluent' all over the place because I like the sound. And, well, certainly. The Red Delicious won't be ripe for a bit of a while yet, but I can send you some Rambos at once. Word of caution, of course, is that you might have to cut out a few bad spots, since they're not shiny and perfect and symmetrical and store-bought, and also they're not mushy but they're not whoacrisp because they're part pie apples.

ooooh. That's nice. I shall write you a crack!drabble, too, if you like.

[metaphora.livejournal.com]

Actually, I'm just trying to find words other than 'lovely' to be fascinated with. Because, there was.. a Period In Time in which I knew few more words than that, and it was verily embarrassing. --But if they're not mushy and rotten by the time I notice I have them, all will be good. Wonderful.

OH NO YOU NEEDN'T DO THAT. *coughs and flops and smiles winningly*

[rainbowjehan.livejournal.com]

^__^ *loves you* --They won't be! I'm sure to certain they won't be. I'll pick the very best ones.

Name your pairing, my poor injured love.

[metaphora.livejournal.com]

Oh please, don't pick the absolute best ones. My siblings will probably literally jump on the package before I even get a chance to realize there is a Cardboard Box For Me that.. they're jumping on.

Well, well. *draws cuts with red marker on her hands* If I must, Marius/Courfeyrac. Because I feel unoriginal, lah.

[rainbowjehan.livejournal.com]

Well, I must, or they'll spoil on the way there. The best ones will keep through the post. But eeeek, even if it's quite addressed to you?

Ooh. A keyword, miss ll?

[metaphora.livejournal.com]

Well, I'm become a Mail-Nazi again, and check the post religiously. And children know not to mess with me. Even if they still do.

Oh, right, that. Ahah, typical forgetfulness. Anyway. "Birch."

[rainbowjehan.livejournal.com]

^______^ Yay!

Marius comes home one day to find his bed strewn with birchbark and daisies, long lush grass (the sort that always grows around hidden streams) and tiny glittering pebbles. He is about weakly to demand of Courfeyrac what this is all about, when he sees two smiling eyes among the mess. "It's too ugly outside for a day-trip in the woods and by the streams, Monsieur Pontmercy, but will you lie with me in the virgin wilderness?" Marius pauses for a moment, then climbs onto the bed and lets Courfeyrac kiss him and tickle his most ticklish spot, his neck, with the petals of the daisies.

[metaphora.livejournal.com]

Oh, gosh, dear thing. That was too lovely. Or some better word that I could use but don't have the vocabulary to. Now I simply must copy it down into my book of Things People Have Written For Me or Were Inspired By Me. Which is far too long of a title for a ten-cent book, but really.

[rainbowjehan.livejournal.com]

Oh, no, no--thank you so much.

[metaphora.livejournal.com]

Don't thank me until I give you completely unrelated Google image spams-- and, tonight, I fear that I have forced you to engage in conversation long enough! *salutes*

[rainbowjehan.livejournal.com]

...ooooh. --Also, I have all the time in the world, and I like conversation.

[metaphora.livejournal.com]

No no no, the time isn't right at the moment. *sniffs air* It smells of that rosin that I broke out of it's wood today because it was so old and started to crumble, and I can't do that while the air smells of that because it's vaguely intoxicating. Or just a messy, sticky thing to have to clean up. Either works, honestly. --Alas! anyway, the time is not right. You must understand this, young Soujin who is possibly older than me anyway.

[rainbowjehan.livejournal.com]

Yes, of course. We understand. Farewell, beautiful Ll...