"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

[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...