(there is no reason. ever.)

[checkmystache]

Every time I think I've slipped your grasp, you show a fresh start of interest. Do you think I appreciate being your plaything? Is it not enough to be at the mercy of some unfathomable and utterly impossible universe? You don't have a clue what it is you're doing, anyway, and you certainly aren't doing me any favors.

So I will request that you piss off.

Now.

...

God above. You are incorrigible.

If you insist on throwing me to the wolves again, I ask that you at least give me access to a bottle.


((au details here if you want 'em, but they aren't necessarily necessary.))

Comments

And, 20 days later... The boot embroiderer awakes from her slumber

[irma_boissy]

[While a part of her wants to retort that with a bottle he would become even more incorrigible himself, and that she pities his mundane, another wants to stay silent.
The talkative part ends up winning]

I am quite sure she knows you don't appreciate that. That is the thing with the mundanes, they know us better than what we want to admit.

+another 20 days... dear lord. XD

[checkmystache]

Wonderful.

You would show your face now, wouldn't you?