(Untitled)

[desfeuilles]

I'm beginning to think this whole business was a mistake.

Comments

[eagle_of_words]

That was beautifully cryptic, cher ami. What's troubling you?

[desfeuilles]

Mmph. Nothing of consequence.

[eagle_of_words]

I've got wine and time and I'm prepared not to leave you alone unless you shout at me or speak very softly to me. Ah, my Feuilly.

[desfeuilles]

*dourly, because will otherwise possibly break down* Thought you secretly despised the lot of us?

[eagle_of_words]

*lightly* Only when you act like idiots. Damn.

[desfeuilles]

Right, well, there you are.

*perversely enough, is even more about to cry morose at that*

[eagle_of_words]

Well, you haven't done it yet, so as far as I know I'm still rather fond of you.

*offers wine, a bit carelessly*

[desfeuilles]

I'm about to be. You'd better go and talk sense to Joly, instead.

[eagle_of_words]

What's Joly doing now? No, don't tell me. Tell me what's bothering you.

[desfeuilles]

Fretting about armoires, last I heard. *this with a determined, bitter set to his jaw*

[eagle_of_words]

He always frets about something. Armoires should be a soothing change from infidelity. You. *twice a determined, mainly not to leave Feuilly alone. ever, apparently*

[desfeuilles]

Don't bother, Bossuet.

[eagle_of_words]

I never bother about anything, Feuilly. --Unless I should take you to mean that you don't want me to bother you, but I fear I won't stop that.

You might as well. *cheerfully*

[desfeuilles]

*suddenly fierce* Just go away. I've had enough of contempt, without taking yours too. I've had enough. You can keep it and your morbid curiosity too. Go. Away.

[eagle_of_words]

*seriously* Well. I'll admit I didn't fancy that was it.

It isn't morbid curiosity and it isn't contempt--I don't trust any of you, but that doesn't make me utterly inhuman--but your wish is my command. *bows*

[desfeuilles]

*scowls at the wall* Good.