[will you go hunt, my lord?]

[thefoodoflove]

The hart, the hart-- 'tis well, seems it, and not so well indeed that on th' heels of last we hunted, good Curio's return'd. When brought we out our party, 'twas in battle with surfeit of boredom, of idleness-- when now could it be none but celebratory, for what small court I kept is reunited

Comments

[norweenish]

Hey, thanks! I'd love to.

[thefoodoflove]

*bows* Methinks the last was a success.

[norweenish]

Sure was! And you said this Curio guy knows what he's doing, right? So this time we should be even more successful. *grins*

[thefoodoflove]

Ay, he is most accustomed and most well-trained. No doubt he shall please you.

[norweenish]

Great. When do I get to meet him?

[thefoodoflove]

*slight laugh* I have sent for him; 'tis now his speed in coming to be judged.

[norweenish]

Ah, right. Well, the deer'll keep till he comes.

[thefoodoflove]

*--the typist should stop giggling now, really* In all certainty, they shall.

[norweenish]

*...made a funny?* *grins* It's after we're through that we don't want any left.

[thefoodoflove]

*--"he will stay till you come"?* And none shall there be!

[norweenish]

*...typist feels dumb now, hi* Darn right!