[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

[be_my_me]

*bows* My lord, I am here. *bows again, to Forti* Pray pardon me, Your Highness, but my roommate doth feel unwell and so shall not join us.

[norweenish]

Aw, too bad. Tell him I say get well soon, won't you?

[be_my_me]

*another bow* It shall be done, Your Highness.

[thefoodoflove]

Ah, Valentine. Soon, I pray, Curio too shall join us here. He is newly come, yet what better way to find his legs?

[be_my_me]

*beams (Curio's here, eeeeee!)* Indeed, my lord, methinks he will be gladdened by this venture.

[thefoodoflove]

'Tis hoped in twain.

[be_my_me]

*smiles* Such hopes surely will blossom into truths.