Parker got the letter as soon as she got home, and immediately wrote back.
Dear Alanna, who would never make me wear something stupid to her wedding,
Dinner. I won't ask. But I will wonder.
I'm sorry Thayet likes you so much that she wants you in her wedding party. No, really. I know how much you loathe pomp & circumstance. And punching is supposed to be allowed! I am sorry.
Raoul *is* evil, especially for the dinner conversation. Is this about the questionable stuff that ended up on your clothes? Kick him.
It's always cold for you. I'd invite you here, but Oxford is frosty and gray, and you would loathe it. You're lucky you visited while it was still fall. I am hunkered down in my down comforter and pillows, with the flannel sheets and extra blankets, and I am almost warm enough.
My latest Fandom insanity was turning into a crazy girl. Thief. Klepto. She stole an obscene amount of money from a very secure London bank, jumped off 100-story buildings with only a rapelling line and a safety harness, and then disappeared on Monday morning, leaving me with a zillion dollars to return and the memory of how to get into six kinds of locked vaults. So, not a total loss. I've given up asking why I'm always someone criminal on those weekends.
I have spent half this weekend in Nowhere, Nebraska, investigating unpleasantness that I would like to set on fire. Which sadly would not solve anything, so I'm left worrying about what happens when I go to China in April, and have to work with someone I'm beginning to suspect is a lot nastier than I thought.
Don't kill the seamstresses, they're under orders, same as the Champion of Tortall.
I would send you hot chocolate, but as usual, the candle won't let me.
Dear Alanna, who would never make me wear something stupid to her wedding,
Dinner. I won't ask. But I will wonder.
I'm sorry Thayet likes you so much that she wants you in her wedding party. No, really. I know how much you loathe pomp & circumstance. And punching is supposed to be allowed! I am sorry.
Raoul *is* evil, especially for the dinner conversation. Is this about the questionable stuff that ended up on your clothes? Kick him.
It's always cold for you. I'd invite you here, but Oxford is frosty and gray, and you would loathe it. You're lucky you visited while it was still fall. I am hunkered down in my down comforter and pillows, with the flannel sheets and extra blankets, and I am almost warm enough.
My latest Fandom insanity was turning into a crazy girl. Thief. Klepto. She stole an obscene amount of money from a very secure London bank, jumped off 100-story buildings with only a rapelling line and a safety harness, and then disappeared on Monday morning, leaving me with a zillion dollars to return and the memory of how to get into six kinds of locked vaults. So, not a total loss. I've given up asking why I'm always someone criminal on those weekends.
I have spent half this weekend in Nowhere, Nebraska, investigating unpleasantness that I would like to set on fire. Which sadly would not solve anything, so I'm left worrying about what happens when I go to China in April, and have to work with someone I'm beginning to suspect is a lot nastier than I thought.
Don't kill the seamstresses, they're under orders, same as the Champion of Tortall.
I would send you hot chocolate, but as usual, the candle won't let me.
Stay warm and safe, and survive the wedding,
Best of luck & wishes,
Parker
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I did kick him. And stab him. Or at least, I tried. Well, we both tried. I think the technical term is sparing.
I am not laughing at you, really. How did you return the money?
Need help? I'm seriously considering lighting dresses on fire and would love to cause trouble.
If you need anyone stabbed, you know who to write to.
Alanna.
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