He was just trying to find some air - the kitchens were too hot, Swelter was even more disgusting than usual, and he felt like... he was so very above them all.
The rooftops were his playground - his space of liberty - he skipped from one to the other, until he found himself as high as he could be, atop Gormenghast. Watching over the earldom was
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If Steerpike makes it to one of the porches, at whatever time his typist finds convenient, he'll probably bump into a young man sporting sunglasses and being careful to hold himself in the shadow. He'd be leaning against the wall, smoking a cigarette and looking wistful.
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"Many sorts. Rules that basically prevent us from acting instinctually and killing, or harming, or wronging each other. Like," he thinks of a clearer example, "you have the right to speak about me but you can't say anything you can't prove -- mostly if it's bad. That's slander."
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"Oh," he says, innocently, "but why would anyone do such a thing?"
Gah, I never got the notif for this. *shakes angry fist* Let me know if I bled any other tags. So sorry! ;___;
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LJ needs to die in a fire these days, really. As far as I know we're cool, if there's any you're not tagging back in for days I'll let you know LOL. Same applies for me!
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He does approve though. Inwardly.
*snugs* will do, and thankies. &hearts &hearts &hearts
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"Likewise," he replies. "I work the roasts," he says, and since he's still dressed as a kitchen aid, it probably makes things quite plain.
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