A plea

[hunt_theheart]

*tacked to the message board, a very clearly-written note in somewhat flourishing script; the circumstance, his lingering curse (note to Curio: never eat multiples of any crackplotted food again)*

To sorcerors, magicians, wizards--all

Comments

[ihatehamlet]

*peers at the note, then looks around for Curio with a grin* Hast thou recovered thy song, good sir?

[ihatehamlet]

*so does Laertes! --Especially those complications that end up with his sister going mad and him ending up killing Hamlet and himself, by extension, but that doesn't really matter here*

[hunt_theheart]

*it doesn't--and yet those circumstances excuse his reluctance to divulge personal information, so when they part, it's perhaps for the best that Curio no longer feels a pressing need to hear it* And how art thou employed to pass the days? There's little profit made in stealing breath, for all I find mine stolen all away--