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rosencrantz had been saving up butcher paper for just such an occasion. mind you, he couldn't have you told at you the time what just such an occasion was, or what it would look like -- but certainly he was saving it up for something, and certainly now that he can use it, there's something he's saved it up for. that's why this afternoon, after

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[not_snake_bite]

"How sweet," comments Steerpike as he passes by - but there's just a bit of disdain in his heart as he says it. He does believe in flattery, though, and quite likes the idea of the plothole's possible return.

And so he leans over to Rosenkrantz's exhibit, and says, "Well." He ponders a little, and says, "Perhaps I might add a little something." He's actually not overall unpleasant - just... Steerpike.

He's still wearing the mask - but he managed to locate, in the attic, some garments that arent as frilly as the shirt he borrowed the night of his arrival. Just a strict black tie suit, as would be his wont, or something close enough.

[not_snake_bite]

"Lady is acceptable," he replies dryly. Not very original, he would say, but acceptable.

Steerpike peers over the scrawls - to remember the (b) rhyme, and thinks a moment.

Handy Plot Hole, how forlorn you left the Mansion!
The guests are lost, without your guidance, Plot Hole,
And, so, plothole, we claim again your attention,

"As piously we petition your return to us, whole."

Steerpike frowns. "Is that even twelve syllables?"

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honestly, "it's a bit many. but i do like the alliteration."

[not_snake_bite]

But Steerpike is a perfectionist, and so he pauses, and counts.

"Two too many. How about 'Piously, we petition that you return whole.' ?"

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"very clever," he approves as he copies, then looks at it, and approves again. "and you've still got the alliteration."

[not_snake_bite]

"Well, yes, I thought I would humor you," he replies dryly - but there's an edge of truth there.

"Second quatrain. Would you like to start?"

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"let's see ... i'm not very much a poet, i don't think, but i might manage something." he bites his lip, considering, before writing it out as he speaks -- "'thou giver of fair grounds and ribbons and cake-stands / may these verses express all our full thanks to thee.'"

[not_snake_bite]

Steerpike doesn't bother counting the syllables - mostly because he is lazy, and because he is impressed.

"Very well done. Would you like to pursue?"

[permanent_blur]

ros is a shakespearean, after all, when he's not moonlighting as an idiot savant; his only fault is that he overdoes his praise, and his typist can never quite manage iambic pentameter. at least he means it.

"what a genius thou hast! we have only our hands
to pen of thy graces, thy bounteous beauty!"

[not_snake_bite]

Well Steerpike is not really a poet either - this is just part of his deluded love for Laurel talking - so he claps, very impressed - mostly because he couldn't do better, and because his typist agrees.

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aww -- ros blushes a bit, modest. "is it all right, then?"

[not_snake_bite]

"Yes, very much so. I believe you should continue."

Because Steerpike loves to manipulate people into doing his work. and the typist does think it was much better than her own.

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"are you sure? it's your poem, after all -- i shouldn't like to spoil it --"

[not_snake_bite]

Steerpike clears his throat. "No, no, you are not spoiling at all. Do go on with the tercet, I shall finish with the second one."

T: Ros should totally meet Cyrano, by the way.

[permanent_blur]

"all right, then -- all right. i suppose i might manage something ..." he bites his lip, considering.

"our joy, our affection, for all that we've taken,
are but honors we offer, for all thou wilt dole --

"and i'll need a rhyme for 'stands,' won't i? that's the 'c' bit ... strands, do you think? reprimands? marching bands? i do like marching bands.

"our joy, our affection, for all that we've taken,
are but honors we offer, for all thou wilt dole --
the food filling our tables, the drums for our bands --

might music say more of thy manse's devotion?"

[not_snake_bite]

For all his laziness and praise, Steerpike suddenly realizes something isn’t quite right with the sonnet - a rhyme seems to have been forgotten by sweet Ros, and he ponders it.

“Excellent. However, might I suggest a modification? ‘Beauty’ is without companion as it is. Thus to insert a verse, here, this one, bring us to now mourning, for the times o’ plenty, for example, to complete the quatrain ?”

He thinks already of his tercet, readying himself for the flourish.

T: Sorry about the lazy posts, I've been multitasking. His tercet's ready though. XD