Darren Nichols, in a fit of nostalgia, has ordered shepherd's pie and orange juice for supper instead of something proper and yes, he's aware this is impossibly plebeian but having had the week he's had he's fucking earned it.
Okay?
(Besides. It's comfort food.)
[ooc: broken link in the Sheogorath thread should lead
here.]
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He was currently sitting nearby, with a wolf pup in his lap snoozing, and had conjured some singing paper birds that were twittering about. Rather loudly too.
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Charming Miniver Cheevy.
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He knows EXACTLY who he's looking at.
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"How can I help you?"
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Wrong, wrong, wrong question.
The daM doG grins pleasantly. His eyes are startling. Brown, but... glittery. There may be something faintly unsettling about his presence. It's difficult to pin down. It feels... half like fear, and half like inspiration.
He twirls his cane. "I'm so glad you've taken on that attitude early on. Normally I have to beg and threaten and cajole before they come 'round to seeing things my way. Well, little mortal, as it happens, I have a job for you."
He gets up and saunters over, every inch a gentleman, and yet... that vibe he gives off. It's an energy. It's both troubling and... not. To Darren, who would belong to Sheogorath in his world, it may feel like possibility. He is creative insanity as well as the voice of the jabbering lunatics ( ... )
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Darren is not sure if he's impressed. Sheogorath feels... like nothing else, but.
But this is strange.
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