Anti-OTP!

[pretty_sweeting]

Typist: To make this less of a mess, this post shall be for all Olivia's anti-OTP's. (Except for the Illyrian anti-OTPlay4.) So, Horatio, Orsino, Sebastian, Helena, Roxane, and Cyrano, have at 'er!

*lounges around in the garden, probably thinking about her rather insane love life, because really, what else does she think about?*

Comments

[truant_horatio]

*comes upon her by mistake, because he shouldn't be here, probably, but he's finally decided to counter depression by going outside, omg--at any rate. makes a small, respectful bow, rather apologetically* Lady.

[truant_horatio]

*mental facepalm on his part, right here, yepyep* Alas, I have been stricken with the gravest of illnesses by you, Lady.

[pretty_sweeting]

*still teasing* Indeed, sir? May such an illness be cured?

[truant_horatio]

My Lady, give me leave to kiss your hands and feet, as a supplicant, and I might then be made well.

*which is winging it, right there, because that's pretty audacious considering you've just met the lady, Horatio. face. palm.*

[pretty_sweeting]

Leave the feet, I pray you, for my shoes are are dusty and would not suit your lips. My hands, however, I will offer gladly. *does*

[truant_horatio]

*takes her fingers gently in his own and bends to touch his lips to the back of her hand*

[pretty_sweeting]

*smiles* You may now have my name again, that you did forget. 'Tis Olivia.

[truant_horatio]

Olivia...! Ne'er shall I again have cause to ask't, for 'twill be graven in the book o' my soul. *...Horatio, you flirt very elaborately*

[pretty_sweeting]

*and she so knows that he's flirting, of course, and she finds it most amusing* Pray it is, sir, for I may test you on't when next we meet.

[truant_horatio]

I will pass this test with colours, Lady. *smiles*

[pretty_sweeting]

*he that is well hanged in this world need fear no colors- er, never mind* Will you? You do fail't already, for you still call me but "Lady."

[truant_horatio]

Forgive me, sweet Olivia.

[pretty_sweeting]

Why, so I shall, good Horatio.

[truant_horatio]

What fair mercy!

[pretty_sweeting]

*a little mischievously* Now may I ask, sir, what illness it is I have cured?

[truant_horatio]

That of a man who dies because he has seen a goddess, or some creature too fair for this earth, and his very soul is touched and shriven, made new, by the holy wonder of't. He cannot then live unblessed in th' world without he should be granted even one kind look from the one who has so shaken him.