Dance #46

[quackingly]

Ah! Dearest writer, love that I can't confess lest I betray my sex, your birthday is anon! If it pleasest thou, I beeseach thee to accept my humble offer to attend a simple banquet in your honor at the Cafe 'o Juliet. If you accept mine offer--and I beg that it be so, for this heart whether in the form 'o the duck, or a maiden, or a young lad has

Comments

[amazing_guy]

.....

[quackingly]

...Methinks this day is curse'd.

[amazing_guy]

You sound a little....different from everyone else.

[quackingly]

Zounds! Wherefore?

1/2

[sword_and_quill]

[sword_and_quill]

Don't speak like a moron, moron. I can hardly understand a word you're saying.

1/2

[quackingly]

I cannot stop speaking thus any more than thou can stop thine eyebrows from placing a scowl upon thine face, thou surely rough-hewn flap-dragon!

[quackingly]

...But, a celebration of one's birth should go on, even when my tongue is mark'd by wyrd speech.

[monsterepellant]

Thou should be care while addressing a person as merely a writer, lady. There are many writers about, and not all of them kind.

[quackingly]

Ah! Thine words art true. He art the young writer? ...Young, knightly writer?

[monsterepellant]

Mayhap it would be wise to merely call him as he was named.

1/2

[quackingly]

Ah, Fakir, the dark in the brightest knight--so he once was--his fingers ever black-mark'd with ink, mine heart forever aching in my breast--