poly_chromatic | { dance no. 3

Entry tags:

lotc - marguerite gautier

{ dance no. 3 | text }

It must be obvious to all - that sexual conduct of the enjoyable kind provides more sustenance than oatmeal.

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If it wasn't obvious to all before, it certainly is now, since you made this completely public.

I can think of lists of things that have more sustenance than oatmeal.

Rest assured, Marguerite Gautier would never incriminate herself in such a...

Ah, but it's true, surely. Oatmeal, I have learned, is such a boring foodstuff.

Such as? Let us share in the favour of all things not oatmeal!

Here's the thing: almost everything is less boring than oatmeal. Saying that good sex is better than oatmeal is basically damning good sex with faint praise.

Honey cakes are my brother's favorite example, but he has a bit of a sweet tooth. Flowers on a spring day. A good bottle of wine. Fine friends. Flavored ices. Olives. Fresh bread straight from the ovens. Pot pies. Kittens.

But your words are of such length, Meyer, that I can't possibly wrap my head around them. Speak in a manner a poor woman can understand.

[He's drunk right now. How can he be expected to be remotely coherent? Oh, except she's not supposed to know he's drunk. Okay. Trying again.]

Oatmeal is boring. Sex isn't boring. Putting oatmeal and sex in the same sentence together is insulting to sex.

There is nothing more luxurious that freshly baked bread. My maid would make me little loafs back in Paris... I do so miss it, now that you mention it to me.

Oh!Yes. I quite agree. Our cook would have to station someone one by the door to the kitchens to make sure my brother and I wouldn't make off with a loaf when she was baking. Eventually she just made us our own little loafs as well so we'd stop stealing.

[She, on the other hand, has hangovers and is still feeling the effects of all the wine she drank last night.]

You must know by now, I should never wish to insult sex. It is my oxygen, my nectar of life, my everything!

[Oh, if only she could hear him laughing right now. Not mockingly, it's just that everything strikes him as amusing.]

Your nectar of life? Now I think you might be exagregating

exgagerating

Dammit...

EXAGGERATING a little.

[That was an unnecessarily difficult word to type.]

How nostalgic we are, my dear. Revelling in stories from the past. I should have picked kittens for my subject of choice, surely it would have been safer.

Considering I've never had a cat or a kitten, it would have.

One should think you were drunk, Meyer. It is quite the charming air.

One would probably have good reason to think that. On the other hand, I wouldn't be alone.

[Though she's probably sobered up by now. He'd started drinking much later, and hasn't slept yet.]

On the farm, we had cats, but they were not cats as I came to know them in high society. They were not intended for petting. As they were certain to carry the diseases of the mice...

My brother is highly allergic to cats and my parents didn't approve of pets in general. The closest we came to a pet were the house chickens and goat. Though I always enjoyed cats at friends' homes.

And here we are reminiscing about home and the past again.

I came to drink too heavily last night, did I not? Oh, how Nanina would have scolded me. Will you scold me as well, Meyer?

[Not to mention, Armand... Armand would have reproached her for her carelessness, now that he had promised never to reproach her for her nights spent with other men.]

Not unless you want me to.

[Because really, it'd be just a little hypocritical to scold her for drinking too much when he's sitting there with a drink in his own hand.]

And was the guy you left with better than oatmeal?

[Yep. He noticed.]

We must immediately think of more joyful topics to discuss, I say! What else was on your list... Flowers! I live in an apartment now, with a view of the gardens. And I fill my living room with flowers to whatever extend I can afford.

What sort of flowers are your favorites?

Camellias. In every shade, white and red...

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