poly_chromatic | ( 03 ) ( video. )

I realise I've been almost unbearably quiet of late, but I'm fairly certain that there's only so much one can say about sand and the desert. [ a beat. ] I had quite enough of sand as a small child — I discovered fairly quickly that it had a terrible habit of getting everywhere one didn't want it to go, and managing to not stay where one did want it to stay. My sandcastles were never quite as impressive as I envisioned them before construction. [ another pause, and will rubs idly at a mark on his trousers, his attention quite clearly not on the device to any great degree. ] It goes terribly with sandwiches, too. And bakestones.

It'd be appreciated if someone were capable of making it so that there was something sand did manage to accompany that wasn't wholly, distastefully gritty. I imagine it'd be a far better way of spending their time than moping about whatever the deities have decided to do this week.

—Although, if anyone's curious, I'd heartily recommend against mixing it with viscous liquids, or imbibing viscous liquids that aren't syrup in general.

[ his gaze flickers up towards the camera for a moment, the corners of his lips quirking upwards briefly. ] Flour, butter, lard, currants, sugar— [ a pause, and his expression flickers for a moment. ] Spices, I think, eggs and milk. Tessa, I seem to recall you insisting that I ought to invent Welsh pancakes, or something equally ridiculous. I'll do it only if you provide me with cakes. The way to a man— [ abrupt pause. ] The way to a man's heart is through his stomach, or so they say, and I dare say I'd be better at cooking if I had something to spur me on.

I don't know the full recipe, but I imagine you'll be able to figure it out. There's a library here — you read enough as it is, you must have read a recipe book somewhere along the way. They'd only be three days late.

—And Rosiel. You are aware that flitting between insults and backhanded compliments is hardly any way to conduct a conversation, aren't you? [ he's aware, of course, of how utterly hypocritical the comment is, but he has a burning desire to point it out. ] Although I can't complain about the fact that you've decided that calling me Narcissus has become fairly dull. I still believe that Galahad is far more preferable, if you're looking for a new name. I believe I mentioned that once before, and it would certainly suit your nonsensical idea that I'm to be noble.

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You forgot how to conduct conversations?

I'd forgot to name you, but now you've reminded me, of course I must. Of course. Narcissus it is, Narcissus you'll stay!

Until you grow bored of it again, I suppose. Fickleness isn't particularly endearing, I should point out.

And this, my dear love, is our marriage interview?

If it is, I trust you to wear the dress. White has never been my colour.

Edited 2012-03-04 21:13 (UTC)

How perfectly medieval. We'll take a step back, and then another, and another, and another, and three more, back to the truly ancient days, and so... your gown can be red. Or gold. Gold should do.