31 March 2012 @ 11:24 am
[ when the video clicks on, it shows a particularly relaxed will; he's leant aainst a tree in xanadu, a apple in one hand. for those particularly familiar with him, the relaxation and general air of contentment is somewhat more natural than usual — innocent, even. when he speaks, the welsh accent is somewhat more pronounced, the london overtones muted or otherwise non-existent. ]

I've thought, on occasion, that my sisters would be fond of the City. The curses are inconvenient, but it would be difficult to describe any of it as boring; Cecily has a tendency to go out of her way to cause trouble. [ a flicker of a smile. ] So I dare say she'd be right at home here. [ a pause, and his glances up at the sky for a moment. ] For all the variety of people that the deities bring to the City, it's remarkable how often it is that one ends up wanting for a touch of familiarity, even if it's otherwise cruel to wish for the uprooting and general disruption of lives.

—Although outside of curses, the way that the City is designed feels almost too perfect; it's hardly any wonder that the deities turn to curses to make it more interesting for themselves.

[ ooc: the years that never were: blah blah ~spoilery stuff~ didn't happen, so will is actually capable of being genuinely pleasant. ]
20 March 2012 @ 11:15 pm
[ when the feed clicks on, it's evident that will is sat somewhere without an abundance of light — there are lamps, though — but with a number of books. (in other words: the library). there's a small pile just in front of him, and he can be seen to be leafing through a paperback of some description. the titles of the books that are visible would imply he has something of a soft spot for what can only be described as objectively trash.

that aside, he at least looks comfortable, if not in deliberate disregard of any form of etiquette — his feet, still booted, are resting on the table. ]

There once was a young man from Aberpennar
Who found himself embroiled in quite the dilemma—
[ a beat and a flicker of a frown; aberpennar and dilemma don't rhyme, not really. NEVERMIND it's not important. ]
You see, he was quite typical in many respects
and desired to—

[ he stops for a moment, mild (feigned) surprise giving way to equally feigned thoughtfulness. ]

Perhaps I ought not finish, not when there's all manner of polite company and children within hearing — or more accurately, I suppose, listening — distance. There are, that said, a great many things I desire to do today, although it seems as if a great many people would also like to do a great many things today, some not activities they'd normally indulge in. I'm afraid to say that I feel absolutely nothing out of the ordinary; I wonder, then, if I've been cursed at all, or if I've merely been blessed with a startling intense dislike of being utterly, wholly bone idle — or whatever one would say when they detest activities with the sole purpose of being dull and uninteresting.

—Maybe I'll visit the park, feed the pigeons and the ducks and, in a fit of nostalgia, see if the birds here behave any differently to the birds in London. I've always thought that the birds in London portrayed a disturbingly accurate mirror image of the people in London: miserable, and prone to unprovoked acts of violence and inflammatory remarks. Maybe the birds here will simply be unbearably nosy.
04 March 2012 @ 08:50 pm
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.
28 January 2012 @ 08:59 pm
The more the merrier, isn't that what they say? Although I've no intention on begging for company — it feels akin to placing a small postcard in my doorway announcing that I provide French lessons, or that I have a large chest for sale. [ a beat. ] If I wished to be discreet about it, of course.

( ooc: anywhere, anything. i am not even remotely fussed. )
26 January 2012 @ 12:25 am
[ the following is uttered blandly, tiredly, as if it's all a great deal of effort. ] But, like the skeleton at the feast, that warning timepiece never ceased,— "Forever—never! Never—forever!" [ a pause, and he lets out a huff of breath before continuing, sounding a great deal more animated. ] I feel as if I've gone quite mad. In fact, I feared as much when I awoke this morning, lying there — not in a bush, for those curious — staring up at the ceiling. I thought to myself that I must be hearing things, that the countdown to or for my life was drawing to a close and that this was my warning.

Of course, it wasn't until I saw fit to move that I discovered that a vast majority of the city is encountering the same. Perhaps, then, it's the end of days. I'm tempted to say that we ought to spend the entire day in celebration and joyous ceremony, although I also believe that my instinctual reaction to spend the entire day in bed, demanding nothing but the best company and, I think, food, to have been the correct one. There could be nothing worse than to spend my final day on Earth or wherever this ridiculous city is placed, than in the company of people I detest.

Imagining scenarios relating to them receiving their comeuppance is only entertaining for so long, I've discovered. I've had plenty of experience in the matter — it transpires that vocalising such thoughts tends to be frowned upon in polite company.

private letter to tessa. )
20 January 2012 @ 09:06 am
[ when the video clicks on, it shows a teenager — not uncommon in and of itself — looking distinctly bemused, not wet and somewhat out of sorts. what can be seen of his surroundings show him to be near the fountain, like most new arrivals, although he doesn't look especially surprised. when he speaks, his tone is primarily level, whilst his accent belies his british origins — southern english, with a noticeable undercurrent of welsh. ]

The last time I was here, I was greeted by a multitude of redheads and a blonde. I also, as it happens, momentarily believed myself to be Alice, although rather than having taken a tumble down a rabbit hole, I found myself the victim of a short drop into water. This time, I find myself in possession of all of my faculties and wholly dry. Alas, there appears to be no redheads in my immediate vicinity — recognisable ones, that is — or the solitary blonde bearing a cup of delightful coffee with an awful name. [ a beat. ] If it helps, I could go for a short paddle in the fountain and recreate my arrival from before; the sympathy and pity were quite welcome.

[ there's another pause, albeit a longer one, and the humour briefly fades from his expression and is replaced by a rather marked lack of surety. ] Tessa—. [ nope, nevermind. refuge in the familiar; awkward conversations can come later. ]

I wonder, will I have to spend my first night under a bush again?