( They used to be full of little delights and squirreled-away treasures like this: how did he ever commission that engraved locket? How did she get a hold of the portable record player, the precious cans of Coke? Everything hidden between the margins, the little forays outside the lines they were able to get away with. This is yet another one of them, and as Luther opens her letter to read the response, there's a wide stupid grin splitting his face and he is hopelessly, utterly proud of himself for having landed the right effect. )
Dear Allison,
I'm a man of many talents, and we don't reveal our secrets.
(Alright, fine. I can't actually keep anything from you. I stole some time to myself while coming back from a mission — there's this one used bookstore in the upper west side that I stop by sometimes, usually to buy some new books that won't be scrutinized for 'pedagogical utility'. But they have a collection of cards by independent designers, and I saw these and I couldn't resist. Happy birthday.)
And you know me, I can never resist a mission. Challenge accepted. What do you have in mind — like, I have to go to a bar, order a drink on my own and pay for it own, and stand brooding at the end of the counter for a while? I'm sure I could handle that.
By sleeping in, I guess I mean an extra couple hours, here and there. Not all the time. You're right, though: it's hard to imagine, probably would've been unthinkable before. I'm becoming unforgivably lazy in my decrepit, withered old age.
( They're being light, and frothy, and fun, and there's actually no telling that there's some rot at the heart of the apple. Like the fact that Luther used to be up at dawn every morning, but nowadays he hardly sees the point. Every day is an unending, unchanging grey. If Pogo notices and realises and puts two-and-two together that sleeping longer is a sign of depression, well, the butler never mentions it to Master Luther. Doesn't find it his place to say anything.
Luther's finally started getting up earlier lately, though. If only just to beat the mailman out to the box. )
Is Disney actually fun as an adult? I remember that summer we all got to go because the Maleficent dragon had come to life and ate that kid, and we got to ride all the rides as a reward once we put it down. Ben was over the moon about it, kept all the photos afterward. I've always thought about experiencing it again someday, but it doesn't feel like it'd be the same without everyone.
Anyway, since it was our day recently, I'll be thinking of you. What's your favorite drink? Maybe I'll order that, when I go brood at the bar.
- Luther
PS: Syllabus of worship to follow soon. Although I guess we all know I've always
no subject
I'm a man of many talents, and we don't reveal our secrets.
(Alright, fine. I can't actually keep anything from you. I stole some time to myself while coming back from a mission — there's this one used bookstore in the upper west side that I stop by sometimes, usually to buy some new books that won't be scrutinized for 'pedagogical utility'. But they have a collection of cards by independent designers, and I saw these and I couldn't resist. Happy birthday.)
And you know me, I can never resist a mission. Challenge accepted. What do you have in mind — like, I have to go to a bar, order a drink on my own and pay for it own, and stand brooding at the end of the counter for a while? I'm sure I could handle that.
By sleeping in, I guess I mean an extra couple hours, here and there. Not all the time. You're right, though: it's hard to imagine, probably would've been unthinkable before. I'm becoming unforgivably lazy in my decrepit, withered old age.
( They're being light, and frothy, and fun, and there's actually no telling that there's some rot at the heart of the apple. Like the fact that Luther used to be up at dawn every morning, but nowadays he hardly sees the point. Every day is an unending, unchanging grey. If Pogo notices and realises and puts two-and-two together that sleeping longer is a sign of depression, well, the butler never mentions it to Master Luther. Doesn't find it his place to say anything.
Luther's finally started getting up earlier lately, though. If only just to beat the mailman out to the box. )
Anyway, since it was our day recently, I'll be thinking of you. What's your favorite drink? Maybe I'll order that, when I go brood at the bar.
- Luther
PS: Syllabus of worship to follow soon.
Although I guess we all know I've always