CONTACT [EL NYSA]
(leave a message after the tone)
(leave a message after the tone)
You promised me a whole night, and I think I would most like to be given that now, please.
Prior, have you left yet?
[all left as messages as he assumes you're too busy to chat]
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priorly
- 2017-10-23 11:58 (UTC) - ExpandHello, Prior. This is Loras. Which you probably already know.
I wanted to apology for the other day, my behaviour was deplorable. Another man from Westeros had said some terrible things about someone I cared for, it's not becoming to have let myself take out my frustrations on you. Not when you had good intentions. I've had few people in my life take care for my well being. I hope you'll find it in you to forgive me. I should like, I think, to be your friend. If you'll have me.
I wanted to apology for the other day, my behaviour was deplorable. Another man from Westeros had said some terrible things about someone I cared for, it's not becoming to have let myself take out my frustrations on you. Not when you had good intentions. I've had few people in my life take care for my well being. I hope you'll find it in you to forgive me. I should like, I think, to be your friend. If you'll have me.
[Loras what are you.
This takes Prior five minutes to listen through (the words swim together too much for his cotton-wool vision to read easily) - then several more as he plays it back again. A few more to blink and smile.]
What's to forgive?
[Too short a response for such a novel, so there's another text a minute later.]
I confused you, I know. If it helps, it was only deliberte the first time. You need to know I might make jokes you don't get in future, though. Sarcasm's how little boys like I was learn to talk. But you ca an ask anything you fail to follow. I assure you my intentions won't ever be anything untoward.
This takes Prior five minutes to listen through (the words swim together too much for his cotton-wool vision to read easily) - then several more as he plays it back again. A few more to blink and smile.]
What's to forgive?
[Too short a response for such a novel, so there's another text a minute later.]
I confused you, I know. If it helps, it was only deliberte the first time. You need to know I might make jokes you don't get in future, though. Sarcasm's how little boys like I was learn to talk. But you ca an ask anything you fail to follow. I assure you my intentions won't ever be anything untoward.
[It'd been some time since his first encounter with Prior, but it certainly wasn't the last time the young man was on his mind. He hadn't anticipated someone advertised as having a good heart to be indeed so, let alone managing to still be very... saucy in addition. It was baffling, but deliciously so, leaving him wanting to seek him out again but having little cause to do so without a drink.
That is, until he saw a spot of greenery from the corner of his eye. A vendor's stall, selling bouquets in wake for so many that celebrated their bonding rituals not too long ago. He bites his lip, looking between the flowers and his phone. If Prior doesn't answer, he won't go through with it. If he does, well... Well, then he's screwed.]
My dear Prior, you wouldn't happen to be available, would you?
That is, until he saw a spot of greenery from the corner of his eye. A vendor's stall, selling bouquets in wake for so many that celebrated their bonding rituals not too long ago. He bites his lip, looking between the flowers and his phone. If Prior doesn't answer, he won't go through with it. If he does, well... Well, then he's screwed.]
My dear Prior, you wouldn't happen to be available, would you?
[If anything, Prior has too much time on his hands. The trip back to Olympia can't come soon enough, and there wasn't nearly enough to pack to keep him occupied. Still, a girl can't give too much away.]
Cocktail peanuts are available. I'm requestable, depending.
Cocktail peanuts are available. I'm requestable, depending.
Qwedwr
[Translation: someone's screen wasn't locked when she fumbled her phone. Sorry, random person.]
[Translation: someone's screen wasn't locked when she fumbled her phone. Sorry, random person.]
It's been a while. Did you remain in Wyver?
[ it's a Christmas gift, really. it isn't, the note didn't come equipped with a single mention of Santa and the red and white stripe motif of the majority of Christmas paraphernalia was notably absent, but - well. 'tis the season. and God knows how few other opportunities they have to touch base with home.
so, it's close to Christmas that the gift arrives, anonymous. John's already sorted the gift that's going to come with his name actually attached, but here anonymity gives him the chance to be a little more lavish with the money that's been sitting around, spent so far on little more than the cost of living (low when you haven't bothered to move out of the slums yet) and a nice new suit.
John's fairly certain Shades Darker will be covering expenses on Prior's work, but what about out of hours? at Prior's door, delivered at a time John knows he'll be in and by an Olympian sworn to secrecy, there come a few things.
1. A tray of the closest things to mince pies he could source.
2. A plant that looks like a Poinsettia but probably isn't, and comes attached with a label, written in a hand that definitely belongs to one of John's more obliging coworkers. ("Might be poisonous or spelled to make you want to finish off a reindeer. Tread with caution. Gifter takes no responsibility for any trauma caused with the giving of this plant.")
3. A card, just plain brown paper folded in two with a naff little attempt at a santa hat drawn in the corner, but he tried. Inside, a note,
"What's the use in a party planner if he can't plan his own parties? Just something to give you a bit of free rein.
Happy Christmas,
S."
on the left hand card interior, there's a list of 5 different local shops that cover the nicer side of the sorts of things Prior might need to buy to whip up a party somewhere other than work. food, decor, etc. he's left 200 silver in credit at each place, 1000 silver all told, and although he doubts that'll make for a particularly elaborate party, it's something.
the list of names is followed by another brief note. "Have a chat with the proprietors. They should know your name."
all of the above's written in someone else's hand, but added, slightly separate from the rest, as an afterthought after a certain gala the other night, one more place. it's a boutique clothing shop, catering to both women and men, Olympian in style but happy to take commissions. accessories there, too. another 200 silver. the name, this time, penned by John. in a slight rush.
there's no direct mention of the credit left at any of these places, and Prior will have to investigate himself to find out exactly what's going on here, but John figures that'll tide him over until he actually gets something to unwrap closer to Christmas. nothing quite like a treasure hunt. ]
so, it's close to Christmas that the gift arrives, anonymous. John's already sorted the gift that's going to come with his name actually attached, but here anonymity gives him the chance to be a little more lavish with the money that's been sitting around, spent so far on little more than the cost of living (low when you haven't bothered to move out of the slums yet) and a nice new suit.
John's fairly certain Shades Darker will be covering expenses on Prior's work, but what about out of hours? at Prior's door, delivered at a time John knows he'll be in and by an Olympian sworn to secrecy, there come a few things.
1. A tray of the closest things to mince pies he could source.
2. A plant that looks like a Poinsettia but probably isn't, and comes attached with a label, written in a hand that definitely belongs to one of John's more obliging coworkers. ("Might be poisonous or spelled to make you want to finish off a reindeer. Tread with caution. Gifter takes no responsibility for any trauma caused with the giving of this plant.")
3. A card, just plain brown paper folded in two with a naff little attempt at a santa hat drawn in the corner, but he tried. Inside, a note,
"What's the use in a party planner if he can't plan his own parties? Just something to give you a bit of free rein.
Happy Christmas,
S."
on the left hand card interior, there's a list of 5 different local shops that cover the nicer side of the sorts of things Prior might need to buy to whip up a party somewhere other than work. food, decor, etc. he's left 200 silver in credit at each place, 1000 silver all told, and although he doubts that'll make for a particularly elaborate party, it's something.
the list of names is followed by another brief note. "Have a chat with the proprietors. They should know your name."
all of the above's written in someone else's hand, but added, slightly separate from the rest, as an afterthought after a certain gala the other night, one more place. it's a boutique clothing shop, catering to both women and men, Olympian in style but happy to take commissions. accessories there, too. another 200 silver. the name, this time, penned by John. in a slight rush.
there's no direct mention of the credit left at any of these places, and Prior will have to investigate himself to find out exactly what's going on here, but John figures that'll tide him over until he actually gets something to unwrap closer to Christmas. nothing quite like a treasure hunt. ]
If I told you I was the son of a prince, would you think it was strange?
[ This letter arrives attached to the leg of a small bird, about the size of a pigeon. It's a very insistent creature, tapping on the window or the door to get noticed. It seems to know where it wants to go and will perch on some furniture, or an outstretched arm, if allowed. ]
[ Nash's handwriting is neat, looping cursive that doesn't at all resemble ancient runes. ]
Prior—
I hope this finds you well, after the recent unpleasantness. Are you still preparing for the coronation? And I'm sorry I couldn't do more about your leg. Perhaps my magic only works at the stroke of midnight. (Or is doomed to fade then? I don't remember how that story is supposed to go.)
If you have any more dire revelations about my past or future, I'd appreciate having them in writing. The devices they gave us seem a bit too much like a witch's mirror in a cradle tale— speak a name and it appears! It's quite terrifying. I'm spooked. And call me old-fashioned, but I like to have records I can burn.
— Fairy Godmother
P.S. Ignore whatever the bird might say. He is a bird. Birds are notoriously literal conversationalists.
I hope this finds you well, after the recent unpleasantness. Are you still preparing for the coronation? And I'm sorry I couldn't do more about your leg. Perhaps my magic only works at the stroke of midnight. (Or is doomed to fade then? I don't remember how that story is supposed to go.)
If you have any more dire revelations about my past or future, I'd appreciate having them in writing. The devices they gave us seem a bit too much like a witch's mirror in a cradle tale— speak a name and it appears! It's quite terrifying. I'm spooked. And call me old-fashioned, but I like to have records I can burn.
— Fairy Godmother
P.S. Ignore whatever the bird might say. He is a bird. Birds are notoriously literal conversationalists.
[ Nash's handwriting is neat, looping cursive that doesn't at all resemble ancient runes. ]
Fair warning: if he doesn't stop soon, I'm going to go out there and smash that weird flute.
O-objection!
Don't be ridiculous! I don't think I've lost that much muscle definition.
Hold it...
How is that for substantiating my claims?
Don't be ridiculous! I don't think I've lost that much muscle definition.
Hold it...
How is that for substantiating my claims?
No. I'm not a fairytale character, it's just my parents. And, you know, everyone else where they're from.
Yes, his song portion went like this:
Iron Bull's loyal indulgent one
A past brilliant agent of those who run
The Bull's Chargers now stay in his sight
But he still finds the time to roar through the night
But it would be more accurate to be like this:
The Iron Bull would indulge anyone
A baker, a barmaid, a blacksmith’s son
If it’s somewhere he can fit his cock
You know where The Iron Bull will next dock
Iron Bull's loyal indulgent one
A past brilliant agent of those who run
The Bull's Chargers now stay in his sight
But he still finds the time to roar through the night
But it would be more accurate to be like this:
The Iron Bull would indulge anyone
A baker, a barmaid, a blacksmith’s son
If it’s somewhere he can fit his cock
You know where The Iron Bull will next dock
Too soon or too late to ask how you're doing?
[Sometime, after he's left his room long enough for one to slip in and out of it, Prior will find his bed neat and tidy. The covers are smoothed down, the pillows arranged perfectly upright. However, something is out of place. Leaning against one of the pillows, slightly tucked under the covers, is the stuff bear from his memory. It's exactly as he was when he was a boy - it doesn't have the wear from the years that followed it, like it was plucked straight from that moment in time. Other than that, there is no note, or any other indicator of who left it.]
[Except that tiny perfect memory bears don't need a gift tag. Short of the Natha leaving it tucked in there to greet him (and he does check first, just in case it's imbued with one of the strange powers they enjoy handing out like strangers with candy) there's only one person who's even seen the thing.
And Byerly's on a late shift and Miles is... allowed to stay home without a babysitter, so the next thing that happens is Prior showing up at Dorian's door, long after acceptable visiting hours. Prior and Buckley, both looking expectantly at whoever answers the door.]
How in hell...
And Byerly's on a late shift and Miles is... allowed to stay home without a babysitter, so the next thing that happens is Prior showing up at Dorian's door, long after acceptable visiting hours. Prior and Buckley, both looking expectantly at whoever answers the door.]
How in hell...
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