- Posting Speed
- Speed of Light
- Writing Levels
- Douche
- Preferred Character Gender
- No Preferences
The man's foot became still.
"When one says 'No offense', it is usually to avoid the repercussions of offending. And since you seem ambiguous on the matter I must question why you think it an offense to comment on a man's superior time-keeping. And yet, though you suspect it an offense to keep time you beg forgiveness for intruding upon it, disregarding your own professed desire to negate the troubles of time through idle exposition. And all the while, twisting these five knives, you deem me better suited to merriment when all you have done is made me WORRY all the greater for the verbal capacity of the human race!"
The retort was delivered rapidly, and in a motion as swift as it was surreal, Asmodeus slapped Dahlia on the side of the head with his rolled up scroll.
This drew more than a few stares, and brought a half-second drop in the Cbox volume, before music and chatter resumed again.
The Prince of Gaia adjusted his disguise, consisting of fur longcoat and unkempt hair, then went back to studying the lute-player. He seemed to be nodding along with the music, tapping both his foot and his tankard of ale at odd moments. There was little evidence that he resented Dahlia's company. "Codes, my dear. A purer form of language," his voice wavered with anxiety. "Pattern and syncopation. You would do better to study music than indulge cliche. Perhaps then you would be of use to me."
He opened the scroll quickly, glanced, then rolled it up again. It gave Dahlia only a fleeting glimpse of what was written there.
His tapping grew more insistent... as if trying to break the notes of the lute player, his brow furrowing. Every muscle in Prince Asmodeus's body seemed to be bouncing up and down.
It was sign of the strangest and most excitable fear.
"When one says 'No offense', it is usually to avoid the repercussions of offending. And since you seem ambiguous on the matter I must question why you think it an offense to comment on a man's superior time-keeping. And yet, though you suspect it an offense to keep time you beg forgiveness for intruding upon it, disregarding your own professed desire to negate the troubles of time through idle exposition. And all the while, twisting these five knives, you deem me better suited to merriment when all you have done is made me WORRY all the greater for the verbal capacity of the human race!"
The retort was delivered rapidly, and in a motion as swift as it was surreal, Asmodeus slapped Dahlia on the side of the head with his rolled up scroll.
This drew more than a few stares, and brought a half-second drop in the Cbox volume, before music and chatter resumed again.
The Prince of Gaia adjusted his disguise, consisting of fur longcoat and unkempt hair, then went back to studying the lute-player. He seemed to be nodding along with the music, tapping both his foot and his tankard of ale at odd moments. There was little evidence that he resented Dahlia's company. "Codes, my dear. A purer form of language," his voice wavered with anxiety. "Pattern and syncopation. You would do better to study music than indulge cliche. Perhaps then you would be of use to me."
He opened the scroll quickly, glanced, then rolled it up again. It gave Dahlia only a fleeting glimpse of what was written there.
His tapping grew more insistent... as if trying to break the notes of the lute player, his brow furrowing. Every muscle in Prince Asmodeus's body seemed to be bouncing up and down.
It was sign of the strangest and most excitable fear.