IF WE AMASS ENOUGH SHITPOSTS NO ONE CAN READ OUR SHAME

[conchy]

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[immortalpoet]

[He's let down finally, still holding onto Lobelia...before he seems to realize where he is, detaching himself with an irritated little sigh.]

So what do you even do it, for? Seems like a waste of time when you rely on one thing over another.

[conchy]

[Why so irritated, old man? After he went through the effort of carrying him all the way here... but it's fine! Lobelia picks up Verg's pants and hands them to him. They seem mostly clean, unlike his poor stained robes.]

Why else? To look good. Appearances are important, Vergilius!

[No sense in lying about it. He's vain.]

[immortalpoet]

[He's irritated because anything that makes him feel slightly vulnerable does so. Very easy! He's simple to figure out.]

[He does take the clothes, grumbling a little bit as he starts to put them on.]

....That so. Pity they don't have a mirror here. You'd have a good hobby on your hands here.

[conchy]

[His robes will need to be washed, but his pants seem fine, so Lobelia follows suit and pulls those on. And, without missing a beat—]

There's no need! I can see myself reflected in your eyes just fine.

[All the more reason to gaze deeply into them and bat his lashes at Vergilius, right?]

[immortalpoet]

Really.

[BOOOO LAME YOUR WIFE THINKS THIS IS LAME]

[conchy]

[Heh! Heh!! Too bad he isn't the least bit put off by that reaction. Anyway, it's chilly and his robes are le ruined, so he's taking Verg's shirt and putting it on himself. Thanks, hubby.]

Heheh! Don't sound so unimpressed. Your eyes are such a lovely shade of rouge that I catch myself staring into them quite often, but I'm sure you've taken notice.

[immortalpoet]

That's my...

[Wow. Okay. Already wearing his clothing. He sees how it is.]

[Those very eyes are flaring brightly as he's pulling his blazer on.]

I'm not called the Red Gaze for my shining personality. More than enough people have taken notice.

[Though very few look him directly in the eyes.]

[conchy]

[He's not scared of you, wife. All that scary red gaze can do to him now is allure him more. Comme c'est tragique.]

But how many of them have told you that your eyes are beau?

[immortalpoet]

...

[Glancing away....]

Maybe only a lunatic like you.

[conchy]

[Moe... Not to be easily ignored, Lobelia sidles back into Vergilius' line of sight and pointedly stares at those vivid red peepers.]

You're saying that I'm the first to point out such an obvious fact? How sad! Perhaps they avoided doing so because they knew how poorly you handle compliments.

[immortalpoet]

I can handle compliments just fine.

[GRUMBLING AND LOOKING AWAY AGAIN WOW LOOK AT THE TIME ITS INABILITY TO TAKE COMPLIMENTS O CLOCK]

Are you done?

[conchy]

[How earnest! How sweet! Tempting fate, Lobelia claps Vergilius' cheeks between his hands and reorients his face so looking away is no longer an option.]

You're so impatient, but I suppose that too is part of your charm. Hm, I think I'll be finished with you when you can accept a compliment in earnest. Équitable?

[immortalpoet]

[Hm.]



[reacHING OUT TO PUT HIS HAND AROUND HIS NECK HI HELLO he isn't squeezing this is just always his typical kneejerk reflex to violence]

I don't need to.

[conchy]

[Oh? Threatening him with a good time? How dreadful! Beneath Vergilius' palms, Lobelia's pulse immediately kicks up, laughter snaking out of his throat. He smooshes Vergilius' lips into a cute little duckface.]

You would be happier if you did!

[immortalpoet]

[jesus HE REMEMBERED THAT LOBELIA GETS OFF ON THIS, GREAT]

[but he isn't letting go, he's just frowning! mightily! hissy cat! stop smooshing his face!!]

[he is squeezing a little tighter]

I don't want to.

[conchy]

[What, no follow through? Weak! Autoerotic asphyxiation is something Lobelia could totally get behind, but Vergilius knows that and is thus choosing not to strangle him. Terrible, very rude. Time to develop a denial kink...............]

Oh? And why not? Are you afraid you'll blush if you do?

[Lobelia goes from smooshing Vergilius' cheeks to pinching and pulling them.]

[immortalpoet]

I don't blush.

[What is his life. He is absolutely making a face at this...and withdrawing his hand to place it directly against the other's face and give it a nice shove.]

I'm not a toy. Stop.

[conchy]

[Poor Verg, poor Verg... Lobelia would continue to toy with him, but that would make Vergilius unhappy, wouldn't it? With that thought in mind, he wistfully sighs and withdraws his hands. The palm to the face was totally unnecessary, wifey.]

Mes excuses! Don't get upset, mon amour. I only want to see you smile and laugh every now and then. Is that asking for too much?

[immortalpoet]

[No it was necessary. He's folding his arms, now, stern as ever.]

...

[>8/]

One can't hope for miracles, Lobelia.

[conchy]

[Heh, oops! He fucked up!! Maybe he can make it up to Vergilius by catering to that delicate bleeding heart of his? Lobelia's gaze wanders to the arts and crafts area. Maybe he could write Vergilius a lil gay poem...]

Bien sûr vous pouvez! If you let hope die, you'll never be happy! Stop quitting before you start, Vergilius.

[immortalpoet]

Now you just sound like you're scolding me.

[He's the dad(dy) here, wow!! But he is sighing as he glances over at the arts and crafts table as well. He hasn't even really checked it out.]

That wizard really needs to think of better things to put here.

[conchy]

Hm! My bad. It's your job to scold me, non?

[Daddykins... Anyway, arts and crafts time? Lobelia takes Vergilius' hand and guides them over to the table, eyeing the various tools and items laid out for them. He really isn't one for arts and crafts, but he takes hold of a notebook and pen with a certain plan in mind.]

Perhaps if we aid him in his ventures, he'll provide us with something meaningful to do in this place? Heh-ahaha! Je rigole. That much may be beyond Monsieur Merlin's capabilities.

[No shade to Merlin, but none of the meaningful things they'd like to do can be completed from this place. Nonetheless, Lobelia sits down with his notebook and pen and begins to write, humming as his pen moves along the page.]

[immortalpoet]

I scold you even if it isn't my job.

[Truly, he is suffering forever because he is doing this unpaid....]

[He sits, glancing over the goods - something pangs, a little familiar. The idea of helping Merlin makes him frown, though, and he won't even move to take anything in hand. Fuck that wizard.]

I'm sure making him a greeting card is not going to power him up. If that was truly the case, he'd be useless.

[conchy]

[While Vergilius idles, Lobelia's pen freely flows across the paper. Dans l'éclat sombre de la nuit étoilée, deux rubis ardents ont captivé mon regard...]

According to him, he draws his strength from the bonds between the people lingering in his domain. Giving that man handmade gifts — or any gifts at all — won't be necessary.

[Which is why he's writing a poem for Vergilius. With a muse as fine as the ashen remains of a cigarette, how can Lobelia be anything but inspired?]

[immortalpoet]

Bonds between people....what kind of nonsense is that?

[man with power drawn from emotions: THAT SOUNDS LIKE CRAP]

[He is eventually reaching for a piece of paper, idly starting to fold it - those rubis ardents are glancing over though.]

This stuff makes him more powerful?