Over some several hours into his bar-lounging, the good Major thought to himself the time-old revelation of:
Tossing his heels off the oaken tabletop of the Aleport tavern, he meanders back off into the wild. Heading northbound for a refreshing dip in Camp Bronze Lake's springs, it was a few yalms near Memeroon's outpost where a small black bird came fluttering down with another damn note. Nabbing the letter and slip-shoddily unfurling it from it's bindings he braced himself and began reading it;"What does one do for fun?" - P'rita.
Oh, joy, this one's a bit more on the nose, now isn't it? What does one do for fun? You'd assume fun was subjective, my pleasure is your displeasure and vice versa. Then you look at it from a literal perspective of hedonism, to seek pleasure; isn't that fun on it's own? Oh... There it is again, the tell tale notation of when he's thinking too hard on mundane queries:
Regardless, he fed the annoying little courier more snacks from his bag as he thought over the question on Memeroon's Ferry across Bronze Lake. Looking over the Wanderer's Palace, he found some respite in the visuals, easing his thoughts to a more reasonable pace. He produced a fountain pen from his satchel, taking the note and flipping it over to a blank space, proceeding to pen down:
Like hell he was going to going to give her that honesty she wanted, not that easily, at least. She ambled into Flynt's territory, where answers are scarce and questions are made. In due time, perhaps, but for now, Flynt took pride in his work of ambiguity (and subsequent ignorance through his farce). With a smile, he handed the note back to the messenger, waving it off into wherever it damn so felt like going. Off to Camp Bronze Lake, now, to arbitrarily idle in the springs until somebody tells him to leave or he finds means to move his lazy ass from a comfortable perch in the springs. Such is life for a man like Flynt. He found a fondness to P'rita, through pity perhaps? Maybe her dedicated want of knowledge pertaining to the Hyena was flattering, thus sparking some interest? Regardless, he waited for the next letter in silence, only the sound of rushing water and rolling thunder to stimulate his senses.
"This is stupid."
Tossing his heels off the oaken tabletop of the Aleport tavern, he meanders back off into the wild. Heading northbound for a refreshing dip in Camp Bronze Lake's springs, it was a few yalms near Memeroon's outpost where a small black bird came fluttering down with another damn note. Nabbing the letter and slip-shoddily unfurling it from it's bindings he braced himself and began reading it;"What does one do for fun?" - P'rita.
Oh, joy, this one's a bit more on the nose, now isn't it? What does one do for fun? You'd assume fun was subjective, my pleasure is your displeasure and vice versa. Then you look at it from a literal perspective of hedonism, to seek pleasure; isn't that fun on it's own? Oh... There it is again, the tell tale notation of when he's thinking too hard on mundane queries:
"...This is stupid."
Regardless, he fed the annoying little courier more snacks from his bag as he thought over the question on Memeroon's Ferry across Bronze Lake. Looking over the Wanderer's Palace, he found some respite in the visuals, easing his thoughts to a more reasonable pace. He produced a fountain pen from his satchel, taking the note and flipping it over to a blank space, proceeding to pen down:
"One finds talking with Two to be an enjoyable pass-time, Four and Five are rather rude, and Three is really just a good listener, not much to commit to."
Like hell he was going to going to give her that honesty she wanted, not that easily, at least. She ambled into Flynt's territory, where answers are scarce and questions are made. In due time, perhaps, but for now, Flynt took pride in his work of ambiguity (and subsequent ignorance through his farce). With a smile, he handed the note back to the messenger, waving it off into wherever it damn so felt like going. Off to Camp Bronze Lake, now, to arbitrarily idle in the springs until somebody tells him to leave or he finds means to move his lazy ass from a comfortable perch in the springs. Such is life for a man like Flynt. He found a fondness to P'rita, through pity perhaps? Maybe her dedicated want of knowledge pertaining to the Hyena was flattering, thus sparking some interest? Regardless, he waited for the next letter in silence, only the sound of rushing water and rolling thunder to stimulate his senses.
![[Image: UsyQa9f.gif]](http://i.imgur.com/UsyQa9f.gif)
