Entry One

[heiresy]

[Some terribly nice handwriting finds its way into your journal, unfortunately using the ink provided]

My dear fellows,

I am unable to restrain my curiosity with this magical book. Forgive my intrusion and meaningless talk within these pages. It is an oddity to write whatever comes into me. I usually have purpose- reports, organized letters, aught with specificity. I've put little else into myself besides ale these days. With no access to a proper kitchen, I fear I am at the mercy of our employer's meals.

Worse, I find myself with little privacy in these shared guard's rooms. I dealt with them happily as a younger man, yet I find myself requiring a bit more. Even if I were to make a friend, I would need to meet them at the inn... I needn't lose myself in my cups while making acquaintances.

I suppose I needn't secure my bunkmates' permission to invite someone in, yet I cannot in good conscience be so rude. Has anyone any better ideas for meeting places? Perhaps a recipe for when I can find myself by a stove?

May the Fury watch over each of you,
Aymeric de Borel

Comments

[heiresy]

[If he were less drunk, this would probably be less funny. Maybe. Though, Estinien writing like this was honestly very funny and a little arousing.]

My, my, Estinien! You write as if I am your sorely missed betrothed. We should inspect these implements. Mayhap one of the Mistress' apprentices could tell us more about the curse. While I am able to communicate quite clearly, you have little else to tell me but what you would do with me.

I'm perched upon a stool in the inn pouring ale into my mouth. Would you care to warm the seat beside me? The last time we drank together it ended somewhat intimately, but I would ask you to keep me company regardless.

[dravanicide]

Not as intimately as I would have preferred. Mayhap ale will not be the only thing pouring into your mouth this evening.

[And that's about enough of that, because Estinien will no longer be replying via this sodding book, and he'll be on his way to find Aymeric, though keeping the horrid thing in tow. The Fury is merciful in letting the village not be nearly so vast as it could have been, and for the Inn to be rather singular in presence.

He hopes that Aymeric makes this easier on him, and is in the lobby, and not hidden away in one of the rooms. Halone have mercy if he must knock on each door and suffer what might answer him before he finds the Lord Commander.]

[heiresy]

[His Lord Commander is indeed very merciful, and is very wary of those beds because he knows they just cannot possibly be as well cleaned as anyone would hope. He is sitting at the bar with his ink and his quill. The Quill is very handsome and very blue. Aymeric greets him with a sorely restrained smile. He is actively trying not to laugh. He also has a little bit of an erection because he's a little easy as far as unexpectedly arousing writing from his friend is concerned.]

Estinien!

[He pulls a stool out for him and waves the bartender over.]

And this is why I asked for a few suggestions for places to meet. Though I expect that you would happily take an ale right now.

[He was half expecting Estinien to say something just as filthy as he was writing.]

[dravanicide]

[Estinien meanwhile seems not nearly as excited as Aymeric, though his own eyes do not wander to the pitched front of Aymeric's pants. He's hardly curious of what his vulgarity has done to his friend, and wants even less for any reality to make itself known. Silently he approaches, taking the offered seat, and placing his own book and quill—a black crow's feather, a little rough and not finely kept—onto the bar before him.]

Aye.

'Tis a mockery what this cursed tome and quill wrote. Had I not played witness to the atrocity from mine own hand, I would nary believe it happened. Disregard all of what I had said, such brash perversion is scarce mine intent.

But what of you? I find it beggars belief that you would flavor your speech with such lecherous phrasing.

[heiresy]

[He laughs. He has to. He has a record of what transpired, and so does everyone who lives here. Don't they? That's that the note from the Mistress had implied. Everyone else had been having a terrible time as well.]

Aye, yet not nearly as extreme as your choice of words. You claimed the quill to be cursed, yet only you can use it. Does that mean that the Mistress cursed you in this way, then? Mayhap it is your book...

[Aymeric passes his own book to Estinien and nudges the bottle of ink over with it.]

May as well see.

[If he's being honest with himself, he really did want to see Estinien write those things in person. They were hard enough to believe as it was.]

[dravanicide]

Mayhap I did something to displease her. But very well, if it will silence you, I will show you 'tis no farce.

[Groaning, he picks up the quill, dipping it in Aymeric's ink, and takes to writing.]

Should indeed the Mistress be behind me spilling forth such thick depravity with each stroke, then I will be full sure to stimulate her in kind.

[Estinien stares at what he's written, then looks to Aymeric, his expression flat and telling.]

If you would truly believe I would write aught of that sort, then I fear what has become of your mind.

[heiresy]

When did I say that I thought you were the culprit? I know it's the fault of these tools! Here. Let me use your book and your ink now.

[He gets an ale for Estinien, sliding it over to him with a honeyed expression. He lets out a small laugh, though. He really can't help it.]

Such lewd words in such a messy scrawl...

[dravanicide]

Help yourself.

[He says as he pushes the tome Aymeric's way, as well as the ink he brought with him. The ale was far more preferred, anyways. As such, he's helping himself to a tall drink of it, before replying further.]

You know I am ill practiced when it comes to such. My hands were made for lancing, not paperwork.

[heiresy]

If you weren't the Azure Dragoon, I'm sure you would have been dismissed for your penmanship.

[He gives him a sly grin. He takes a sip of his wine, then drags the book in front of him properly. He dips his pen in Estinien's ink.]

Now, what to write? Perhaps I will offer my omelette recipe.


Dodo Omelette

6 eggs
5 onzes dodo meat
1 half onion, minced
3 onzes soft cheese
3 spoonfuls oil, directly over Estinien's broad, handsome chest

[he grabs his right wrist with his left like a man possessed]

[dravanicide]

[Estinien watches as he nurses his ale, everything seems to be writing just fine. Queer as it is, he almost gets annoyed—and then Aymeric writes that little number and he nearly chokes.

After a moment to compose himself...]

I've a handsome chest, do I?

[heiresy]

[He drops the pen, his hand covering his mouth.]

[Because the answer here is yes. How to play this, how to play this? Casual. Casual was best. He didn't want to protest too quickly or loudly, of course. A man could pay his friend a compliment! It wasn't nearly as raunchy as everything Estinien wrote, so he really shouldn't be ashamed.]

Certainly.

[he smiles, lifting his glass of wine to his lips.]

After all the training you do, how couldn't it be?

[dravanicide]

Mm.

[It's a sound of acknowledgment, perhaps agreement. It would make sense, of course. People favored those with strength, and the physical confirmation of such was of course seen as handsome, but hearing Aymeric say it... well.]

Surely 'twas the quill that provoked such an admission?

[It's said more as a statement, than a question, offering Aymeric a curious glance.]

[heiresy]

I'm not in the habit of interspersing erotica into my recipes.

[But he's not looking him in the face, because right now he can't. And he's definitely a little red.]

If I were to try to finish my recipe, who knows what nonsensical lechery would pour from my hand?

[dravanicide]

You seem not to deny what you wrote, merely that it was ill placed.

[A telling stare, before he takes a drink of his alcohol. He might have some suspicions, but he's going to let Aymeric try to save face.]

[heiresy]

I-

[He was so caught up in the whole concept of Estinien's chest that he forgot that he wrote that he wanted to pour oil on him]

Only the part about your chest being handsome. I have no desire to pour oil over it. Just as I'm sure that you don't truly wish to-

[His finger slides up the page to some of Estinien's terrible handwriting.]

Oblige coming inside me.

[dravanicide]

I denied that outright. 'Tis passing strange it took till now for you to deny yours.

[The slight grin makes it plain he's teasing. It's honestly easier to believe that Aymeric doesn't want to do anything of the sort, it's bad enough that nearly everyone here wants to jump him as is.

If Aymeric too wanted to, he's not quite sure how he'd handle it. It'd be a far more welcomed advance than the others, at least, but still.]

[heiresy]

I'm simply-

[It's true. Between trying to ignore his cock and the thought of Estinien's chest- with or without the oil...]

A bit tipsy.

[He finally looks back at Estinien, glad that he at least seems like he's having some fun. He sips his wine, figuring that he may as well go for convincing if he's pretending that he's drunk enough to be stupid.]

I was more focused on how you asked if I found your chest appealing!

[dravanicide]

I suppose you're right. You are well into your cups—far before even I arrived.

[He says before finishing his own mug of ale. However, the redness of Aymeric's face betrays him, but Estinien decides it's better to not bring attention to it.

It's just easier to accept that it's the alcohol.]

Speaking of. Quite how many glasses have you imbibed?

[heiresy]

Counting this one?

[Well there's the rub. This was his first glass, but he was trying to pass off for third- And he would like to get to his third, but without making Estinien thinking that he's drinking that much.]

Two. Before this one.

[He'd rather Estinien think him a lush than a lech.]

I might save the barkeep the trouble and buy myself the bottle.

[dravanicide]

You spoke of not eating. Are you drinking on an empty stomach, Aymeric?

I would hope you'd be wiser than that.

[He knew well the stress of this place, and having been woken up by Aymeric's own stress relief exercises more than once, he much prefers alcohol to the other.

But starving himself? That won't do.]

[heiresy]

Oh, I suppose I have.

[He presses his forehead into his hand.]

My apologies, Estinien. I do know better than that. It isn't even as if I'm drowning in paperwork or duties particularly.

[He gets the barkeeps attention, just getting them some bread and butter. He wasn't feeling terribly inspired. Omelettes were just making him think about sex anyway.]

I'm glad I have you here with me, Estinien. I would be lost without you.

[dravanicide]

You would, at the very least, be a sorer sight than you are now.

[There's a teasing fringe to his words as he give Aymeric a sidelong glance. He's glad he's at least putting something in his belly—bread will certainly help soak up that alcohol, at least.]

Though... I pity you. This place seems to have worn you down far more than it has me.

[heiresy]

[Aymeric plops his jaw into his hand, propping it up from the bar.]

Perhaps you are a tougher man.

[he takes a bite of bread roll.]

Though to be fair, I have to wonder if you have had easier sleep without Nidhogg's chatter.