Open Post: Who invented this calendar anyway?

[futaille]

How unfortunate.

Yes, Grantaire was fully aware that the year being longer at the mansion would logically cause seasons to drift when someone kept track of the old calendar, or at least what had been pinned down as the old calendar for convenience sake, which was almost necessary when people's arrivals weren't necessarily tied to the day they left. He hadn't given it too much thought last year, when his birthday, such that it was, arrived in spring like he was used to.

Dark, though, was unfortunate. Not inappropriate for the next notable anniversary coming up, but for this one, not at all. Of course, it wasn't as if he would have been planning much in the way of an event, Dark or no, but it would have been nice to treat himself to something or other, regardless.

Instead, he has installed himself in the game room, where he is carefully balancing dominoes on their ends to make a domino rally on the billiards table. It's a nice large flat surface, so it should work nicely. Have to keep entertained somehow.

Comments

[futaille]

"'By the fact itself'. An inevitability of the premise."

[sagramore]

"So it's a bit recursive of me."

[futaille]

"Sometimes that's what's needed."

[sagramore]

Sagramore laughs. "Is it? Or art thou placating me?"

[futaille]

"Sir, when have you ever known me to be placating?"

[sagramore]

"As opposed to argumentative? I've known it to happen."

[futaille]

"There's quite a spectrum between argumentative and placating."

[sagramore]

"How wouldst thou describe what thou didst, then?"

[futaille]

"I would call it agreeing with you. Perhaps affirming."

[sagramore]

"Affirming does sound very pleasant."

[futaille]

"I have my moments of pleasantness."

[sagramore]

"Let me see thy tongue, pup."

[futaille]

"Let me know if it's grown spots." He promptly sticks his tongue out.

[sagramore]

"Looks all right. Bite it now for me."

[futaille]

He's now impossibly curious as to where this is going. He bites down on his tongue, firmly but not painfully.

[sagramore]

"Good. Do that whenever thou thinkst to tell me thou hast moments of pleasantness."

[futaille]

"Oh, now! I said nothing about quantity or frequency. I also have moments of talking!"

[sagramore]

"And I find them very pleasant, as it happens."

[futaille]

"Which I'm quite grateful for, as what is pleasant is notoriously subjective."

[sagramore]

"Thou art slippery, my sweet."

[futaille]

"As an eel." He seems quite happy to say so, although he can't resist one addition. "In some moments, anyway."

[sagramore]

"Beloved eel. Most dear little fish." Sagramore lunges for him.

[futaille]

Grantaire makes a halfhearted token attempt to wriggle eelishly out of the way of the lunge.

[sagramore]

It's half-hearted enough that Sagramore catches him easily and pulls him into his arms, pressing kisses to his pile of curls.

[futaille]

He laughs. "Clearly I'm not quite slippery enough."