Her Scarlet Ink
Posted: Wed Nov 18, 2009 9:26 pm
Dearest Roxie,
Thank you so much for the candies with your last letter. I just can't believe Susa and Willin are already old enough to make such things. You must be fit to burst, if I'm this tickled and only hold the lowly rank of 'aunt.' Give them my love and thanks as well as the treats I'm sending along. I trust you'll allow me to spoil them rotten with His Superb Goatfuck's gold?
Speaking of, how is Mama's temperament of late? I'm hoping a thousand or two gold's worth of well. I imagine business is booming for her and His Royal Arsehead with this Argent Tourney thing. There's quite a bit of shipping to be done up North. And no, before you ask, I haven't wound up in Northrend just yet. I'll go when I have business there and no sooner. You know me, cold climes suit me just about as well as an honest day's labour.
But on the subject of Mama's temperament, labour, and the Most Excellent Fuckwad's coin, dear sister, I have some news. I hope your lovely rear is firmly planted in a seat, for this may shock you: I am opening a bookstore. Remember now, Roxie, breath in and out, nice and slow. As you know, I have pretty much no inclination whatsoever to chain myself to long hours behind a counter cozying up with customers, unable to come and go as I please. However, I just found a handsome young man with good taste in reading material that seems pretty keen on the idea. This man, Sir Jakob Balthasar (like Aseric, the one in that song Lissla likes), means to be a useful business partner. It seems he needs something to fill his days now that he's left Archeus, and between working whatever business he has with the Wildfire Riders. Did I mention I met him at the Pig and Whistle, down in Old Town? Breath slowly, dear sister, in and out. If Mama's in one of her good temperaments, I'll go winking His Great Lackwit's coin from her as soon as I get your reply. If she's in a bad way, it's in through the clerks again, the hard way.
Other than this, I'm doing as well as can be expected. I'd ventured into Old Town to follow a rumor I heard: apparently they have the Plaguefather in the Stocks. I don't really know how to feel about this. It strikes me as far too fucking little far too fucking late. My Vaelan's been cold and in the ground for almost longer than the time we actually had together. I'm sure I've had the same idea half a hundred other people have had, about bribing a guard or convict to slip him some poison or bury a shank in his throat, but it's the fucking Plaguefather. I know an Irregular bloke who was up at Angrathar, he swears he saw the cold bastard take a pike through the lungs and stay in his saddle. I just wanted to get over this shit and get on with my life until it's time to show up at Vaelan's side, where ever it is that utterly doomed lovers have an afterlife.
The last time I talked with her, Lissla threatened to write us up as some kind of star-crossed romance story. She better not try to pass it off as a Lovelace ripoff.
Is your Brom well? I'll bet he's hellishly busy helping the Bugger Most High keep an eye on all those sea shipments, my condolences to him. Just how crazed are you with raising those two darlings? If they have Brom's propensity towards tolerance and a calm nature, you'll be saved all those gray hairs we gave Mama. Did they like the Vrykul costumes for Hallow's End? I hope so, as the bastard tailor charged me an arm and a leg. I told him I was fairly certain that with some sticky sap and a dead cow I could make those cunning little outfits, but it didn't convince him to lower the price any. Next year I'm thinking they can go as Wyrnn's Chin, with both of them for width, the two of them just might be tall enough then to pull it off convincingly.
Since I'll be staying in the City for the time being, I'll come see you when I go to Mama, as long, of course, as I can duck His Grand Lardass. Be well, take care, and avoid the hell out of Old Town, dear sister.
All my love,
Helena
Postscript - Donations of food can be left for 'Thorn Rooks' at the Blue Recluse.
Post Postscript - I wouldn't say no to a berry pie.
Post-post Postscript - Without the currants please, those are only good for tea.
Thank you so much for the candies with your last letter. I just can't believe Susa and Willin are already old enough to make such things. You must be fit to burst, if I'm this tickled and only hold the lowly rank of 'aunt.' Give them my love and thanks as well as the treats I'm sending along. I trust you'll allow me to spoil them rotten with His Superb Goatfuck's gold?
Speaking of, how is Mama's temperament of late? I'm hoping a thousand or two gold's worth of well. I imagine business is booming for her and His Royal Arsehead with this Argent Tourney thing. There's quite a bit of shipping to be done up North. And no, before you ask, I haven't wound up in Northrend just yet. I'll go when I have business there and no sooner. You know me, cold climes suit me just about as well as an honest day's labour.
But on the subject of Mama's temperament, labour, and the Most Excellent Fuckwad's coin, dear sister, I have some news. I hope your lovely rear is firmly planted in a seat, for this may shock you: I am opening a bookstore. Remember now, Roxie, breath in and out, nice and slow. As you know, I have pretty much no inclination whatsoever to chain myself to long hours behind a counter cozying up with customers, unable to come and go as I please. However, I just found a handsome young man with good taste in reading material that seems pretty keen on the idea. This man, Sir Jakob Balthasar (like Aseric, the one in that song Lissla likes), means to be a useful business partner. It seems he needs something to fill his days now that he's left Archeus, and between working whatever business he has with the Wildfire Riders. Did I mention I met him at the Pig and Whistle, down in Old Town? Breath slowly, dear sister, in and out. If Mama's in one of her good temperaments, I'll go winking His Great Lackwit's coin from her as soon as I get your reply. If she's in a bad way, it's in through the clerks again, the hard way.
Other than this, I'm doing as well as can be expected. I'd ventured into Old Town to follow a rumor I heard: apparently they have the Plaguefather in the Stocks. I don't really know how to feel about this. It strikes me as far too fucking little far too fucking late. My Vaelan's been cold and in the ground for almost longer than the time we actually had together. I'm sure I've had the same idea half a hundred other people have had, about bribing a guard or convict to slip him some poison or bury a shank in his throat, but it's the fucking Plaguefather. I know an Irregular bloke who was up at Angrathar, he swears he saw the cold bastard take a pike through the lungs and stay in his saddle. I just wanted to get over this shit and get on with my life until it's time to show up at Vaelan's side, where ever it is that utterly doomed lovers have an afterlife.
The last time I talked with her, Lissla threatened to write us up as some kind of star-crossed romance story. She better not try to pass it off as a Lovelace ripoff.
Is your Brom well? I'll bet he's hellishly busy helping the Bugger Most High keep an eye on all those sea shipments, my condolences to him. Just how crazed are you with raising those two darlings? If they have Brom's propensity towards tolerance and a calm nature, you'll be saved all those gray hairs we gave Mama. Did they like the Vrykul costumes for Hallow's End? I hope so, as the bastard tailor charged me an arm and a leg. I told him I was fairly certain that with some sticky sap and a dead cow I could make those cunning little outfits, but it didn't convince him to lower the price any. Next year I'm thinking they can go as Wyrnn's Chin, with both of them for width, the two of them just might be tall enough then to pull it off convincingly.
Since I'll be staying in the City for the time being, I'll come see you when I go to Mama, as long, of course, as I can duck His Grand Lardass. Be well, take care, and avoid the hell out of Old Town, dear sister.
All my love,
Helena
Postscript - Donations of food can be left for 'Thorn Rooks' at the Blue Recluse.
Post Postscript - I wouldn't say no to a berry pie.
Post-post Postscript - Without the currants please, those are only good for tea.