[ Felix doesn't respond. He resumes searching his chosen house, but he turns up no roses.
Disgruntled, he moves on to the next. This one looks like it belongs to someone younger. He finds love letters written by someone in the same village, and he mutters to himself, ]
What a waste of postage.
[ … Or maybe it's not a waste at all.
The writer of the letters is located on the opposite side of the village. Felix moves as quietly as he can, falling back on old habits learned during the war. It would be easier with Locus watching his back or causing a distraction, but that's not an option. So Felix grits his teeth, pushes his patience to its limit, and manages to circumvent the donkeys without incident.
When he gets to the house, he checks the bedroom. There, he finds matching love letters and a bouquet of many-colored roses. Several of them are red. ]
I am fucking awesome.
[ Then he's off to find the other man, bouquet in hand. ]
no subject
Disgruntled, he moves on to the next. This one looks like it belongs to someone younger. He finds love letters written by someone in the same village, and he mutters to himself, ]
What a waste of postage.
[ … Or maybe it's not a waste at all.
The writer of the letters is located on the opposite side of the village. Felix moves as quietly as he can, falling back on old habits learned during the war. It would be easier with Locus watching his back or causing a distraction, but that's not an option. So Felix grits his teeth, pushes his patience to its limit, and manages to circumvent the donkeys without incident.
When he gets to the house, he checks the bedroom. There, he finds matching love letters and a bouquet of many-colored roses. Several of them are red. ]
I am fucking awesome.
[ Then he's off to find the other man, bouquet in hand. ]