video | un: warden (this post is about romance novels)

[megatheorem]

[Good day, Trench, and welcome to... whatever this is going to be. Here is one Palamedes, sitting at his desk in what may be broadly recognizable as his office in the Sanctuary, whether or not one has been in it before (it has, these days, a distressing worm-on-a-string curtain in place of a door). Palamedes shuffles through some papers, tsks, and gets up to simply walk off screen, although this is not an accidental post, for he does call back:]

Damn my filing system! Hold on, don't look away.

[So now: the sounds of shuffling, and also, footsteps on a ladder? Then the eventual soft thump as he hops back down, and finally his several layered cardigans masquerading as a torso coming back into view, before he sits back down in the chair with a hearty squeak of rusty metal.

He has even more papers now. A small pile of notebooks, actually, which he folds his hands atop before properly regarding the camera.]

So! I wrote a book. Are any of you in the publishing business? Here, locally, or otherwise? My wheelhouse is firmly the academic, and literature— while a passion project— is a field I know far less about. As such: publishing. Any tips welcome.

I am also in the market for some cover art, I think. My artistic talents leave a lot to be desired, but I've produced some helpful mock-ups, somewhere around here...

[Just kidding they're right here ready and waiting, and so he holds them up side by side:



...So, yes. His handwriting is, of course, perfectly legible.]

Like I said: I'm an academic, not an artist. I'll pay you in whatever you like, blood or stone or- [and he leans briefly off camera again, to mutter, then he's back] -or scones! Good ones, for people into that kind of thing.

[Yahoo... Draw him a horny squidmance cover page... This is ordinary.]

Obviously, children need not apply.

Oh, and the working title is Ceasefire of the Senses: A Treatise on the Juxtaposition of Passion and Reason, unless you happen to be my cruelest critic and dearest spouse, love of my life, in which case "that title is ridiculous" and it's actually called "that story in your fifty notebooks." Regardless.

[He pats the pile of notebooks, like, his title is good actually? This might be a thinly veiled opinion poll about the title.]

And as it's the season, again, if anyone needs a professional hand with their lockjoint, come down to the Lumenarium- or Sanctuary- and ask for Palamedes. I'll take care of it with a silk touch; you get to keep the stones. Drawings of squids entirely voluntary for that one.

Comments

[megatheorem]

[Palamedes blinks, then looks off camera to someone who is very obviously Viktor, with a gesture like 'oh my god we forgot to tell everyone.' Oops--]

—Right, we did, yes. Not long after Viktor's surgery, actually. We should have sent a card, maybe? That's on us.

[hearuthinking]

[Just shakes his head]

Didn't even get to do the shovel talk. [He's joking? Perhaps?]

[megatheorem]

The— I'm missing some key vernacular here, I think, but I'm sensing the threat of a shovel involved. Do you want to do it now, for completionism's sake?

[He can take it, he's glad Viktor has friends like Jason around here, all things considered.]

[hearuthinking]

You don't got the shovel talk where you're from?

I ain't threatening you with a shovel. I'm threatening to fuckin' bury you if you hurt him.

[megatheorem]

Where I'm from, we have a chart that delineates which people in our generation we're legally allowed to reproduce with, so no.

[He shrugs, like, breeding programs! Normal!]

And that's close to what I thought, isn't it? Don't worry, I'll buy you a shovel to bury me with if I fuck up that badly.

[hearuthinking]

[Wut. He's just not going to touch that]

I won't need it. Pretty sure Vik can handle it if you really do fuck up.

[megatheorem]

[Probably for the best.]

Speaking as an actual wizard, absolutely he could.

Now, I heard you two are planning a party?

[hearuthinking]

Somethin' like that. It's a holiday thing for the Sanctuary. There's gonna be a tree and decorations, and lots of food.

[megatheorem]

An additional tree? What is the tree for?

[hearuthinking]

You decorate it and put presents underneath.

[megatheorem]

[...]

Alright; that's whimsical, I suppose. What sort of presents?

[hearuthinking]

That's the point.

Just anything that the person might like. I got somethin' for Viktor already. You wrap whatever it is up, put it in a box or somethin' so it's more of a mystery what the gift is, and you leave it under the tree until Christmas morning.

[megatheorem]

Oh, I know about that— guy? Christ. I've been briefly taught, anyway. I didn't know there was a holiday.

I'll start making a list, I suppose.

[hearuthinking]

Yep, it's a popular winter holiday where I come from. There are all kinds of traditions about it, but those are usually pretty specific to cultures and families.

Oh, and there are the special holiday sweaters. I forgot to tell Viktor about them. Not sure if we can get anything like 'em around here.

[megatheorem]

I don't mind a special holiday sweater, I think. What's special about them? Special enough to ask Sansa to help us out?

[hearuthinking]

They're special 'cause you only wear 'em for the holidays.

Sure, if she's any good at sewin'. Some of 'em can get kinda complicated.

[He proceeds to sketch out a few designs and sends pictures. Given that Jason is not a great artist, his examples look even worse]

[megatheorem]

These are an affront to the senses, and that is a compliment; I didn't realize we were getting this whimsical. If she agrees to sew any of these monstrosities, I'm in. The giant bow- it is a bow?- is delightfully unwieldy.

[hearuthinking]

They're supposed to look like that. It's kinda a weird Christmas tradition.

Make sure you get one for Viktor. He's gotta wear it for the party.

[megatheorem]

I'm all for it. And absolutely; he can't say no to both of us at once. If I tell him he can add some of those tiny lights to it, I'm sure he'll enjoy himself.

[hearuthinking]

Great. It'll be a lot more fun if we're all wearin' those sweaters.