And they lived comfortably ever after, boob in hand
Quentin considers the questions for a moment, the seriousness of it drawing his fingers into a steeple beneath his chin. His lips purse in thought, brow wrinkling over the potential. After this brief pause of evaluation, he audibly inhales and flicks a finger up as he returns with, "I didn't get a good enough look. It was dark, and there was a lot of screaming." Most of it from himself, though he doesn't elaborate on that detail. "In fact, I'm not even sure if he finished." This new conundrum troubles, and he looks postiviely crestfallen about the potential for a moment. "Yes!" he chimes readily, distracted by Danta's genius. "Asking him is a grand idea. I'll do that next time. Do you think there will be a next time?" If he sounds hopeful, it's only because now he desperately wants to ask.
Porn Lord is hardly a flame held up to the blaze that is Brothel Owner. Circling back to some of Danta's other words, which had stayed fuzzy while lamenting a cum-less dick thrashing in the middle of the night, Quentin hears them anew. "Just for curiosity sake though, what do you think the other reasons would be? What's the top reason, would you say?" Attentive as ever, potential research for werefiending right at the tip of the Maverick's tongue, Quentin leans in.
As for his ability, where Quentin can easily glow and feign a casual disinterest akin to a girl's oh this old thing? said about her dress she absolutely spends too much time on, Danta swiftly manages to fluff only to then flatten. "A scribe?" Quentin nearly chokes on his own saliva he's so aghast at the idea. "Perish the thought!" he demands, leaning on the first syllable as if crutches to carry him back to dignified connversation. He swiftly tosses back half his martini, evidently deciding he needs more liquid courage in order to continue to sit here and be insulted. "Scribes, like teachers, are merely the authors who have failed. I can assure you, I am no failure. Besides, all my time is devoted to creating my art. Any time I am not, I am in recovery, which is equally as important to the process." Whoring about is a work expense, in his opinion. Luckily, Danta comes back around to fluffing, and Quentin is much more agreeable to compliments. "Yes, often actually!" he beams in response.
Never one to turn up his nose at connections, Quentin's expression gleams appreciatively at the request. It'd do well to stay on the good side of the Dusklight's owner, surely, and especially so if he'd be performing as a main course of muse. "For you? But of course I do." Grappling for his leather satchel beneath the table top, he withdraws the pale, mucus-colored cover of his past work. He flips the front page open, then pauses and looks pointedly up at Danta. "I'll even personalize ti and sign it, makes it worth quite a lot then, you know. Ah, but who am I making this out to? Or will he know it if I just write, bitier half of Danta?"
Porn Lord is hardly a flame held up to the blaze that is Brothel Owner. Circling back to some of Danta's other words, which had stayed fuzzy while lamenting a cum-less dick thrashing in the middle of the night, Quentin hears them anew. "Just for curiosity sake though, what do you think the other reasons would be? What's the top reason, would you say?" Attentive as ever, potential research for werefiending right at the tip of the Maverick's tongue, Quentin leans in.
As for his ability, where Quentin can easily glow and feign a casual disinterest akin to a girl's oh this old thing? said about her dress she absolutely spends too much time on, Danta swiftly manages to fluff only to then flatten. "A scribe?" Quentin nearly chokes on his own saliva he's so aghast at the idea. "Perish the thought!" he demands, leaning on the first syllable as if crutches to carry him back to dignified connversation. He swiftly tosses back half his martini, evidently deciding he needs more liquid courage in order to continue to sit here and be insulted. "Scribes, like teachers, are merely the authors who have failed. I can assure you, I am no failure. Besides, all my time is devoted to creating my art. Any time I am not, I am in recovery, which is equally as important to the process." Whoring about is a work expense, in his opinion. Luckily, Danta comes back around to fluffing, and Quentin is much more agreeable to compliments. "Yes, often actually!" he beams in response.
Never one to turn up his nose at connections, Quentin's expression gleams appreciatively at the request. It'd do well to stay on the good side of the Dusklight's owner, surely, and especially so if he'd be performing as a main course of muse. "For you? But of course I do." Grappling for his leather satchel beneath the table top, he withdraws the pale, mucus-colored cover of his past work. He flips the front page open, then pauses and looks pointedly up at Danta. "I'll even personalize ti and sign it, makes it worth quite a lot then, you know. Ah, but who am I making this out to? Or will he know it if I just write, bitier half of Danta?"
Quentin
