And they lived comfortably ever after, boob in hand
Chaotically integrating is absolutely a phrase that's going to show up in his book, and it scratches out on the page nearby with a circle around it as a reminder. "Oh, how clever," he glows, eyes alight with the fresh understanding and appreciation of this illusion you could literally grab onto (or not, in the case of vanishing horns and tails). A fresh thought pops to mind, and Quentin's thumb and forefinger scrub at the rough hairs dotting his chin.
"What a fascinating premise for a horror story," he muses. "Unicorn man buried between a lady's legs, and just before she finishes, glamor!" His hands waft out on either side, fingers tickling the air as he sprinkles the invisible glitter of intrigue. "She's run through with his horn that suddenly reappeared. Call him the edge keeper or something terribly spine-chilling." What goes hand in hand better than sex and horror, truly? Add to that the utter despair of a lost orgasm, and he's got a bestseller on his hands.
More ink scrawls out on the page.
Unicorn man edges his victims into demise. GLAMOR.
"Or perhaps, he doesn't mean to, and instead has a terrible time keeping a lid on it compared to most and it comes back without his control. Maybe he sneezes and it changes... so perhaps he needs an allergy? Or no, no, who wants snot getting into the mix." He hums, the thoughts jotting down on the page and just as quickly scratching out. "What sounds scarier, him killing them on purpose or on accident? Or maybe both. Perhaps it starts as an accident, and then that becomes his kink." Porque no los dos, as the famous saying goes.
If it isn't apparent by now, Quentin has a habit of thinking nearly every thought he has is a worthwhile idea to pursue. His publishers and the public don't seem to argue the point, and so the feeding of the ego goes round and round.
He is drawn from the library of his mind to the current conundrum of a plot, and after sorting out that yes, a third should be added to the mix, he does so. Danta's surprise, or perhaps it's just his proclamation towards his likeness being a divine bang, Quention's attention slides away from the scene. "Hm?" he wonders at first, forgetful at times that's just conjured something into being, what with the genius he is, and all doing it all the time on paper, or otherwise. "Oh, her, yes. I do like pretend, as I said," he smirks faintly. "Sometimes it's nice to have it be real though," he admits, case in point, why he's here. Dianta serves as a fine third for now.
After the initial ruckus of her introduction, Gary and Vivian, the true professionals they are, get back into the swing of things with Dianta serving as a sexy little distraction for them both. "Hmm, perhaps Dianta is trying to keep the werefiend curse. How nefarious," he considers with delight, scratching out more notes on the paper as Gary finally stiffens enough to get back to his task of stabbing boxes and growling with the appropriate amount of moisture.
"What a fascinating premise for a horror story," he muses. "Unicorn man buried between a lady's legs, and just before she finishes, glamor!" His hands waft out on either side, fingers tickling the air as he sprinkles the invisible glitter of intrigue. "She's run through with his horn that suddenly reappeared. Call him the edge keeper or something terribly spine-chilling." What goes hand in hand better than sex and horror, truly? Add to that the utter despair of a lost orgasm, and he's got a bestseller on his hands.
More ink scrawls out on the page.
Unicorn man edges his victims into demise. GLAMOR.
"Or perhaps, he doesn't mean to, and instead has a terrible time keeping a lid on it compared to most and it comes back without his control. Maybe he sneezes and it changes... so perhaps he needs an allergy? Or no, no, who wants snot getting into the mix." He hums, the thoughts jotting down on the page and just as quickly scratching out. "What sounds scarier, him killing them on purpose or on accident? Or maybe both. Perhaps it starts as an accident, and then that becomes his kink." Porque no los dos, as the famous saying goes.
If it isn't apparent by now, Quentin has a habit of thinking nearly every thought he has is a worthwhile idea to pursue. His publishers and the public don't seem to argue the point, and so the feeding of the ego goes round and round.
He is drawn from the library of his mind to the current conundrum of a plot, and after sorting out that yes, a third should be added to the mix, he does so. Danta's surprise, or perhaps it's just his proclamation towards his likeness being a divine bang, Quention's attention slides away from the scene. "Hm?" he wonders at first, forgetful at times that's just conjured something into being, what with the genius he is, and all doing it all the time on paper, or otherwise. "Oh, her, yes. I do like pretend, as I said," he smirks faintly. "Sometimes it's nice to have it be real though," he admits, case in point, why he's here. Dianta serves as a fine third for now.
After the initial ruckus of her introduction, Gary and Vivian, the true professionals they are, get back into the swing of things with Dianta serving as a sexy little distraction for them both. "Hmm, perhaps Dianta is trying to keep the werefiend curse. How nefarious," he considers with delight, scratching out more notes on the paper as Gary finally stiffens enough to get back to his task of stabbing boxes and growling with the appropriate amount of moisture.
Quentin
