the spyglass
I used to think that I was bold, I used to think love would be fun
Finn's gaze softens, then, and he smiles to himself, giving Remi a soft nod. "I suppose that is the gift," he echoes his agreement with a sigh that seems to ripple all around the table. "Thank you," he says once more, and it sounds like more than a perfunctory display of manners. Still, his eyes widen a touch to see the feast transformed before their eyes, and whilst Finn doesn't partake (instead enjoying a glass of amber whiskey), his counterparts are not so shy.
"That one is Eight," he introduces the sad child at the other end of the table, the one picking at the hawk without really trying any of it. "And that one's Twelve." This is the rabid youth, tearing into the lion without care for cutlery nor manners. "Then we have Fifteen and Twenty-One." Finn nods at the teenager still eyeing the bejewelled heart, and the silk-clad man who manages to make eating an octopus exactly as sensual as you'd expect.
"You don't really know me, unless you know them," Finn explains.
"That one is Eight," he introduces the sad child at the other end of the table, the one picking at the hawk without really trying any of it. "And that one's Twelve." This is the rabid youth, tearing into the lion without care for cutlery nor manners. "Then we have Fifteen and Twenty-One." Finn nods at the teenager still eyeing the bejewelled heart, and the silk-clad man who manages to make eating an octopus exactly as sensual as you'd expect.
"You don't really know me, unless you know them," Finn explains.
now all my stories have been told; except for one
