crystal

[bouchonne]

FORM: Everyone, loudly, obnoxiously
SENDER: Byerly
RECIPIENT: LITERALLY EVERYONE
NOTES: Birthdays

Dearest Riftwatch!

[ If By sounds like he's announcing something momentous, it's because he is. ]

Do you smell something stirring in the air? Something sweet? Something glorious? Do the birds sing to you, saying, the day is nearly here? Oh, Riftwatch, if they do not, it's because you're not listening. Because the birds, the sky, the trees, the shivering leaves all have one announcement to make.

And that is this:

It is Sonia Barra's birthday.

Please dunk her head in a cold lake in celebration.

Comments

[vorbratta]

Byerly!

[ that shriek is equal parts laughter, "oh, you didn't", "oh you did NOT", and "watch your drinking glass for the next week, motherfucker" ]

[bouchonne]

Sonia.

[ He sounds quite pleased with himself. ]

[vorbratta]

Did you wake up this morning and think, "Ah, yes, today I'll lovingly embarrass my cousin for her birthday", or have you been working yourself up for it?

[ it's impossible to be fooled by her indignation, she's obviously delighted. ]

[bouchonne]

My dearest cousin, when have I ever needed to plan for your embarrassment? The opportunities unfold naturally, like the passage of time itself.

[vorbratta]

[ oooOOHHH byerly ]

But of course. And you, the wise and oh-so-aged, should know the passage well, hm? Guide me, will you, O Ancient One?

[byblow]

Would a cold harbor work?

[vorbratta]

[ a small, outraged gasp. and then, menacingly: ]

I hope you like strawberry.

[byblow]

[ His "faking stupidity" voice is, in this case, pretty transparent and over-acted. ]

What's strawberry?

[vorbratta]

The shade of blonde you're going to be when I'm done with you, that's what.

[bouchonne]

Absolutely not. You must take her on a long journey.

[byblow]

But I'm tired.

[bouchonne]

My dear man, since when has mere bone-deep exhaustion from a neverending war been a reason not to engage in whimsical nonsense?

[indissection]

My darling, we must have some kind of dinner, don't you think?

[bouchonne]

Absolutely. Featuring food so spicy she couldn't possibly eat it.

[indissection]

And some of the worst wine that Darktown has to offer?

[bouchonne]

The nastiest rotgut there is.

[mereandrastianism]

I don't think there's a cold lake to speak of within the city--and surely no one deserves the muck that washes up in the harbor.

[bouchonne]

If you're saying that, you've clearly never met my cousin.

[ His fondness is clear. ]

[mereandrastianism]

I could hardly speak to your cousin's character.

[Purely pleasant, in her case.]

Perhaps a gift would suffice, under the circumstances.

[bouchonne]

Why, thank you. I'll accept most gladly. What are you planning to give me?

[windyvoice]

Okay, two super important questions. How old is she and has anyone invented shots yet?

[bouchonne]

Turning eighty-seven, I believe, and Maker, do you think we're amateurs? I was doing shots when you were still just a little twinkle of Fade magic.

[windyvoice]

Amateurs, no. Ancient beyond all belief and understanding, maybe. But fuckin' sick, let's rage tonight.

[bouchonne]

Dear child...I cannot in good conscience allow you to party with me.

[vorbratta]

[ with GREAT INDIGNATION ]

I am twenty-nine! And I am well acquainted with shots, thank you. Bosom buddies, even.