CRYSTAL | bad poet's society.

[murderbaby]

FORM: Crystal.
SENDER: Mhavos Dalat.
RECIPIENT: Everybody who'd like to do some text voicespam and ignore whatever else may be going on.
NOTES: Bad poetry and good.

[Ahem.]

I need your love to keep me warm
Like the fires burning inside of us
Pushing us over the edge of insanity
Keeping us so close together in heart
And yet so far apart in miles...

Fascinating... I've spent the last ten hours going through the personal collection of a fine lady who will remain nameless. She seems to have kept the letters of her admirers, for which I am either eternally grateful or eternally bitter.

My heart beats like a drum,
Every time I touch your bum-

Ah, well, we know where that's going.

What I find most interesting is a letter she wrote herself. It seems to be unsent, more of a diary entry than anything. It's inescapably... sad. I wish she had a better caliber of admirers.

These are letters written by a woman who loves but is not loved. What's more, she does not deserve to be loved because she is dull, affected, stiff, and ungraceful. If these letters were not so bad, one would be tempted to believe that they have been entrusted to printing by a woman who had no other way of apprising her lover of her situation and feelings.

Yet, her letters are significant enough for Riftwatch to archive them. I believe she was wrong, in the end. She is remembered. And in the margins she seems to have scrawled... simply one of the best poems I have ever read.

I want to call you thou, the sound
of the shape of the start
of a kiss - like this - thou -
and to say, after, I love
thou, I love, thou I love, not
I love you.

Comments

[lumelume]

What a tragic but lucky find! Thank you for introducing us to her!

[murderbaby]

When I am finished archiving the collection, all of it will be viewable in Riftwatch's archives.

[lumelume]

[still cheerfully, but a touch self-consciously as well,]

I shall have to find someone to read them to me.

[murderbaby]

I'm sure I can find someone willing. It can't be a terrible idea to set up some sort of crystal reading... [The sound of someone writing this down. Thanks for the idea, dude.]

[lumelume]

Oh, yes! That would be wonderful!

[murderbaby]

Do you have a favorite subject? Poetry, prose? Romance, adventure?

[lumelume]

Anything, truly!

[murderbaby]

A librarian loves specificity.

[lumelume]

But a performer loves variety!

[murderbaby]

What do you perform?

[lumelume]

Music!

[Helpful.]

[noonrodeon]

[ hi mhavos, it's the massive human who's been helping out around the library. ]

You've a head for poetry then? They're lovely when ya hear 'em, but I never could get much meaning out of it.

[murderbaby]

What do you find difficult? I've... a fondness for the form, yes.

[noonrodeon]

Well, some of them just look a bit funny on the page. And there ain't quiet enough words, so ya can't sit with 'em or move to the next the way you can in a regular book.

[murderbaby]

Of course you can. The best are like riddles-- what do you think of the last I spoke here?

[noonrodeon]

Never been much good at riddles.

[ But it's said in good humor and he tries anyhow: ]

I got the love bit. Seems like the lady was lookin' for a different way to say I love you.

[murderbaby]

Yes, you have it entirely. But there is a second meaning-- form your mouth around the word thou. It is to pucker your lips into a kiss.

[noonrodeon]

Thou- Well now! There's a clever thing. Your lady there really must've had some shit lovers if they called her dull 'nd stiff. That's the sort of poem you say in bed.

[murderbaby]

The next stanza reflects on the word thee, and how it turns the mouth into the shape of a smile. It's really quite clever.

Oh, there are plenty of those. [And then he just. Starts. Reciting.]

Whenas in silks my Marsella goes,
Then, then, methinks, how sweetly flows
The liquefaction of her clothes...

And the rest- [Ahem.] can be found in Anselmny Karles' collected works. We have a copy, last I checked.

[noonrodeon]

Hmm. I think I can get the gist of that one without too much trouble.

Afraid I'll have to let ol' Karles sit. I like my poetry better with company and that's one that needs a specific sort of company.

[murderbaby]

One could agree. [Touchy subject.] In any case, I find poetry the most simple when one remembers it covers an idea, a moment, rather than the length of story prose can tell.

[noonrodeon]

Suppose so. I admit, I usually passed over the poetry books whenever I was tradin'. They're so short and readin' 'em is a little like havin' a tune stuck in your head. Pleasant company to have in camp, but not quite enough to keep you company when you're deep in the forests.

[murderbaby]

Hmm. Which genres do you prefer?

[noonrodeon]

Can't say I've ever thought about it. Mostly just picked outta whatever the peddlers had or whatever somebody found. Suppose I like a story best. Don't much matter to me if it's the true kind or not.

[murderbaby]

Mmm. I've a request for you. Make a list of your absolute favorites from our current collection.

[noonrodeon]

Sure. What for?

[murderbaby]

My tyrannical edification.

[noonrodeon]

[ He laughs.]

Put like that, I better hop to it 'fore you throw me in the stocks for literary disobedience.

[murderbaby]

If we have stocks, I dearly hope you'll rip them right out of the ground.

[noonrodeon]

Haven't seen any, unless they got 'em in the dungeon. Be a weird place for 'em, but they do got a lot of nobles here.

[muckspout]

Did you take this from someone's room?

[murderbaby]

Maker, no. These are all in the collected letters of a woman-- I'm cataloging them for Riftwatch's-... do you think elves steal everything they-?

[muckspout]

No! I don't think that. I just really want to know if this is one of the members of Riftwatch who wrote this.

[murderbaby]

..Ah. Yes, apologies. No one in Riftwatch wrote any of this. The first two poems were written by long dead suitors of a woman whose letters passed into our collection. The final two excerpts are hers.

[muckspout]

She seems very sad. I hope that when I die no one finds things I wrote when I was sad.

[murderbaby]

She was of great enough historical note to Kirkwall's social circles thirty years ago to require this sort of... archiving.

Fame and privacy are oil and water.

[muckspout]

Oh. So, she's rich?

[murderbaby]

Obviously. Here is a letter she sent at a younger age...

Well beloved father, I have not a penny, nor can I get any save through you, for all things at Hightown are so dear, nor can I court in the clothes which I have, as they are no longer of a fashion. Moreover, I owe ten crowns to the provost, and can find no man to lend them to me. I ask of you greetings and money.

[muckspout]

Ten crowns? Fashion? To think I felt sorry for her for a moment.

[murderbaby]

[A soft laugh.] What I enjoy most about this sort of work-- rifling through people's lives-- is the contradictions. At moments I find her heart-breakingly relatable. At others, I find her the worst sort of person. If someone were to open my life in a similar way, I'm sure they'd find the same.

...This is why I do not keep my own letters in such a fashion.

[muckspout]

Of course, but you aren't rich. I also have good and bad qualities, but I also am not rich.

[Edgard says eat the rich.]