"i give a fuck. i give a lot of fucks, actually. i'm a prostitute of feelings." - from @etoilesfantome 𝐪𝐮𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐨 ⋆ ˚ ༘♡ - accepting
The scratching of his pen ceased, and Simon glanced to Verso, his brow quirked. The absurdity of the statement was enough to cease his lamentation -- for even the veterans of their crafts still faltered with simple things like creative block, or the brief consideration to throw their work into the flames and begin again.
"Why must you say it with such vigor?" Simon could not help his chuckle, and set his pen down flat on the page. "If we're to talk about prostitues, then which part is feeling in this case, the musician or the soul? Or perhaps you tire of a writer's complaints."
The latter seemed most likely, given how perfectionistic the Dessendre family was. Though, sometimes Simon did feel a note of something more when Verso quipped or remarked at times. A delicate balance of words that all nobles learn to utilise and navigate. He'd not paid it much mind initially, but it could also be the damned draft sticking in his mind despite the distraction. Love was never an easy thing to write about.
