Pray tell, dearest Marquis, how do you *know* that I am not Ferdinand Von Aegir and that I’m saying I deserve a biiiiiiiiiig smooch from you for my birthday? For that you owe me another.
Ah. Ferdinand. Who else could be troubled to remember my noble title when using my name is far easier? Forgive me for not recognizing sooner that it was you.
Considering that it is your birthday, I suppose I can endure you having a laugh at my expense for the one day. One, mind you, and only because it is a special occasion. Enjoy it while it lasts.
Surely, he is not serious, and this lighthearted jest will end here.















