#rubberythoth

[chaucermilling]

"Don't try and act like you didn't want my company! Grumpy old codfish."

[chaucermilling]

I'll have to visit and sing for you both sometime, if the regrettable attitude of other, less open-minded individuals means you can't go out! I've just been terribly busy lately. My apologies.

Harpelynn! A sight for sore eyes, indeed! We must have been hiding under different rocks, I take it. 

You are always welcome in our home! And especially now that I know you’re musically inclined. I’m afraid Thoth is less than comfortable around large groups of people, whether they are friend or foe, but I’d be lying if I said we haven’t encountered some impoliteness in the past. Just walking down the street is a challenge sometimes, though with Thoth’s temperament it’s usually only a challenge that’s made once.

It’s always nice to be in the company of progressive kin.

[chaucermilling]

I like to hear you sing.

It is much different from our singing - and I am not very familiar with your instruments and their tones. Just your voices. That is easiest, and most enjoyable.

I have danced rarely, and when I do, it is slowly. My legs are not as dexterous. Not as accustomed to your movements.

And: I do not go “out” dancing with him. There are too many of you in great halls that are unkind, and I am old, and my patience is thin. 

Thank you for your question.

- T

[chaucermilling]

There is much to tell, and I'm not sure if I have the energy or the will to tell it all. I will pen what I can, if you'll forgive the wobbling hand. We made it home in good time, with some unexpected cargo - the barkeep parted with the grand upright from the tavern for a moderate sum (a little disconcerting, paying for a sentient thing, but the instrument assured me it didn't take any offense), and it is now playing merrily (thankfully quietly) in the parlor of the townhouse.

I can't be in our suites at the Bazaar. Not now - maybe not ever, after this point. We will see.

Thoth is also very glad to be home. We have had a slow morning, once we got everything unpacked, and so far what I would say is the most relaxed Christmas Eve I've experienced in years. I'll be right as rain for any festivities tomorrow.

There have also been some changes! Unexpected ones. I'll get to those soon enough, though.

Right now, I am glad to be home. And thankful, very thankful, to be here with you all. I could not ask for kinder friends and family. In honor of our expedient return to London and my continued existance, I welcome anyone to stop by anytime after 4pm to share some holiday spirit, and some holiday spirits! Haha! Hah. I've been holding onto that one.

I, for one, am keen to get as festively inebriated as possible (and I think the lot of you may need a drink or two as well), for I have some strange and exciting news:

The gentlemen on the left is myself, as of one hour ago on the docks.

Happy Christmas!

[chaucermilling]

We are coming home.

Expect us very soon.

- T

[chaucermilling]

Qntal - Entre Moi at Mon Amin

si m'ait amors, I'alowette nos mant. ll n'est mie jours, saverouze au cors gent,

/ / /

So help me love, the lark lies to us. It isn't nearly day, sweet, noble heart.

[x]

[chaucermilling]

Detektivbyrån - Hem Ljuva Hem

[chaucermilling]

March 8th, evening, 1891

I am coming home more startled and more aglow than I think I have ever been. I told him I'd break his heart, but he laughed in my face. He said that it doesn't matter, who I spend my time with, who I give my love to. That it was common down here, and that he anticipated that! That he likes that about me. I asked him again and again, and he said he was certain, and that if I wanted that, I had only to ask.

The entire Feast, I only had eyes for him, for his company and his attentions. When I met him months ago, at the carnival, I was taken with his intelligence, his quiet nature. Perhaps I should have seen this, in hindsight. How does he read me differently? How has he appealed to me in ways others have not? I can't say! I can't say at all! Not now, in any case - I only know this ache in me, this fluttering pain between my ribs, and I know that I am hopelessly taken.

Though there's no ceremony, it is done. I've agreed. I am shaking. From excitement or fear, I'm not certain, but I feel a peace. 

I am coming home as something I have never been - committed.