[Only technically, thank god. Gal's still got it 800 years later.]
Oh please, you know you'd come back to me frothing and mad as a hatter inside that crystal. I'm all ants in the pants, I can't sit still and I can't stand a lack of company. [Hence why he's over here with you. He might like to have his place clear to sleep and eat in but the bulk of his time he needs filled with voices, humanity, shuffle and bustle. And barring that, hard work or hard play. He's never done well with idle things.] But you've got it. You're already my top pick for snooping, but maybe we could try something different next time. There's loads of stuff that comes up, we can afford to get creative.
[He's setting a record on the pin when she roasts him. She can't see the stink face he makes, but the scoff comes through loud and clear.] You caught me. I'm only friends with you because everyone else keeps walking away.
[The record hiccups before the needle crosses the real meat. The music starts after a turn and a half. He's going a little more mellow for the start, unsure if her familiarity with music goes beyond lyres, or the minute samplings of times and places they played at the gala.]
It's just a thing or two. I'm not even sure if this is gonna be up your alley, but this is David Bowie. He's a musician, from my home. [He drops into the sofa and yanks the coffee table close, so the lips of the wood and the sofa cushions kissed. Easier reaching, and that puts the ghost of Sandra within friendly distance.] Someone upstairs saw fit to give me records from the old days. I can play them whenever I want now. Dream of better days.
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Oh please, you know you'd come back to me frothing and mad as a hatter inside that crystal. I'm all ants in the pants, I can't sit still and I can't stand a lack of company. [Hence why he's over here with you. He might like to have his place clear to sleep and eat in but the bulk of his time he needs filled with voices, humanity, shuffle and bustle. And barring that, hard work or hard play. He's never done well with idle things.] But you've got it. You're already my top pick for snooping, but maybe we could try something different next time. There's loads of stuff that comes up, we can afford to get creative.
[He's setting a record on the pin when she roasts him. She can't see the stink face he makes, but the scoff comes through loud and clear.] You caught me. I'm only friends with you because everyone else keeps walking away.
[The record hiccups before the needle crosses the real meat. The music starts after a turn and a half. He's going a little more mellow for the start, unsure if her familiarity with music goes beyond lyres, or the minute samplings of times and places they played at the gala.]
It's just a thing or two. I'm not even sure if this is gonna be up your alley, but this is David Bowie. He's a musician, from my home. [He drops into the sofa and yanks the coffee table close, so the lips of the wood and the sofa cushions kissed. Easier reaching, and that puts the ghost of Sandra within friendly distance.] Someone upstairs saw fit to give me records from the old days. I can play them whenever I want now. Dream of better days.
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