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Who: Grantaire (

winecasks) & OPEN
What: Catch-all, a bit stolen from the tdm
When: July, July
Where: Thesa Station
Warning(s): Alcohol. Otherwise, none.

1. No one ever said Stasis was a no drinking zone

[ The Station, large as it is, seems to have left Grantaire feeling a bit restless. It shouldn’t be this way, logically. There are plenty of places to be, and it’s hardly cramped, but the entire concept is what messes with his psyche. There is no fresh air, the earth is far below them, and they’re drifting somewhere among the stars. It’s somewhat unnerving.

He has, however, begun to accumulate a meager stash of wine. Along with one of those bottles, he paces the stasis unit for hours, gazing at the walls faces with a creased brow. Suddenly, he pours out a splash of his wine onto the floor.

He will not be cleaning it up. He turns to whoever may be nearby to explain: ]

A libation. Death may be ripped from those who were fortunate enough to have been granted a reprieve from life--and how miserable that is!--but many of them must have died all the same. It seems right to honor them while one still can.

[ He smiles gently, then holds the bottle out in an offering. ]

Would you care to join me? [ He gestures vaguely to the stasis pods. ] I’m afraid that no one else has much else to say. It really is a shame. Conversation is one of my few worthwhile skills.

2. Reminder that he napped through a goddamn revolution

[ The malfunctioning doors are a problem. They turn the entire ship into a labyrinth, even when Grantaire is certain he knows exactly where he’s just come from or exactly where he’s going.

He intends to return to his room for a lie-down, but the doors have other ideas. They lead him from one unfamiliar area of the ship to another. Eventually, he simply decides to give up. He settles himself down in the corner and lets himself settle in for a nap right there.

Please disrupt him. This isn’t gentlemanly. ]

3. Simulation station situation

[ It’s said all too often that Grantaire lacks motivation, and that much is true. What usually isn’t true is that he feels restless. This isn’t some newfound energy that he feels a need to expel; he simply needs to do something in general.

He’s never been to the simulation rooms. He’s never cared to, and he doubts he’ll care to after this. It’s a one-time visit. He had always been a fair enough fencer back home, and that’s what he’s decided to go with today. Fencing foil in hand, he beams. ]

I do hope you’ll forgive me for not being a worthwhile opponent. I haven’t done this in quite some time. I’m likely to tire all too quickly and collapse of exhaustion before you can even defeat me. Perhaps a third competitor will join us soon.

4. Wildcard

[ I am the easiest. Bring me anything. Grab me at

muttonchops or just go for it. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

_{[Diva might not be the company Granitare is looking for, but she's the kind of company he'll find. She too isn't without a drink, only it isn't a bottle of wine he'll find her holding. Instead it's a silver tetra pack styled much like a Capris Sun, filled with artificial blood. It tastes awful and she hates it, but she's hungry enough that she'll put up with it for now. If she wants the wounds on her arms and legs to heal, her limbs bandaged up like she's a mummy, she has to consume as much blood as she can get.

Lifting her mouth off the little straw, the tips of her fangs on display, she stares at the rambling French man for a moment. She doesn't say a word at first as she stands there, barefoot and in nothing more than a simple white gown, long black hair cascading over her shoulders. Should she take him up on his offer? It isn't as if she has anything else better to do...and who knows? Maybe she'll get a drink out of him that isn't just the wine he's got in hand. If he's eccentric enough to be dumping wine on the ground then he may be strange enough to let her sink her fangs into him later if she asks.]}

I wouldn't mind keeping you company, Monsieur.

Edited 2018-07-11 00:39 (UTC)

[ The thing about Grantaire is that he genuinely enjoys the company of most people. It’s others who tend to find him burdensome to be around, with his tendency to spin long rambles about things that don’t make much sense at all, his inclination to be just a little bit too drunk, and some of his other eccentricities—like pouring wine on the floor, for example. He’s fortunate that there are people who like his humor enough to keep him around.

Diva seems happy enough to join him, so she makes for perfectly fine company in his eyes. The silver pack she drinks from means nothing to him, and he hardly bats an eye at her fangs. He’s a struggling skeptic, doing his best to cling to his lack of beliefs in a place where everything seems to be real. Vampires haven’t been put on the table for him just yet, and one should ever judge by appearances. He smiles, though, content with the company of more than just those in their pods. ]

Ah, mademoiselle! Do you come from France as well? I fear I don’t often make for the best company, but a fellow countryman is always a better surprise than one can hope for on most days. [ The briefest of pauses as he swigs back a drink of wine. ] I should put my assumptions on hold, of course. I did once meet a man here who spoke French, but his homeland had been someplace else altogether.

I am, yes.

_{[She seems to brighten at the mention of her home country, delighted. Not only is she from France but unaware to both of them they've come from the same period of time as well. Sure, Diva's gone to live past the 19th century into the 21st but her memory isn't so terrible that she'd have forgotten what it was like back then.

She watches him take a drink of wine, politely remaining quiet, waiting for him to continue.]}

I miss it dearly, that country.

_{[Really, she means it. She's lived all over Europe and nothing quite compares to France in her eyes.]}

I've only spoken to one other, but all he seemed to do was complain about Parisian schools. _{[She's salty about that, tbh.]} I simply wanted to know what it would've been like to attend one.

[ And at the mention of the other Frenchman, Grantaire is the one who seems to brighten. ]

I know exactly who it is you spoke to. Or rather, who is is that complained to you.

[ Grantaire had been in the background of that particular network post, making comments in an attempt to overthrow Enjolras’ argument, and simply in an attempt to get his attention. It’s how their dynamic works. Enjolras makes a comment, and Grantaire tries to dismantle it, because Enjolras’ ire is better than being ignored by him. ]

I could tell you what it was like, but you may not like my answers. They are far more negative than those that might have been given to you by the other gentleman. I feel the education thought in Parisian schools has failed us and given us little of any real use. Enjolras disagrees, but we both attended. He, for far longer than myself, and for different purposes.

Negative or not, I still wanted to know. I never was allowed to attend school.

_{[It's sad, really, how even someone as warped and initially sheltered as Diva could appreciate just how important going to school was. Sure, she had tutors and her Chevalier later on in life to teach her how to read and write and do simple math, but even now she struggles from time to time. Spending the first sixteen years or so of her life locked up in a tower made getting an education of any sort difficult, to put it simply.

From the sound of how this man speaks of Enjolras (or the angry Catholic, as Diva had dubbed him in her mind) all Diva can assume is that they're friends, or maybe weird buddies the way Solomon and Takasugi were. Either way, that's not really what's important. She gives the room they're in a glance, eyes shifting momentarily away from his face to scan down the makeshift corridor of bodies in pods. A change in scenery would probably be for the best.]}

If you're to educate me on the state of education, perhaps it'd be best to go somewhere more comfortable?

Then I shall tell you, if Enjolras would not. I’m sorry if that was the case. He abhors distractions, and it was I who brought up his education to begin with.

[ He joins her in glances around, briefly surveying the sleeping faces in their pods once more, and he gives a wry smile of agreement. ]

Ah, of course. We can hardly have a discussion on Parisian écoles in a place like this. Dull a subject as it is, one could fall asleep at any moment. The same fate that befell the rest of them, I presume. Where do you suggest, mademoiselle?

[ He’s easy. He’s only really here because it gives him enough room to pace for awhile. ]

Perhaps one of the lounges? There isn't one too far from here, if I'm remembering correctly.

_{[They're quiet and comfortable enough that one can easily relax in them. She'd know, especially since she's been passing out on the couches quite often since she found herself back on the station.]}

The last thing I need right now is to fall asleep again. I've a bad habit of doing so.

_{[If only because she's semi narcoleptic thanks to her body's regeneration struggling to heal her afflicted limbs. She makes a move to turn toward the exit, making sure he's willing to follow.]}

If your schoolboy is Enjolras, who might you be?

_{[A name would be nice.]}

[ He knows the feeling. He slept through an entire Revolution. ]

You ask about me? I might be the worst person you could be speaking to right now, if you wish to stay awake.

[ He does indeed follow her without complaint, that same half-smile on his face. It’s clear that he can and will mock himself whenever possible, and he wholeheartedly believes all of his self-critiques. He doesn’t think much of himself. ]

But you can call me Grantaire if you prefer. It’s the name most people know me by, and the only name I hear enough to respond to. And you? A name for a name is a fair enough trade by most standards. My standards are far lower, but I'm told that my manners have held up surprisingly well over the years.

Grantaire it is then.

_{[A name for a name is only fair, and Diva has no qualms about sharing hers with others. In fact, she's quite the opposite - a creature who craves and adores attention. Quite fitting then, that she was given the name she was.]}

And you can call me Diva. It's a lovely name, isn't it?

_{[Don't say no or she'll be offended.]}

I find manners hard to uphold. I've been told mine are quite bad.

An absolutely tremendous name!

[ He can be a scoundrel of a man, but who is he to judge anyone for anything, let alone their name? It’s something that can’t be helped, most of the time. ]

Do you sing, mademoiselle? It would only make the name more fitting.

[ The term diva is, in his experience and his time period, attributed mostly to opera singers. ]

We need not worry about one another’s manners, then. I am capable of decent manners when it suits me, but I can be absolutely revolting.

Why I certainly do! I'm an opera singer.

_{[How fitting her name is indeed - looks like his train of thought was on the right path. She's pretty pleased he agrees her name's tremendous though. She digs the flattery, even if it had been prompted by her in the first place.]}

Revolting is quite a strong word. I'm sure you won't disgust me though so you're right, we need not worry about each other's manners.

[ Maybe it's not all that surprising that Loras should be here, too. Having just gotten his training gardens only to leave them, his own restlessness is starting to set in. Up here, he feels useless all over again.

Some swordplay offers some distraction.

So he laughs when Grantaire opts to join him. ]

On the contrary, I think I'd defeat you quite quickly. But I'll take it easy on you for the first round.

[ “Useless” is how Grantaire feels most of the time. Ocassionally, he has a rare moment where he’s functional, where he finds motivation, but his growth since waking here has been painstakingly slow. He’s still the same Grantaire, except sometimes he makes a rash decision and sometimes he makes a halfhearted attempt to drink less, and now he has to decide where he stands on believing in things.

That isn’t where his head is now. Now, he’s just bored. ]

Just as well, I wish you wouldn’t, monsieur. I think I would prefer the exhaustion.

[ His smile doesn’t fade. He knows Loras is an excellent swordsman, but he hasn’t seen the full extent of it. ]

Sleep doesn't come so easily here, and my friends would prefer I go about being lulled into slumber it in a way that does not involve extra wine. Please, do as you will. I would hate to force you to hold back.

[ Loras suspects that he can still go easy on Grantaire and keep him on his toes, but he just smiles. He always feels a bit sad when he hears Grantaire speak. There's an extraordinary man trapped inside him, Loras knows that. ]

As you wish. Though only because you're a friend, and it would be unkind of me to not try and grant you an easy sleep.

[ Grantaire is a very capable man. He possess a variety of skills, but he constantly puts himself down, never feeling he’s good enough. Perhaps he was different once. Perhaps he saw himself in a better light, and perhaps he was once positive, wide-eyed and exuberant, but those days are long gone.

He’s quite good at building others up, though. Even if he doesn’t care for himself, he cares for people, and Loras calling him a friend brings a true smile to his face. ]

I’m certain you could never be unkind, monsieur.

[ Though he doesn’t doubt that Loras is very serious when it comes to knightly duties. This is just a friendly duel. ]

I have known you for only a short time, but nothing leads me to think that you would be. You have my thanks. Shall we begin?

I'm simply good at pretending to be kind.

[ That's a lie. As far as Westerosi go, Loras is kinder than a large portion of them. But he's still got his mean streak, just like they all do.

He takes up his position so they can start. The fencing foils are a bit peculiar for him, too light compared to his sword and shaped oddly, but he's not doubting his ability to adapt to the form. ]

Are you pretending?

[ He only gives a soft smile, but it’s tinged with a hint of sadness. He’s somewhat certain that Loras isn’t being serious, but how can one know for sure? It would be a shame for one to pretend to be kind, especially someone whose company Grantaire has grown to enjoy so much. Life is already such a disappointment as it is. ]

That is a shame, but you’re one of the best pretenders I’ve ever come across.

[ Grantaire only knows fencing foils and the singlestick, never a true sword. He’s done this dozens of times over the years, and no matter how much he puts down his abilities, he still takes up a fine position. ]

I am glad we have no disputes to settle, monsieur.

If you wanted to survive Westeros, you had to learn how to pretend. I think I may have been one of the worst.

[ Which is to say, Loras can pretend well enough, but it's exhausting. And he certainly has no need to pretend with Grantaire, so he hopes that's obvious.

As Grantaire readies himself, Loras does his best to mimic the pose. He'd like to do it properly, if he can. ]

I'll need you to make the first move, so I can copy your form.

[ He laughs. This is the best time he's had in a while. ]

And to think, all this time you’ve had me thoroughly fooled. Though I am ignorant to the ways of your world. In truth, I’m ignorant to most things. I never had to know more than a full glass, friends, and the names of men politicians and Revolutionaries were long dead. Ah, yes, our duel! If you will pardon me, I will assume you know what to do—

[ With a smile, he makes his first move, parrying in an attempt to knock Loras’ foil out of his hand. ]

[ Loras is, at least, quick enough to dodge - though he's clearly a master of swords and not of foils. Eventually he finds footing enough to knock away Grantaire's foil.

Admittedly, he's not sure if Grantaire just gave up and let him orif it's a well earned victory. All the same, he bows his head in acknowledgement. ]

Well played.

[ Grantaire is altogether slower, though a powerful and worthy opponent. He doesn’t tire as he suggests he might. He’s simply not as skilled as Loras, and the skills he does possess are rusty. ]

You flatter me, monsieur Loras.

[ He smiles and sweep into a theatrical bow, his spirits none too dampened by his loss. The distraction was helpful and a good use of his time. ]

I am unworthy of your praise. To have had the honor of a duel was more than enough.

And you flatter me in turn. I do believe that makes us even.

[ He smiles, free of whatever worries or stress he may have had not so long before. ]

How are your friends keeping up here?

To themselves. Enjolras keeps to his books, Jehan keeps to his plants.

[ He’s finished now, clearly, as he returns the foil to its place. One duel and loss is enough for him, and he grows tired. His spirits are still high, though, and he can return Loras’ smile. ]

I am grateful to have them here and in good health, even if Jehan has put a stop to any debates Enjolras may try to spark.

[ He’s a bit disappointed by that, really. It’s when Enjolras is at his best, and Grantaire likes to argue with him. ]

What of you and yours?

[ what a strange place for a nap. so strange, in fact, that Cheryl worries that he might be dead. that would be just her luck, finding a dead guy while she's on her way to get lunch. ]

Hello? [ her voice is soft at first, approaching him quietly. when there's no response she tries again: ] Hello?

[ this process of tip-toeing closer and stage whispering continues until she's directly in front of him. Cheryl crouches down and leans in to see if he's breathing. to her relief, he does appear to alive. ] HEY! Wake up, Rip Van Winkle. [ her voice is much louder now. ]

[ Technically, he is dead, or at least he was, once. Now, he’s just capable of sleeping like the dead, which means that it takes Cheryl nearly shouting at him for him to finally stir.

He doesn’t seem particularly angry that his sleep has been disrupted. He doesn’t seem irritated at all. He merely blinks at her, rubs his eyes, and offers a vague smile. ]

Please—most call me Grantaire. Have I been asleep for twenty years, then? I should think that I would feel better rested if I were. Perhaps it was a lesser amount of time. Ten years, maybe.

[ she smiles back, in large part because he did not ask who Rip Van Winkle is. ] Not quite that long, but with the door problem, who knows how long you might be stuck somewhere?

I'm glad you're not dead. That would be annoying.

[ Another man who slept through a Revolution? Of course he knows who Rip Van Winkle is. ]

The doors were what led me to sleep to begin with. It is difficult to find your way back to bed when they no longer lead where they once did.

[ Never mind that it’s only midday, and any normal person would be able to hold off until they found one of the ship’s lounges at the very least. Not Grantaire. He loses motivation so quickly that a corner of any room seems as good a place as any to doze off. ]

Ah, but I was dead once.

[ He’s still smiling despite such a grim fact. He really doesn’t mind. ]

It wasn’t as bothersome as you would be believe. I hardly remember it at all.

I meant annoying for me, not for you. [ she considers him a moment. ] You look well for having died.

Was it for very long? I drowned once, but my friend Archie Andrews gave me the kiss of life and afterwards I was as well as I'd ever been. [ that's debatable. ] All the same, it's not an experience I care to repeat.

That is far too kind of you to say, and it is surely untrue.

[ He hasn’t actually thought about how long he might have been dead, but it’s surely been some time. He’s spoken with people who have seen Notre Dame restored and Napoleon’s abhorrent elephant monument removed from the site of the Bastille, people who have seen Enjolras’ dream of France becoming a Republic come true. Those took place years and years after his death. ]

It must have been for some time, though I was never particularly good with numbers. You and I have different minds, mademoiselle, for I think I would repeat the experience, given the opportunity. Perhaps only the last few moments, though.

[ maybe she'd repeat it again, under different circumstancing. dying though, is very different than the thrill risk-tasking and having the sense that you could die. ]

What happened in the last few moments?

[ To Grantaire, death is one of the most important events that could have ever transpired. He might not have woken until the fighting and the dying was done, and he might have found himself in a world empty of his friends, but he did wake. He woke just in time to die for the only cause he truly believed in, and he was accepted for it. ]

I woke up in time to die happily, and not alone.

[ It’s a sad, twisted way of seeing things, but he clings to it like it’s all he ever had. It makes him feel as though he actually accomplished something and finally earned something. Depression is real. ]

[ wow. that is sad on a much deeper level than she'd anticipated. her expression darkens for a moment - Cheryl can't help but think of her brother's death, which was anything but happy. whatever's troubling her seems to pass. ]

I imagine that's how everyone wishes they would pass.

But unfortunately not how everyone does.

[ Grantaire is a drunk who falls asleep in random hallways, but he knows an expression like that, fleeting as it is. Or at least, he thinks he does. He’s a man who likes to talk, and he often goes too far with his words, not realizing how they might affect the other person. He’s only just begun to really see how his constant pessimism and talk of death upsets Jehan.

He’s working on it. ]

Have I offended you, mademoiselle? For all my vices, I assumed my manners hadn’t suffered, but perhaps I never had them to begin with. My friends wish I wouldn't speak of death as often as I do.

[ she shakes her head. ] Of course not. I've never been easily offended. I was reminded of something that happened at home. It's nothing for you to worry yourself over.

[ Cheryl smiles, and hopes that's enough to reassure him. ] Shall we find the way out?

[From afar, Jean Valjean had thought the figure somewhat familiar, and up close the man’s countenance confirms his suspicions. To remark that the present location is hardly an appropriate venue for drunkenness would be fruitless, he thinks. Each man has his own means of mourning, of reflecting, of holding vigil. Bacchus was not only the god of drunken revelry, but also a tragic figure who embodied the cycle of death and rebirth. So instead, Jean Valjean offers only a kindly look when Grantaire invites him to join.]

I had thought this a place for quiet prayer and reflection. But to keep for company only the sleeping, I suppose, becomes quite lonely.

[Doea he include himself in this generalization? Of course not...]

[ For Grantaire, the lines tend to blur. Perhaps he can blame it on his wine-addled brain, but this place is so strange and he doesn’t know what to make of it. His friends are still here, suspended somewhere between life and death as he once was, but he knows that they were dead once. He knows what they died for, where they died for it, and when.

It’s difficult for him to treat stasis in the way Valjean does. Part of him feels as though he should be mourning, but what good will that do when death means so little here? So he behaves as he often does: just a bit strangely.

He does offer the older man a smile, though. It’s the very least he can do to someone who dares to accept his company. ]

I knew a great many of these men and women, and I can say for certain that they made for delightful company. That was in their waking hours, however, and not one of them seem to be talking in their sleep. The silence grows maddening.

[ Sometimes he wonders if they can even hear the conversation around them. He certainly has no memory of it. ]

I recognize you, monsieur. We have met here once before, have we not?

[Yes, he knows well the madness that dwells in silence. For six years his hours had been accompanied by Cosette’s chattering and childlike questioning, the music of her play, the quieter hums and page-flutterings of her study. And now there is interminable silence in his solitude.

He nods for Grantaire’s question.]

Why, yes, we have, monsieur.

[As vast as the chamber may be, he comes so frequently and visits so many of the sleeping that it was only a matter of time, he supposes, before they met again.]

And I am sure your friends are grateful that you have not forgotten them, even if they are not yet aware of your visits.

[ Silence is absolutely infuriating for Grantaire. If not for his friends, he would have gone mad long ago. Enjolras flipping the pages of his books or Jehan’s pen scratching across paper, or their footsteps on the floor, that’s enough to still his mind for a time, though it will never be enough to fill the spaces left behind by his other friends. ]

It is strange, isn’t it? To not be aware in the slightest. Even the heaviest sleeper can be roused from sleep by some rumble or clatter.

[ He, for example, had been roused by the sound of silence. ]

The sleeping always wake, unless they are dead, and death has been taken from those who are here. The senses still work even while we sleep. I wonder if they can’t hear us now, but remain incapable of responding.

[ He pauses, gaze sliding back to the elder man. ]

Have I ever received your name? I’ve met so many people here, it’s grown difficult to recall.

[ Or maybe he should just stop drinking, but he won’t. That would be too easy. ]

[It would be well, he thinks, if Cosette could hear him in his vigil by her sleeping casket: she would not be so frightened when she awakens, then, because she would know she is not alone in this strange place.]

No, I do not believe I've properly introduced myself...

[He would let others do so first.]

I am called Fauchelevent. [He gives a slight nod of his head.] It is a pleasure.

[Renly is trying very hard not to laugh as he nudges his sleeping friend with the toe of his boot.]

You might find this a poor place to sleep, friend. A king might trample all over you, and then what would your argumentative companion say?

[ Grantaire awakens, casting a groggy stare up at Renly. He only smiles sleepily, not seeming particularly bothered by the fact that his inconvenient nap has been disrupted. ]

He would not care. He does not wish to speak to you at all. An unfortunate side effect of your title, monsieur. I hope you understand.

I understand that's the way he is, but not why it's the way he is. Either way, I will try not to let it dampen my spirits overmuch.

Would you like a hand up?

He has but one passion, and he believes that any man with the title of “king” stands in its way. I am not permitted to argue with him any longer this week.

[ He gives a tired sigh, running a hand through his unkempt hair. ]

I would like to return to sleep, but if a hand is what you offer me, then a hand is what I will gladly accept.

If you continue sleeping here, you might well be tripped over. And then where would we be?

Come on, then. [He clasps Grantaire's arm and hauls him up as best he can, giving him a pat on the shoulder]

Does it not help at all that I have nothing to rule over, here? I've done no kingly duties since arriving.

The very same place we are now, I should imagine. The only difference being that there would be more than just me on the floor.

[ Groggily, he allows himself to be pulled to his feet anyway. It seems he won’t be allowed to stay here and finish out his nap. ]

It does not. Kings of any sort have no place in his ideals. I have suggested that he speak to you, but I have done little to make my words worth being heard.

Or perhaps he is unwilling to hear them? It seems nothing I do endears myself to him, either. It's not as though I can change the fact that I ruled over a kingdom, at some point in my past.

I'm not certain quite why it bothers me so much, you know.

Perhaps if those words were spoken by someone else, he would hear them with more clarity.

[ Even with the best intentions, Grantaire can be incredibly frustrating. His message can grow muddled and come across as mocking. It’s fair enough; he has a history mocking the group and their ideals. He believes deeply in Enjolras, though. Deeply enough that he thinks his words could have an affect on kings and queens, if only he would speak to them. ]

If you cross paths with him, you should tell him what you’ve told me, monsieur. It’s no fault of your own. You can’t change your past, just as he cannot change his own. He sought only to change the future.

Should I cross paths with him again, I'll do my best to reason with him in that way.

I think -- and I could be wrong, but I think that though he has a larger problem with me as a king, he has a particular problem with me specifically because I suggested to him that he and I were rather the same.

We have similar political ideals, I mean. We both wanted some sort of leadership in which the people had a greater say than they did at the time. We both sought to overturn ruthless despots.

But I don't think it really helped my case at all, pointing that out.

[ Grantaire only chuckles, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. That certainly does sound like Enjolras, not wanting to be compared to a king in any capacity. It’s almost a shame. ]

It’s true, you’ve only caused harm to your case. You’ve offended him in the worst possible way, monsieur. You’ve compared him to a monarch.

[ It’s no worse than what Grantaire does by comparing him to a god. ]

I think I would do the same if it wouldn’t make him abhor me.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[open]

a prayer for your liver

his liver was beautiful once

pours one out for it

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sorry for the late reply!

not a problem!

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THREE!!!

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#dontknowfencing [lemur]

#sametbh [lemur]

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un

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a million years later

another million years later. we just need those spongebob title cards

perfect, they're already read with a french accent

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