I don't have muses, she swears

[petronia]

I just have colour flashes. You'll remember that, right? 'Cos God forbid I should make myself out to be an oddball who talks to people who aren't there. ^__^

I have decided I'm more interested in Duke Bardoba than anyone else in Vagrant Story. I'm weird. Not, however, as weird as Sydney. You know how sometimes you don't even know you've been pondering a character until he ups and hands you a crackrabbit song call? Sydney makes no song calls. Sydney has to be *special*. So Sydney makes poetry calls. And St. Vincent Millay's "Renascence" is one thing, but Swinburne's "Dolores"... I'm not writin' yaoi with a chara as makes calls like that, he's beyond my ken. ^^;;; Apparently I'm stuck with a very odd flavour of Mullencamp.



(Oh, but it's not fair, because I *love* Swinburne, and the last time I used Swinburne was in my first Gundam fic for cripes' sake--


Wilt thou smile as a woman disdaining
The light fire in the veins of a boy?
But he comes to thee sad, without feigning,
Who has wearied of sorrow and joy;
Less careful of labour and glory
Than the elders whose hair has uncurled;
And young, but with fancies as hoary
And grey as the world.


Or this:


Did he lie? did he laugh? does he know it,
Now he lies out of reach, out of breath,
Thy prophet, thy preacher, thy poet,
Sin's child by incestuous Death?
Did he find out in fire at his waking,
Or discern as his eyelids lost light,
When the bands of his body were breaking
And all came in sight?


Unfair shot. Really.)