father i'm trying

telemachus, two seconds later: enough about me. who are you? where are you from? your city? your parents? what sort of vessel brought you here? why did the sailors land you here in ithaca? who did they say they are? i hardly think you came this way on foot! and tell me this for a fact -- i need to know -- is this your first time here? or are you a friend of father's, a guest from the old days?

my heart????

are you absolutely kidding me

which i clearly took to mean he likes flowers and crop tops and summer breezes

i found this in my drafts and it’s clearly for a page on my blog but bitch!!!! im such a good writer sometimes. or i was. two years ago.

“My lady, I am sure this will offend you both to hear but know that I mean no ill... but your dog, Beau, resembles as much a pooch as a deer does a shark. Is he quite well?” 

tee’s expression, meanwhile, deadpans. thoughtful as he endeavours to be, he won’t allow himself to ask if she was stupid. hadn’t he asked in plain english? “i asked after your well-being, lady.” 

I’m sorry, he didn’t hear that right. Did she just call him a dog? “And you’re quite sure? Have you checked? Or are your woodland eyes tinted with loveliness, and you see a rover in a rat?”

“Fair lovely one, your face suggests to me that you are troubled. Sometimes a stranger’s counselling is as good as his father’s,” not that Telemachos WOULD KNOW, thanks dad, “perhaps I can help?”