http://almost-arabian.livejournal.com/ (
almost-arabian.livejournal.com) wrote in
milliways_bar2006-04-15 10:58 am
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There is a Lawrence.
He is half-slouched on the couch with a flat surface in front of him, idly scribbling on a grid-type paper with coloured inks. He is in fact making a map.
Yes, from Memory. It will be surprisingly accurate.
He is half-slouched on the couch with a flat surface in front of him, idly scribbling on a grid-type paper with coloured inks. He is in fact making a map.
Yes, from Memory. It will be surprisingly accurate.
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"The army is a perfectly comprehensible explanation."
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"Not so much the fighting as the events following afterward, you understand."
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"Ah, you would be surprised, my friend."
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"More suicidal things were done that I have not died from."
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But right now, Lawrence is just creeping him right the fuck out, with his laughter and his scars and his 'lookit me, ma, not dead!'
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"I suppose that if you really wanted to know, I could produce you a copy of my book."
He smiles. "Mark Cohen has one copy, you see, but I believe the Bar would give me another if I asked very nicely."
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"I do not believe I have made Mark Cohen's acquantiance, but I'm sure you're more than capable of procuring another."
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But he really doesn't mean to be irritating. After he gives a light nod, he picks up his pen to begin his maps again.
"But of course, Terence."
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After all, he might just be in an odd mood today. And last time. Terence can be charitiable.
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"That would perhaps be favorable." He's always in an odd mood. It's his impulsiveness, the player thinks.
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Pansy.Lawrence simply goes back to his mapmaking completley, now.