✖ 002, S.O.S.

[amant]

[Greetings, Asgard! Your bonafide Bonnefoy seems to be well and situated in Freya by now, which is a good thing. His greeting, however, is mildly er, nonexistent and he sounds almost up to his eyeballs in unsures.] 

I have ah-- [he pauses, looking at something off-screen rather critically; those fine features and MANLY STUBBLE crinkling in distaste as if he just imagined his mother naked and frolicking with Rome... Which he'd had the misfortune of seeing once, actually--] Now, mes amis! I am not a judgmental man. [He just lies like a rug]

Mais-- Well, I could not help but notice the overwhelming amount of English that have been brought as fellow Traveler to Asgard.

[The hidden, or not so hidden message is I am DROWNING in the ENGLISH. Send help. ]

I am just wondering if there is a reason for this favoritism, hm? Why not say-- the French? If they wanted their city to be colorful again my culture is much more familiar with the expression. No offense, hm? Consider it a case of being homesick...

[He smiles, disarmingly, perhaps, fumbling with his pack of cigarettes before flicking the transmission off. WAY TO LITERALLY OFFEND HALF OF ASGARD, FRANCIS.]

Comments

[amant]

[You are such a sweetheart, really.]

Are you saying that I ought to ah, suck it up?

[charming_jerk]

[The kind you can bring home to mother.] You can put it however you want, man, but it involves just gettin' over it.

[amant]

I'm mortal and my tolerance is shit-- and that is simply the tip of the iceberg of complaints I have. Just get over it, he says. [flatly, no less.]

[charming_jerk]

Tolerance for what? And yeah, I guess so. Maybe ya can grow up 'n' stop bein' a baby about it, because ya ain't the only guy in town with a mountain of shit given to him courtesy of the gods.