From the woods comes a husky alto voice, bright and enthusiastic, not seeming to mind (as she may have once) that it is not so sweet or pure as is thought pretty in a lady-- or, indeed, of a boy
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Childermass is out looking for gifts that, classically, would please fairies. Anything shiny, anything brightly colored. He's been reading, to try and expand the repertoire.
But, to a stranger's eye, he seems to simply be a tall, slightly shady looking fellow out for a walk on the grounds.
He looks up, not startled in the slightest. "Some bright red berries, if there are any near by. Or stones with bits of gypsum to make them sparkle, perhaps."
New friends, it is, then. Here's Robin Goodfellow, who will find... interesting to meet someone from one of, er, Bill's plays.
He's sitting on a low branch, taking in the chilly autumn air, and he'll chime in the singing with a low, warm baritone as Ganymede makes his approach. He's feeling friendly and playful, today.
Robin grins back, and stands on the branch, clearly not bothered by the fact that the soft autumn winds are making it sway.
"Good afternoon. What be thine source of joy?"
Robin doesn't usually speak like this - he's, after all, just stopped being Rob Fellows, obnoxious New York car salesman. But he doesn't mind adapting.
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But, to a stranger's eye, he seems to simply be a tall, slightly shady looking fellow out for a walk on the grounds.
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He's sitting on a low branch, taking in the chilly autumn air, and he'll chime in the singing with a low, warm baritone as Ganymede makes his approach. He's feeling friendly and playful, today.
Reply
Reply
"Good afternoon. What be thine source of joy?"
Robin doesn't usually speak like this - he's, after all, just stopped being Rob Fellows, obnoxious New York car salesman. But he doesn't mind adapting.
Reply
Reply
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