trinkett | Fourth Dispatch: It's Not What You Think. Voice.

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Fourth Dispatch: It's Not What You Think. Voice.

Dear Fellow Residents of Luceti,

Wouldn't it be entertaining to put on some Games here in Luceti? Not that the Cultural Fair wasn't amusing, or any of the other activities going on here -- but true gladiatorial games. The pitting of one creature against another! Think of the thrill and drama and the release that goes along with that sort of entertainment! And here in Luceti we are ideally suited for a very exciting Games indeed.

Who would you sponsor or volunteer for this entertainment? Or would it all be...

[There is a pause here.]

Pokey-mans? I find human beings MUCH more interesting to watch, personally.

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I should expect them to be highly modified if the intent is to have all the village enjoy them, Madam.

I am not a butcher, whatever you may think, Madam.

[There they go, Madaming each other all over the damn place.]

No, that would take actual effort and talent on your part, Madam.

[She can do this all day Effie. All. MaDamn. Day.]

Madam, you have only barely seen the scrapings of the SURFACE of my talent. And my effort is tireless.

[BRING IT, FRENCHIE.]

You suggest, Madam, that there is more than a puddle's worth of substance to you in any manner aside from your ass?

[Six older, harpy sisters, Effie. SHE'S GOT THIS.]

What has my firm, YOUTHFUL, compact, and aesthetically pleasing hindquarters to do with ANY of the issues at hand today? Stop derailing, madam.

[Well EFFIE'S a MID-LEVEL BUREAUCRAT. SHE WINS RIGHT THERE.]

Aside from the fact that you are speaking out of them, Madame?

[Bitter divorcees eat bureaucrats for BREAKFAST.]

[Touché, Adele.]

How crass! Just because you're ashamed of your own slumping, going-on-middle-age backside...?

I do not know, Madame, Derek seems to care for mine just fine. A pity no one can say the same of yours.

You might ask Jack Horner a thing or two. He fancies me to be just right, madam.

I would not be so proud of having had a ride on the village bicycle, Madame. Jack Horner would bed a warthog if it wore lipstick-

...

Oh, well look at that.

[Wait what? Village bicycle? What strange grammar of sin was this?!]

Jack HORNER brought me to Disneyland.

[INSTANT WIN.]

[Now that is a peculiar euphemism. Fortunately, Adele can roll with it.]

So he had you ride his magic mountain? Did he make you wear the ears?

Ears? [Are you a LUNATIC or something?] Stop bringing your peculiar sexual fetishes into this, madam. People will continue to think you're strange!

Oh no, what you and he do in the sanctity of his bedroom, or should I say the expressway of his bedroom, is entirely your business, Madame. [Her tone is not at all pitying. Well, it is. Thoroughly.] Though I might recommend you visit a clinic for a discreet check. Just to be certain you did not catch anything peculiar.

I know someone who's jealous about NOT going to Disneyland, and I believe she is using the idle threat of syphilis to cover up her feelings of inadequacy!

Though I suppose that FITS, considering you're French.

Madame.

Edited 2013-06-29 01:43 (UTC)

I'm certain a trip to Disneyland was quite fantastic to someone of your naivete, but it takes more than shining colors and spinning lights to get into my pants, Madame. Nor is winning Jack Horner for the moment worth bragging over or feeling inadequate about missing.

I'm not sure what your quarrel is with Jack, but all of those sour grapes you're throwing about are not becoming. Jack knows a lady when he sees one!

A true lady does not kiss and tell, Madame, let alone do so repeatedly no matter the pride she may have in her previous conquest- a lady of the night, however...

Just WHAT are you suggesting, madam? That you're a hypocrite?

[Feathers are being ruffled so damn hard.]

Madame, I should note that at no point in this conversation did I ever claim to be a lady. That you did of yourself despite the drastic lack of qualifications for the title that become yet more apparent the longer you speak.

You wouldn't know a lady if one tripped over you as you were lying in the gutter!

You seem to be under the impression, Madame, that paint makes the lady.

Paint? I'm sorry -- I don't understand you.

[Now, then, Adele settles back in her chair and grins to herself, voice light and civil but the words, oh the words are anything but.]

What I mean to say is that you seem to be of the mind that if you paint yourself a lady, if you behave as a lady behaves, keep the company a lady ought to keep in which you have quite spectacularly failed already, and speaks as a lady speaks it will make a lady of you, Madame. That it will make you someone bright and important and respectable, someone with means and influence and affluence. That if you wear the right face and the right clothes and say the right things it will make you matter.

But all the pretty paint and wrapping in the enclosure cannot change that there is absolutely nothing of substance or value beneath. Paint yourself a lady, Madame. We both know you are without merit and entirely hollow.

[voice]

trinkett - 2013-07-08 00:18 (UTC) - Expand

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