Alexei Kravinoff was a scholar by avocation. Collecting information, knowing things, was his passion as well as role. In the old country, the dour-faced providers of blinis and shchi were certain, such curiosity would have been turned to the task of observation. He would have been a hunter of fellow-citizens, an informer- but this they were willing to forgive.
Gathering was simple. Explaining was hard.
Explaining why your room was full of small bottles. That they contained perfumes, scents, and not alcohol, pleased no-one. The drunkard was disappointed, the teetotaler mystified.
It’s to make sure I don’t smell you. That never went over well, even- especially- after someone had been kind enough to spend an evening in his immaculate little room. In his strong arms, his rough hands.
You smell strongly to me. I don’t want to smell you. If I don’t do something about it, I will smell you all of the time. These days, his English was quite blameless, and translation mistakes could not be used as a disclaimer.
They did not seem to realize- the various pretty little things who were not wise enough to recognize a sensitive issue- that all of the time meant all of the time. Continually, a thread weaving through a landscape of the indescribable sensorium.
Alexei was a perfumer by necessity, surely a rare distinction. His room was absolutely clean and largely bare, save for serried ranks upon ranks of bottles and pipettes, and a small rack of weight-lifting equipment, which was not dusty but was also not used. Empire State checked in every few months to make sure his situation had not become the drug laboratory it so clearly resembled, and never seemed entirely satisfied.
It was probably for the best they had not found his going-out clothes, or the handcuffs.
AlOnDaProwl: hay deets you were right she totes hates waffles
PoundDeeAlarmed: she h8 ur az u mean lol
whodafuq want a man smells like brekky erry day
she knows she gon be fat BC wafflelust
AlOnDaProwl: your suggestion was fish and chips so I don’t really think you get to make nutrition jokes
this is what I get when I talk to you in my hour of need.
well, my hour of need that doesn’t involve punching?
my hour of nonviolent need
PoundDeeAlarmed: fuck off ghandi I ain’t need nonviolence
dis girl 100% violence
all punches, no time for love dr. ruski
unless you punch da pussy
AlOnDaProwl: omfg
I hate you so much
Gathering was simple. Explaining was hard.
Explaining why your room was full of small bottles. That they contained perfumes, scents, and not alcohol, pleased no-one. The drunkard was disappointed, the teetotaler mystified.
It’s to make sure I don’t smell you. That never went over well, even- especially- after someone had been kind enough to spend an evening in his immaculate little room. In his strong arms, his rough hands.
You smell strongly to me. I don’t want to smell you. If I don’t do something about it, I will smell you all of the time. These days, his English was quite blameless, and translation mistakes could not be used as a disclaimer.
They did not seem to realize- the various pretty little things who were not wise enough to recognize a sensitive issue- that all of the time meant all of the time. Continually, a thread weaving through a landscape of the indescribable sensorium.
Alexei was a perfumer by necessity, surely a rare distinction. His room was absolutely clean and largely bare, save for serried ranks upon ranks of bottles and pipettes, and a small rack of weight-lifting equipment, which was not dusty but was also not used. Empire State checked in every few months to make sure his situation had not become the drug laboratory it so clearly resembled, and never seemed entirely satisfied.
It was probably for the best they had not found his going-out clothes, or the handcuffs.
AlOnDaProwl: hay deets you were right she totes hates waffles
PoundDeeAlarmed: she h8 ur az u mean lol
whodafuq want a man smells like brekky erry day
she knows she gon be fat BC wafflelust
AlOnDaProwl: your suggestion was fish and chips so I don’t really think you get to make nutrition jokes
this is what I get when I talk to you in my hour of need.
well, my hour of need that doesn’t involve punching?
my hour of nonviolent need
PoundDeeAlarmed: fuck off ghandi I ain’t need nonviolence
dis girl 100% violence
all punches, no time for love dr. ruski
unless you punch da pussy
AlOnDaProwl: omfg
I hate you so much
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