(no subject)

[no_sin_but]

Marlowe has been many things, but one of the things that people forget is scholar. Student. Oh, yes, the boy wrote plays, but he was Kit Marlowe. He brawled, he snarked, he twisted people around with nothing but words until they believed in no God, he, hell, he even teamed up with another poet to kill a man on record.

But Marlowe, reading? Having a genuine love for words and text and the scent of leather and paper? People forget about that.

For a while, so did he.

Now he's free to indulge, and indulging he is; lying on the bed, eyes and mind intent on nothing but the page in front of him.

Comments

[no-sin-but.livejournal.com]

"Three?"

[literallyrotten.livejournal.com]

"I'll show you."

Whenever he wants.

[no-sin-but.livejournal.com]

"Oh, you'd never get me out."

[literallyrotten.livejournal.com]

"It's my flat in Montreal. It's where I keep my base, you could say."

He travels out of it. With as many books as he has, and odds and ends, it only makes sense.

"Whenever you feel like a trip to Canada, mention."

[no-sin-but.livejournal.com]

"Oh, I will."

Never fear about that.

[literallyrotten.livejournal.com]

"Good."

He turns the book over in his hands, and comes to join him, on the other side of the bed.

He could stand to do some reading too.