Trayze Tesar
Well-Known Member
The Kiffar eyes the surrounding motley crew, taking a moment to sigh.
He and his "author" had... an understanding. Not eye to eye, but an understanding and a mutual hope - a bit of a gripe that where they were tied too close. But he's been to a therapy before, in theory. Not that his "author" has never been therapy -
"G'mornevefternoonday." the burgundy eyed Kiffar exhaled, the vomit of syllables covering most of the politeness, pushing down the urge to "rub
Dosh Piko
's big blue head like an orb to ponder" as was the tittering snicker from the author. "M'name's Trayze Tesar, Ah'm somewhere before age forty, an' my author... hates the universe."
Letting the words hang for a bit before he joined the ever consistent switch between pompous chuckling and sneering scowling that constituted much of the "train of thought" - this time on the former. "Don't worry, he ain't a nihilist, and he says he ain't a... Jay-Jay Abrams? Whoever that is." Trayze Tesar concluded. "He loves the "fantasy" of it, the "space wizards, gunslingers, all of it" grew up on the paperback novels... he jus' doesn't like the fact that there ain't an afterlife? Which is... kind of what Ah'm forced into?" He sighs, pulling forth a chair to sit down upon. "All these "grand plans" to "address th' metaphysical" - Ah'm still an acolyte! Jus' pony up, realize tha' Sith'll be Sith, an' lemme - fer the love of Bogan - don't let me shack up with a sadistic elf ta' sire out a "special child"..." Eyes upward, arm jutting out to the far right, gesturing to the unseen pile of woes to be addressed. "There's too karkin' many, an' my "whole deal" was bein' a "blue collar Sith" - just lock in, stick what ya good at, kick someone in the nads, an' kiss a gal. Neither of us are gettin' younger!"
He and his "author" had... an understanding. Not eye to eye, but an understanding and a mutual hope - a bit of a gripe that where they were tied too close. But he's been to a therapy before, in theory. Not that his "author" has never been therapy -
"G'mornevefternoonday." the burgundy eyed Kiffar exhaled, the vomit of syllables covering most of the politeness, pushing down the urge to "rub
Dosh Piko
's big blue head like an orb to ponder" as was the tittering snicker from the author. "M'name's Trayze Tesar, Ah'm somewhere before age forty, an' my author... hates the universe."Letting the words hang for a bit before he joined the ever consistent switch between pompous chuckling and sneering scowling that constituted much of the "train of thought" - this time on the former. "Don't worry, he ain't a nihilist, and he says he ain't a... Jay-Jay Abrams? Whoever that is." Trayze Tesar concluded. "He loves the "fantasy" of it, the "space wizards, gunslingers, all of it" grew up on the paperback novels... he jus' doesn't like the fact that there ain't an afterlife? Which is... kind of what Ah'm forced into?" He sighs, pulling forth a chair to sit down upon. "All these "grand plans" to "address th' metaphysical" - Ah'm still an acolyte! Jus' pony up, realize tha' Sith'll be Sith, an' lemme - fer the love of Bogan - don't let me shack up with a sadistic elf ta' sire out a "special child"..." Eyes upward, arm jutting out to the far right, gesturing to the unseen pile of woes to be addressed. "There's too karkin' many, an' my "whole deal" was bein' a "blue collar Sith" - just lock in, stick what ya good at, kick someone in the nads, an' kiss a gal. Neither of us are gettin' younger!"