O _____ how glad am I for you and for your fortune and your guidance! O _______ my bride how thankful am I for the promises you coo into my ear and may you always deliver! O ____ how fortunate am I to be coddled by one whose anger against my enemies is so slow and sure! O ______ ____ _____ accept my deepest regrets that this land is too cold and dark for you and may the summers beat on all of ours heads like burning stones!
[written in Latin]
There are three stories about how the Big Apple got its name.
The one likely to be true—incidentally, the least interesting—is that the moniker has its roots in horse racing; the big apple, of course, is the dream of every jockey and every punter. As a man who has known more than a few punters, they are an overly-stimulated lot, though quite efficient about kissing money goodbye to see beasts sweat and struggle, which is commendable for being so petty. But overall I find that whole ambiance unsatisfactory.
The second story is that New York City is like a greedy apple taking the largest portion of the tree's sap. This is a far better story, for obvious reasons.
The third story, far more Rococo and sensational, and almost certainly false, is that a madam owned a brothel in the city long ago, and her name was Eve. How this story makes me yearn for my Salon! I can picture myself in this fantastical brothel. I see Christian motifs woven everywhere, from the gaudy crucifixes, to the stained glass, to the Madam herself, liveried like a nun who lost some garments to a windstorm, overlooking her convent of equally unfortunate “sisters”. Oh, if only the city were named after a Hellfire Club such as this!
But horse racing will have to do.
We have met the Demon Lord Nails—God bless motorcycle gangsters and their devotion to the profane—, the bohemian alcoholic Megan, the regal harlot Lex with her imperial kissing commands, her male suitors, Aeric and Darrius, on both of whose toes I appear to have trod, the amusing strumpet Bunny, who is apparently too top-heavy to stand up and requires my lap for support, Hannah with her neck-smile and whoever that man was with her, Lola the bored heiress, who is exactly the sort of person who rolls down my crater and has to be carried off on a stretcher by people who deem it their duty to do so, and finally the near perfection that is the Asuka and Elise pair.
Too bad how jaded that last pair seem to be. There’s nothing so disappointing as those who think they’ve seen it all, except for those who actually have seen it all. But I’ve heard that line before, ladies. It doesn’t impress. Debauchery should never be reduced to a contest; that robs it of its symbolic power! Although if I had to judge, I’d say the one with the Japanese name has seen the worst of it. Elise seems like she should take her mistress' advice and slow down before she too looks a bit run down.
Darrius, Darrius. What a surprise. You roused even ____‘s suspicion, and he only shows himself when he thinks I need protecting. Do you realize how much your special friend controls you, rather than the other way around? It’s so easy to pull your strings, one doesn’t even have to try. But I am used to dealing with the easily agitated. I hope you can take your face off your own cock long enough to see how two people of like nature could help each other when the opportunity presents itself.
In the meanwhile, come play at my house any time you like. Bring whichever harlot is in your grasp at the moment. Claim your territory. Bring Lex, preferably. She puts on a good show.
But now it’s time to call Letitia and point her in a new direction. After all, someone has to work around here, and it’s not going to be me.