Told myself I wouldn’t get caught in clearing all of Hinterlands of meaningless side quests and yet here I am. Anyway, check this guy out. This is Margus Mantillon, one of the middle children of the Dowager Mantillon, but being the most competent out of the bunch, the Dowager is considering cutting the older heirs out of the inheritance in favour of Margus, whom she expects to follow certain guidelines, but also be kind to his elder and younger brothers and sisters. There are certain conditions he must fulfill before he becomes the heir though, and those conditions are not to Margus’ liking.
He actively pursues Spiridon Lavellan under no false pretenses. He makes it clear from the beginning that he’s in it for prestige, information, sex, and hopefully a cordial friendship, and he, in turn, can offer the Inquisitor the same in return. They enter a casual, non-committal physical relationship and become each other’s liaisons. Through Margus Spiridon Lavellan has a direct eye into the rotting gut of the court of Val Royeaux, and through Spiridon, Margus has influence as well as the far-sight regarding his own potential enemies. Their relationship lasts beyond the events of Trespasser, although it never turns into an emotional affair. Margus is not shy about his ambition. He’s shrewd, direct, and very honest in his bizarre Orlesian way.
He will show up in one of the triptych-style ficlets I’ve planned based on the prompts in my inbox, where he gets a proper introduction. As for the long face that is so very typically Fleshwerks…. what can I say. I like people who resemble angry horses.
-Update on my gradual descent into coffee-drinking: Due to lack of resources and need for sleep-substitute, I drank a large cup of coffee with minimal creamer. I was able to finish the whole drink without being overly disgusted. I am more upset with myself than the coffee at this point.
-An older woman began raving about how nice it was of me to scan a coupon for her. She had been cordial enough before, but she suddenly dropped her conversational tone, looked me directly in the eye, and told me that something good would happen to me today. I feel that I may have been blessed by a benevolent witch today and I hope to see how this pans out.
-Upon checking a woman’s ID, I found that her name was Sandrade. You know, like Sandra Dee, except wrong.
-I stumbled across evidence of several gift card having been shoplifted. I have no problem with this crime and, in fact, wish whoever took them a long and happy life surrounded by their newfound unactivated scraps of plastic.
-A magazine at my lane posed the philosophical question, “What if your boobs could talk?” I did not care enough to pick it up and read it myself, but I can assume it simply outlined the only possible conversation: “Who said that? What the hell? My boobs can talk? Have my nipples been small mouths all along? Quite down down there!” This entire exchange would naturally take place in a hastily-called Uber on the way to a mastectomy clinic.
-I had never considered this to be necessary, but I would now like to formally request that you do not hurriedly approach a cashier with one hand firmly buried in your pocket and a menacing look on your face.
-I have come to the realization that the entire brand of humor I use for my Target stories is essentially just John Mulaney’s stand-up specials. Apparently, everyone already knew this. I am far from upset about this discovery.
-I find that there is a direct correlation between days in which I drink coffee and days in which I have my most entertaining stories.
-I sold someone a book with a battery pack in the back. I do not know why this book needs batteries, but the future is here, and it is incredible.
-Yesterday, a bookshelf rang up as a a box of baby diapers. After three attempts, it deleted the entire transaction. Today, a box of cooking utensils rang up as a wedding registry. There is a conspiracy afoot with no clear endgame, but I will not let my guard down.
-I heard the cashier at the cafe call out an order, “Pepperoni breadsticks!” For the brief moment before I realized it was a combo, I was thrilled to believe that my letter-writing campaign to Pizza Hut had worked out and the menu was finally being expanded.
Good evening! Due to an increasing series of circumstances that I have found to be intolerable, it is my stated intention of interfering in this wrestling contest. Please inform me if this is a poor time or if there are any other conflicts that may affect my interference. Thank you for your time and consideration in this matter.
Tbh I can’t wait for future college students to have to sit through their art appreciation courses and learn about our generation’s art.
I can already imagine myself, poised in a soft arm chair while reading whatever futuristic digital/holographic/intra-ocular newspaper. My child stumbles in with their little robot companion carrying their duffle bag. The greetings are cordial and we settle into dinner to discuss your usual college small-talk.
“We’re finally studying 2016-2017 in my art appreciation class,” they say.
“Ah, like the Kapoor-Semple Pigment Feud?” I take a sip of wine and gaze across the table at them.
“Not yet, what was that?”
AND THEN I GET TO REACH INTO SOME DIGITAL ARCHIVE AND EXPLAIN HOW TWO GROWN ASS PEOPLE BEGAN THE PETTIEST POWDER SPAT I’VE SEEN
-For Christmas Eve Eve, I wore jingle bell suspenders. Tonight, Christmas Eve, I stepped up my game. I wore a homemade ugly Christmas sweater that my girlfriend Lauren and I had created together. Covered tastefully in pompoms, pipe cleaners, tassels, small present boxes, and more, it went over phenomenally. Plus, it worked fantastically as a deterent. No one could yell at someone who looked this tacky.
-“Here’s this. Here’s this.” A nine year-old girl handed her mother her Starbucks drink and pastry to hold. “Now I’m going to go to the bathroom, because I really need to go.” Moments later, she returned. “Now, where exactly is the bathroom?” Never before have I found a child whose struggles I knew so well.
-A man told me that we were doing the right thing by staying open so late on Christmas Eve. I would now like to cordially invite this man who waited until the last twelve hours possible to purchase his daughter’s gifts to come and do the right thing and work my shift for me.
-Men continue to find it necessary to throw any even slightly feminine products onto the register, to distance themselves from such a girly thing as hairspray or a greeting card. I continue to find this absolutely hilarious, a very telling display of their fragile masculinity.
-In what seemed to be a sweet act of Christmas kindness, a woman paid for the items of the guest behind her. It was all ruined though, as she then turned and said, “I’m a Christian. Don’t forget that.” This was all fun and games until it turned into a Jesus fan power play.
-A baby, barely old enough to speak, saw me in my sweater and hat and came to the conclusion that I was the present man she had been told about. Her eyes widened, her hand stretched out, and her face lit up. “SANTA???” she shouted in an adorably squeaky voice. I stepped up to the plate and handed her a long strip of stickers, cementing this as the most fulfilling Christmas Eve either of us will ever have.
-After scanning a Shopkins activity booklet, an adorable five year-old girl in the cart asked me if she could hold it. I naturally acquiesced. I then heard both her father and her brother repeatedly tell her, “That’s not yours. That’s not for you.” She acknowledged this, but would not let go of it. I realized to late that she had taken advantage of my naivety and was holding the gift hostage, tearing it up more and more as her father scolded her.
-A woman attempted to use a “rechargeable gift card.” I put that in quotes, because as she found out, it was an actual credit card in the name of a stranger whom she did not know at all. She told me that she had taken a few cards out of her twelve year-old son’s wallet and that this had been among them. She does not know how he got a hold of Kevin Jones’ company credit card, but I am impressed to no end and look forward to hearing about this boy in true crime podcasts to come.