hotproblems | 🌹🌹🌹

[Which one of them spotted the boxed wine? Which one of them purchased the boxed wine? Not that it matters, now that they're, like, half a box in back at Lorenz's apartment. The novelty of wine in a box wore off after the first terrible sip, but after choking down a glass or two... well, you know. It's drinkable.

And, most importantly, it's pink! Hilda is, naturally, enamored by this, which is why she tilts her head against the back of Lorenz's couch (her couch, thanks), holding her wine glass up and watching light filter through the rosé. Pink is such a great color? And such a great word, too, because so many things rhyme with pink. Drink! Blink. ...Think.

But of course Lorenz prefers purple. A word as difficult as he can sometimes be, and yet Hilda treasures him all the same; it's why she's here, frowning up at her beautiful glass of wine as she—ugh—thinks. A date auction? Fun. Lorenz up for bid at a date auction? Extra fun, aside from "helping" him write his poem of a blurb. Did he even ask for her input... hmm...]

Nothing rhymes with purple, [she soon sighs, bringing her glass back down in order to take a quick sip. Brain fuel.] How is that fair?

[Words! Should! Rhyme! -Hilda, 2020]

[Was the boxed wine a mistake? Yes. Are they still drinking the mistake, because they paid for it and it would be a waste not to? Of course! So it's Day Drinking Deer time, feat. Lorenz sitting on the other end of his couch with one knee pulled up (that's how you know it's day drinking time, so improper) and a stupid-fancy little notebook balanced on it. For poetry.

Were he less tipsy, this notebook would never see the light of day. Were he sober he would not even consider this stupid, stupid thing they're doing, and yet here they are...]

For the third time, Hilda, [exasperated!] I have other features. Admirable ones! Do you mean to tell me all you told your brother is that I'm purple?

[Because that's how this conversation started, somewhere around the end of glass two.],/small>

[If Hilda did write an entire paragraph about Lorenz's purple hair because a) her letter was shaping up to be woefully short and b) her brother loves whatever silly padding she adds into her letters, well? That's between her and Sothis, thank you. She was only doing her friend's hair justice.

But that was then and this is now, hence her mildly affronted Look.]

Of course not! But it's just, you know...

[Look at this airy wave of her hand. You know? You know. You should know.]

You're tall, and noble, and smart, and very purple. [Such a patient explanation deserves another sip.] That's what makes you you, Lorenz.

[A color scheme is of Peak Importance.]

[His hair does deserve that kind of attention, yes, but this is poetry and one must be more delicate in poetry than in

purple prose

so please be serious!! Does he know? Does he? He gives her a skeptical look, finely arched eyebrow and all, but these are some very nice and accurate adjectives...]

Could we not put "purple" somewhere else in the verse? Or you could stop insisting that it must rhyme.

[But thanks, he is all of those things!!]

[Hilda is not a poet, Lorenz—and she is endlessly entertained by thinking of progressively stupider words to rhyme with purple, truth be told, but alas! This is to be taken (somewhat) seriously! And she would like Lorenz to land a nice date for the night, so allow her to heave a dramatic sigh.]

It should, but—fine. Put something about your purple hair, or your purple eyes. [Oh! Oh! Time to sit up a tad straighter.] Beeeeecause they're what makes you such a prize.

[Holy shit, she is nailing this.]

[Thank you for sympathizing with his plight, Hilda, instead of doing something much more Hilda-like, like saying "zurple" and giggling into the boxed wine. He's thankful.]

A prize...?

[He taps his cheap ballpoint pen, the only kind he can afford, and Considers this humble suggestion. It's true, he's a luxury etc, etc, but is it gauche to call oneself a prize in a literal auction? It might be.

But for Hilda he will jot it down in the corner anyway, and then take a long, long sip of wine.]

Noted! We'll circle back to the issue of rhyming later.

[Please appreciate the herculean task that is practicing self-restraint! This is all in the name of Golden Deer Friendship, which is also why she decides to circle back to the rhyming bit right the hell now.]

Why wouldn't you want it to rhyme? You need a poem that people remember.

[And people are more likely to remember short, snappy poems with cute rhymes. Hilda knows this because Hilda knows people, so.]

I know how... creative you are, [she begins, going for the tried and true approach,] but you can't make it too complex. Not everyone will grasp the meaning! I know I wouldn't.

[She is but a simple Hilda... woe...]

[His verse... is an art!!! Well-honed, finely crafted art!!!]

I suppose it would be more efficient to write something short. Alright! While I would ordinarily never show this level of incomplete work to someone, please let me know what you think!

[He holds the notebook up, turning it around so she can see. He has written his name with an unnecessary amount of flourish and doodle decoration. In the corner, it says "prize". The word purple is in another corner.]

[Please know that Lorenz holds up his notebook and Hilda promptly bites the inside of her cheek. Hard. All of that space! That incredibly dramatic L!]

Oh, wow! [Softly, with Feeling:] Wow. Lorenz...

[No, no. She needs an extra second, hence the sip (re: quick gulp) of rosé she takes as she ensures her giggles are tamped the fuck down. This is endearing, actually? Further proof that Lorenz is just like everyone else.]

I've always wondered how you come up with such great ideas, and now I understand. Your mind is so— [EMPTY] —f-free.

[She did not softly snort into her wine glass there. No, sir.]

[Ah... Not even three glasses of boxed wine can stop her absolute mirth over his incomplete poem from reaching him. This is why he doesn't show anyone his poetry!! This right here!

He has enough pride left to sniff smugly as he looks down at his poem again and the telltale blush of wine and shame creeps up from his neck. So regrettable, everyone is a critic...]

It is— a process. It takes longer than an afternoon to come up with something truly poetic, you know.

[That said, oho, listen to this great new idea:] Why don't you write your own? We'll make a friendly competition out of it.

🌹🌹🌹

action; sometime before the charity auction, idk, we are here for bad poetry

aren't we always

bad poetry is indeed one cornerstone of our brand

i think it's at least 2 cornerstones

still waiting on the bee poem tbh

je refuse bee poem!!

you can't escape your destiny!!!

i can buzz right out of it actually

well, i choose to bee-lieve in you

i am bee-leaving this thread