I'm in the birthplace of the Bard for work this weekend, so whilst the last two Thank You posts have taken place on a bus and in the aftermath of washing a cat, this one has slightly more class and culture.
I'm not here to pause and peruse the sights, I'm only here to get paid, but come along with me on a really rudimentary tour of Stratford upon Avon.
Here we see the Royal Shakespeare Theatre, home of the RSC, eclipsed by the feline perfection of this card from u/snailmailmom. Wise words from Buddha adorn the back of it. Shakespeare may not have been too familiar with Buddha, but I'm sure he would agree with the sentiment:
'You yourself, as much as anybody in the entire universe, deserves your love and affection'
I don't know about you, but I kinda needed to hear that.
We cross a bridge, looking up the river Avon. The famous river actually goes all the way to Bristol, but has become culturely interlinked with this one small town. The swans have become far too bold, and far too fat and tourists have themselves to blame and this is why we can't have nice things.
In the foreground we see this 'mellifluous' card from u/dirtytightsdelano. Well, more specifically her friend Alice. Alice has performed at the Royal Albert Hall twice which makes her several times more talented than most of us. She sent me a lovely, graceful, positive card - the card I sent to her before I received it was quite sweary and talked about animal attacks on people so I don't think I came off well in that exchange...
Whilst Lady Macbeth appears tortured as she desperately scrubs away her blood spattered hallucinations, this chic lass isn't bothered by a care in the world. Yous listen to me here, u/fromkady has the most alarmingly perfect handwriting, it is actually immaculate. She has offered me Filipino recipes to spite the memory of my ex's overly critical Filapina mother and, girrrrl, I'm all over that and would love it!
PS. She thinks I'm funny so she's my favourite person right now.
Falstaff has taken the same stance as the presumably useless, lazy and layabout lads on this card from u/5-finger-death-punch. I make assumptions on their character as this exchange was a mutual moaning of our frustrations with the opposite sex and their complete inability to just be normal and communicate normally like normal people (i.e. us). Stickers, washi and colour decor
... keep reading on reddit ➡
>Dawn of the 24th Day of the Sixth Moon of 407AC
It was dawn upon the third day. And Alaric rose from his bed with a purpose.
Gone was the wine, the food, the splendor. The trappings of wealth and of luxury. The tournament was ended, and with it the festive air. They were men, now. Mortal men.
The air was still chill despite summer having ostensibly come, and as the Arryn stood and stretched in the dim morning light his breath steamed with every huff. Taut muscle worked beneath his skin, roiling as he moved this way and that. Stretching, he found, kept him limber and ready. Ready for what was to come. That was the marvelous thing about the future, about destiny -- it advanced whether you prepared for it or not.
Only when he was done did the Lord of the Eyrie don his clothing, breeches and tunic followed thereafter by heavy boots and a a jerkin. He did not bother fastening it up the front, content to allow a little laxity in his dress. Slowly he donned his silver necklace, pressing its polished face against his lips. The crescent was chill to the touch, but warmed swiftly in his hand.
With that, he was ready. Two men stood watch outside his door, and with a nod he passed them, not needing to look to know they had fallen in step behind him. The trio near filled the corridor, Alaric leading the way down towards the castle kitchens - but he did not enter, instead sweeping past and out into the courtyard.
"Morwyn, fetch my horse."
The man nodded, departing at once to do as commanded, whilst Alaric breathed deeply and sighed. It was minutes before Morwyn returned, leading the tall black stallion the Arryn had named Griffon. With a word of thanks, he mounted - and was off.
Heavy hooves upon cobblestones would have woken the dead from their graves had any been near enough the castle gates to hear it. Alaric burst through the entrance and tore ground towards the camps, reveling in the speed and chaos of his advance. More than one commoner and servant had to throw themselves this way or that, just to escape the forceful charge of the Arryn's huffing mount. Griffon seemed a wild thing, tall and haughty, built solidly enough to carry his large master in full armour. Without such weight to tame him, he seemed almost buoyant, and so full of energy he tossed his head with every stride.
The fields outside Harrenhal slipped away at increasing speeds, though the tent city that had cropped up around it grew larger and larger. Alaric rode past Westermen an
... keep reading on reddit ➡
