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[To travel is to live, Andersen once wrote, and he still abides by that maxim. There's always been a yearning in his blood, to leave the confines of home and walk the world with his own two feet. His wanderlust rarely draws company, given how expensive and far his excursions take him. Understandable, if disappointing. But he's been blessed in recent years by Dantes' presence, steadfast and ever-present as a rock. No matter what far-flung destination Andersen sets his heart upon — no matter what demands he imposes on him — Dantes comes.
(he's been thinking, lately, of how dantes never protests these long trips away from his wife. those are thoughts he shouldn't nourish, but he thinks them nonetheless.)
Italy has always been a second home to Andersen, and he finds them a pleasant hotel with a good reputation after much scrounging and hand wringing over expenses. But when it comes to the wine, he's a little looser with his wallet. What can he say? He has his vices like any other man.
Andersen pours a glass for Dantes, hands it to him by the stem.]
You're paying next time, I'll have you know.
[Crotchety as always.]
(he's been thinking, lately, of how dantes never protests these long trips away from his wife. those are thoughts he shouldn't nourish, but he thinks them nonetheless.)
Italy has always been a second home to Andersen, and he finds them a pleasant hotel with a good reputation after much scrounging and hand wringing over expenses. But when it comes to the wine, he's a little looser with his wallet. What can he say? He has his vices like any other man.
Andersen pours a glass for Dantes, hands it to him by the stem.]
You're paying next time, I'll have you know.
[Crotchety as always.]
