[17b Acorn: And what are those numbers and letters over there? Minos: Let this, then, be our invocation of the Gods, to which I add an exhortation of myself to speak in such manner as will be most intelligible to you, and will most accord with my own intent. Acorn: Wait. I know what’s happening. Betancourt: A good and fair invocation. Now it must fall upon Dirk to begin the reading of the sins, while Minos and I listen attentively and comment on occasion as we see fit. Minos: Excellent, Jeanne; and we will do precisely as you bid us. The prelude is charming, and is already accepted by us — may we beg of you to proceed the strain? Acorn: I’m not going to play along. We’re not making this into a Platonic dialogue. Dirk: I certainly shall, Minos. Despite the fact that some of those gathered here are making things harder than they need to be. Acorn: No. Fuck you. I refuse. The pony defiantly kicked his name off the page with his powerful hooves. “That’s better.” Betancourt: Acorn, please, don’t make this into a whole thing. “Fuck you,” Acorn said, after he kicked another “Acorn:” into the abyss. “Fuck you fuck you fuck you and the symposium you rode in on.” Dirk: You’re not really in any position to argue with us, Acorn. We’re doing this. It’s happening. 17c “How far up your own ass do— hold on, I need to take care of this too.” He kicked the 17c into the growing pile. “Lousy goddamn Stephanus pagination.” Betancourt: Can’t you just humor him on this one, Acorn? That’s kind of how we arbiters do this thing. I mean, if it were up to me, we might try… Dirk: Oh, come on, Betancourt! It’s tradition! Minos: It’s formal. I like it. Betancourt: Of course you’d like it, you get to be Socrates. Come on, you two, we’ll talk about this later. “I’m not going to go through with this needlessly complicated and pretentious dialogue bullshit just so this glasses-wearing fucker can get his rocks off. Besides, this asshole—” Acorn derisively tossed his head in the direction of Minos “—already roped me into two pages of terza rima. Betancourt: Oh no. Was— “Hang on, let me get that for you,” Acorn said, and then sent yet another prefix into the bottom margin with his powerful hooves. “Thanks. Was it metered?” Betancourt asked. “Iambic pentameter.” “At least he didn’t insist on hendecasyllables,” Betancourt said, crinkling her nose in repulsion at the thought of those particularly odious feet. (“That’s a good pun,” Dirk whispered to nobody.) Minos: All right, fine, we can— Acorn cocked one of his back hooves “Minos:”-ward threateningly. “Fine!” Minos huffed. “There. No more dialogue. Happy?” Acorn: Very. “You don’t have to be an asshole about it, Acorn,” Jeanne Betancourt said.] https://i.imgur.com/AoY2EkW.png #DetectivePony
