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Words In This Update - 2089
Total Words So Far - 8300
At least I can safely say that the trip to the tavern yesterday topped off a painful event nicely. There's nothing quite like having a bunch of muscled tough guys judging you silently with their meatheaded little eyes as you sit up beside them and order the most tame, non-alcoholic thing possible on the menu. Their faces at me when I chugged it down and moaned and groaned about my day as one would while swilling ale, goggles lopsided, the blood from Lock's clipped tail decorating my platecoat nicely. I even tried to start a fistfight, claiming I could take any of these bastards and their mothers down, but they didn't take me seriously. Just as well, I already spent a long time washing the splatter off my armor as is, I didn't need more gunking me up, especially not with the baths being available for another day. The smell would have been terrible and offensive and possibly have knocked that Jonesy guy's monocle off into the Heavens. Because come on, I highly doubt that nobody would be able to smell it from any place in the bazaar, nor would their mustaches be grand enough to block it from their nose. That and that Tequila Morning tart probably would have gotten off to my stench.
As the sun rose, I got up and picked a scale that lodged itself in my ear from Lock's tail and polished it up. No idea how I didn't feel that until now; hope she didn't give me brain damage bashing my head in the other day. It'll make a nice necklace though. I got out a bit of rope and my new screwdriver, popping a hole in it and threading it through, wrapping it around my neck where it draped nicely just past my collarbones. Very stylish, and the brick red goes well with all the brown and gold I've got on. Dare I say I might even be classy? Not as classy as The Marshal at least. I picked him up, my sweet, sweet blackpowder soul brother, and got him on my back. Today I'd finish my shopping. Oh, don't get my wrong, I got everything off my list after I went to the tavern for late lunch, hauling it back into my own wagon and threatening Lock with a freshly made battery, saying I'd clamp it to her fat, gross lizard tits if she didn't sing for me. By the way, I wish I hadn't asked her to, it was awful. Probably even worse than the bards, if such a thing were even a thing that could be done. All she'd need is a damned mandolin and she'd be everything I hate. I can only pray to Our Lady that flamechoking bards are not a thing that exists because if I die and go to the Embers below, that will be my punishment for all my sins for the rest of my forever. The only sin I'm guilty of anyways is being a smartypants.
Anyways, I had made a new list, as I still was in possession of many a ducat, and a problem had presented itself that needed remedying. I couldn't keep Lock blocked up in my engine chains forever, she'd have to give them back up eventually. But that would mean she'd be free, and we can't have that! I'd need legit restraints and disciplining implements and a sweet muzzle for her stupid face. Maybe some spark plugs. I bet that hooker from the other day would know where I could get all these. At least she could make herself useful.
I headed into town, a skip in my step, a song in my heart. Except for the part where no singing happens, ever, so it was just me actually thinking of the sweet hum of a fan belt flapping around. Now that's a tune I could snap my fingers to and dance with. Maybe I'll just have someone rev a steam engine over and over for my first dance if I ever get married. That sounds pretty nice, get it because noises and music. Shut up, I'm funny, just because it's the future and I'm dead doesn't mean I can't tell you're laughing! A genius is never understood, even when it's not her time.
So I go in and slip my way back to the melon stall, only to find Tequila Morning in all her morning glory sprawled out naked under the tree next to the rock melon box and scratching herself in places not appropriate for minors with her tail. This bazaar is bizarre at best. I walk over and prod her with the butt of The Marshal and glare as menacingly as I can, goggles on to make me look bug-eyed. She slowly comes back to the realm of the living, wiping a pile of drool off her face, offering me a bit of the mitter berries she had in hand. No wonder she was out in public like this. Well, that and being a damned tart. Though the berries explain why she was showing the world a free sample of what they'd go to bed with. I can't believe Lock got to screw something like that; I thought a succubus would at least have enough standards not to let her touch her like that. Yeesh.
For those that don't know, have never been around kids looking to party and act cool, or maybe the plant is extinct in your future happy land, mitter berries are a pain relieving fruit that has side effects of hunger, relaxation, puffy eyes, makes you want to hump things but are simultaneously too lazy to, a tendency to nap for a long time, and rambling even more incoherently than I do. They do get rid of what ails you, but they're a popular party snack for obvious reasons. I hear they're good in cakes and whatnot. Not like I've eaten it. Or anything. I swear I'm crazy naturally; they don't even really make that good a juice for me to drink. Chances are the only pain this girl feels is in the butt or when her wallet isn't full enough, so I'm going to go ahead and say she's just looking for an excuse to try to get customers out of their clothing easier. Bribes. Gross.
I tell her to put some damn clothes on, harlot, and help me get what I need. I know you can purchase the restraints and such at any slave market, and a bazaar has got to have one around somewhere. “I knew I pegged you for a---” is this a running joke or something in my life now? Can it. I raise my hammer over my head dramatically and hope it threatens her well enough, but I think she's still way too high to care, putting her top on backwards and leading me without her pants on back to Jonesy's market. There's a loose floorboard, revealing a staircase down into a dungeon. Small torches light the way, and girls and guys in various levels of dress of all races line the walls behind cages, leering at me. We stop at the end of the hall, where a woman is standing, looking delighted as she sees I have a coin purse on me. Don't think I can't tell where your cold blue eyes are staring, woman. She puts her clawed hands on the desk before her, grinning wider, fangs and a forked tongue showing. A long, regal purple tail slithers out and tickles me as its owner hisses in delight. A lamia. Didn't think I'd see one all the way out here. I thought they were more confined to the jungles. Makes sense, though, given how they usually act. Tequila Morning addresses her by her name. “Hey, Mistress Anna, there's a customer here for you. She wants some good leather. Probably for her dragon fucktoy she's got tied up in a wagon nearby.”
Fuck, the last thing I need is for others to think we're a couple. I'd rather mold myself a chastity belt and eat the key before even thinking of it. I just set my bag down and try my best to haggle while flustered, ears drooping, demanding a muzzle and cuffs strong enough to detain a dragonkin. Maybe a whip of some kind too. You never know when she'll act up. Snakey Anna or whatever just tickles my ears and grins again, emptying the coins onto the desk and demanding Tequila sober her ass up and get me what I asked for. A few coins are slid back into the bag and put back on my belt by Anna's tail, telling me I got a discount for what is obviously my first time conditioning a love slave. Oh, fuck me, and not in that way. I take my sack, with a muzzle, a crop, and two pairs of reinforced cuffs, one for the ankles and one for her wrists. All of it slightly enchanted with a light immobilizing spell. That at least is almost enough to make up for their teasing. They probably saw my being an elf stops me from casting magic on my own, pitying me. Whatever. A freebie is a freebie.
I haul ass back to my wagon before anyone can see me, clamoring on board and glaring right into Lock's beady eyes. “Oh, a treat for Lock? Why, you shouldn't have, long-ear!” she then slurps my face. Gah, that bath better be open tonight, or I'm probably going to die of cooties before then. Shut up, they too exist, I'm sure by now you've discovered my paper that's proven it. I take the cuffs out and swap my chain for them, seeing the spell activate and make her bonds glow a bit, locking her in place more than my chains ever could. I take my new crop out and whap her mouth a bit like one would one of the wolves if it wasn't acting right. “Oh, it is a treat! Why, Lock didn't know you cared, shortstuff!” she grins again.
Okay. I've had about enough out of her. I dig into a bag I bought yesterday and into my scrap heap, pulling out some potatoes, spark plugs, coils, a buzzer, and plenty of wires, grinning as I set it all up and form a primitive but working ignition system. I tell Lock to say her prayers, and she just laughs as I set the wires up around her horns and get it going. I hope you like a bunch of volts dancing through your ugly body, Lockblocker!
Except for the part where it's not strong enough to work. It beeps and buzzes a bit, sending maybe one whole spark through her horns and making her cackle. “What a weak display, half-pint! At this rate, you'll out-fly me in another thousand years, if even that!” Oh, shut up, will you? She chokes out some flames and cooks the potato right before I shove the muzzle on her. The immobilizing spell on it helps shut her up, but the look on her face is as smug as ever. At least I can work safely now. Poor potato, though, rest in piece, by which I mean my stomach.
We leave tomorrow, so I begin to pack up my things and get ready to have the first long, hot bath in ages, it finally having been cleaned up enough for us visitors to use. Gods know I could use it. Because of the delay, we get it for free, a nice gesture they'd soon learn to rue as I proceed to wash ancient, caked filth off my person and leave them with a costly cleanup. Too bad I can't share this with The Marshal, he could use a cleaning too, but men and women cannot bathe together. A tragedy, really. Oh well, he understands, at least, even if nobody else present or in the future does. Not even the dune cats I like so much would get anywhere near this bath, so their loss, really. More for me, at least.
I'm going to sleep good tonight, I can tell. I can only pray to Our Lady that private succubus hairs, mitter berries, and snake women don't haunt my dreams. Knowing my luck, they will.
-Basira Nejem
Dated fourth day of the third week of spring in the year 367 in which I commemorate my first and last trip to a slave store by pretending it never happened, as will you
Total Words So Far - 8300
At least I can safely say that the trip to the tavern yesterday topped off a painful event nicely. There's nothing quite like having a bunch of muscled tough guys judging you silently with their meatheaded little eyes as you sit up beside them and order the most tame, non-alcoholic thing possible on the menu. Their faces at me when I chugged it down and moaned and groaned about my day as one would while swilling ale, goggles lopsided, the blood from Lock's clipped tail decorating my platecoat nicely. I even tried to start a fistfight, claiming I could take any of these bastards and their mothers down, but they didn't take me seriously. Just as well, I already spent a long time washing the splatter off my armor as is, I didn't need more gunking me up, especially not with the baths being available for another day. The smell would have been terrible and offensive and possibly have knocked that Jonesy guy's monocle off into the Heavens. Because come on, I highly doubt that nobody would be able to smell it from any place in the bazaar, nor would their mustaches be grand enough to block it from their nose. That and that Tequila Morning tart probably would have gotten off to my stench.
As the sun rose, I got up and picked a scale that lodged itself in my ear from Lock's tail and polished it up. No idea how I didn't feel that until now; hope she didn't give me brain damage bashing my head in the other day. It'll make a nice necklace though. I got out a bit of rope and my new screwdriver, popping a hole in it and threading it through, wrapping it around my neck where it draped nicely just past my collarbones. Very stylish, and the brick red goes well with all the brown and gold I've got on. Dare I say I might even be classy? Not as classy as The Marshal at least. I picked him up, my sweet, sweet blackpowder soul brother, and got him on my back. Today I'd finish my shopping. Oh, don't get my wrong, I got everything off my list after I went to the tavern for late lunch, hauling it back into my own wagon and threatening Lock with a freshly made battery, saying I'd clamp it to her fat, gross lizard tits if she didn't sing for me. By the way, I wish I hadn't asked her to, it was awful. Probably even worse than the bards, if such a thing were even a thing that could be done. All she'd need is a damned mandolin and she'd be everything I hate. I can only pray to Our Lady that flamechoking bards are not a thing that exists because if I die and go to the Embers below, that will be my punishment for all my sins for the rest of my forever. The only sin I'm guilty of anyways is being a smartypants.
Anyways, I had made a new list, as I still was in possession of many a ducat, and a problem had presented itself that needed remedying. I couldn't keep Lock blocked up in my engine chains forever, she'd have to give them back up eventually. But that would mean she'd be free, and we can't have that! I'd need legit restraints and disciplining implements and a sweet muzzle for her stupid face. Maybe some spark plugs. I bet that hooker from the other day would know where I could get all these. At least she could make herself useful.
I headed into town, a skip in my step, a song in my heart. Except for the part where no singing happens, ever, so it was just me actually thinking of the sweet hum of a fan belt flapping around. Now that's a tune I could snap my fingers to and dance with. Maybe I'll just have someone rev a steam engine over and over for my first dance if I ever get married. That sounds pretty nice, get it because noises and music. Shut up, I'm funny, just because it's the future and I'm dead doesn't mean I can't tell you're laughing! A genius is never understood, even when it's not her time.
So I go in and slip my way back to the melon stall, only to find Tequila Morning in all her morning glory sprawled out naked under the tree next to the rock melon box and scratching herself in places not appropriate for minors with her tail. This bazaar is bizarre at best. I walk over and prod her with the butt of The Marshal and glare as menacingly as I can, goggles on to make me look bug-eyed. She slowly comes back to the realm of the living, wiping a pile of drool off her face, offering me a bit of the mitter berries she had in hand. No wonder she was out in public like this. Well, that and being a damned tart. Though the berries explain why she was showing the world a free sample of what they'd go to bed with. I can't believe Lock got to screw something like that; I thought a succubus would at least have enough standards not to let her touch her like that. Yeesh.
For those that don't know, have never been around kids looking to party and act cool, or maybe the plant is extinct in your future happy land, mitter berries are a pain relieving fruit that has side effects of hunger, relaxation, puffy eyes, makes you want to hump things but are simultaneously too lazy to, a tendency to nap for a long time, and rambling even more incoherently than I do. They do get rid of what ails you, but they're a popular party snack for obvious reasons. I hear they're good in cakes and whatnot. Not like I've eaten it. Or anything. I swear I'm crazy naturally; they don't even really make that good a juice for me to drink. Chances are the only pain this girl feels is in the butt or when her wallet isn't full enough, so I'm going to go ahead and say she's just looking for an excuse to try to get customers out of their clothing easier. Bribes. Gross.
I tell her to put some damn clothes on, harlot, and help me get what I need. I know you can purchase the restraints and such at any slave market, and a bazaar has got to have one around somewhere. “I knew I pegged you for a---” is this a running joke or something in my life now? Can it. I raise my hammer over my head dramatically and hope it threatens her well enough, but I think she's still way too high to care, putting her top on backwards and leading me without her pants on back to Jonesy's market. There's a loose floorboard, revealing a staircase down into a dungeon. Small torches light the way, and girls and guys in various levels of dress of all races line the walls behind cages, leering at me. We stop at the end of the hall, where a woman is standing, looking delighted as she sees I have a coin purse on me. Don't think I can't tell where your cold blue eyes are staring, woman. She puts her clawed hands on the desk before her, grinning wider, fangs and a forked tongue showing. A long, regal purple tail slithers out and tickles me as its owner hisses in delight. A lamia. Didn't think I'd see one all the way out here. I thought they were more confined to the jungles. Makes sense, though, given how they usually act. Tequila Morning addresses her by her name. “Hey, Mistress Anna, there's a customer here for you. She wants some good leather. Probably for her dragon fucktoy she's got tied up in a wagon nearby.”
Fuck, the last thing I need is for others to think we're a couple. I'd rather mold myself a chastity belt and eat the key before even thinking of it. I just set my bag down and try my best to haggle while flustered, ears drooping, demanding a muzzle and cuffs strong enough to detain a dragonkin. Maybe a whip of some kind too. You never know when she'll act up. Snakey Anna or whatever just tickles my ears and grins again, emptying the coins onto the desk and demanding Tequila sober her ass up and get me what I asked for. A few coins are slid back into the bag and put back on my belt by Anna's tail, telling me I got a discount for what is obviously my first time conditioning a love slave. Oh, fuck me, and not in that way. I take my sack, with a muzzle, a crop, and two pairs of reinforced cuffs, one for the ankles and one for her wrists. All of it slightly enchanted with a light immobilizing spell. That at least is almost enough to make up for their teasing. They probably saw my being an elf stops me from casting magic on my own, pitying me. Whatever. A freebie is a freebie.
I haul ass back to my wagon before anyone can see me, clamoring on board and glaring right into Lock's beady eyes. “Oh, a treat for Lock? Why, you shouldn't have, long-ear!” she then slurps my face. Gah, that bath better be open tonight, or I'm probably going to die of cooties before then. Shut up, they too exist, I'm sure by now you've discovered my paper that's proven it. I take the cuffs out and swap my chain for them, seeing the spell activate and make her bonds glow a bit, locking her in place more than my chains ever could. I take my new crop out and whap her mouth a bit like one would one of the wolves if it wasn't acting right. “Oh, it is a treat! Why, Lock didn't know you cared, shortstuff!” she grins again.
Okay. I've had about enough out of her. I dig into a bag I bought yesterday and into my scrap heap, pulling out some potatoes, spark plugs, coils, a buzzer, and plenty of wires, grinning as I set it all up and form a primitive but working ignition system. I tell Lock to say her prayers, and she just laughs as I set the wires up around her horns and get it going. I hope you like a bunch of volts dancing through your ugly body, Lockblocker!
Except for the part where it's not strong enough to work. It beeps and buzzes a bit, sending maybe one whole spark through her horns and making her cackle. “What a weak display, half-pint! At this rate, you'll out-fly me in another thousand years, if even that!” Oh, shut up, will you? She chokes out some flames and cooks the potato right before I shove the muzzle on her. The immobilizing spell on it helps shut her up, but the look on her face is as smug as ever. At least I can work safely now. Poor potato, though, rest in piece, by which I mean my stomach.
We leave tomorrow, so I begin to pack up my things and get ready to have the first long, hot bath in ages, it finally having been cleaned up enough for us visitors to use. Gods know I could use it. Because of the delay, we get it for free, a nice gesture they'd soon learn to rue as I proceed to wash ancient, caked filth off my person and leave them with a costly cleanup. Too bad I can't share this with The Marshal, he could use a cleaning too, but men and women cannot bathe together. A tragedy, really. Oh well, he understands, at least, even if nobody else present or in the future does. Not even the dune cats I like so much would get anywhere near this bath, so their loss, really. More for me, at least.
I'm going to sleep good tonight, I can tell. I can only pray to Our Lady that private succubus hairs, mitter berries, and snake women don't haunt my dreams. Knowing my luck, they will.
-Basira Nejem
Dated fourth day of the third week of spring in the year 367 in which I commemorate my first and last trip to a slave store by pretending it never happened, as will you
