![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Words In This Update - 3074
Total Words So Far - 28580
I was told I'd need to bathe and get the stench of all the blood and ore off of me before I could attend any meeting with the elder today. Her wagon has always been the biggest and fanciest, so if I got dirt in it at all, I'd know I'd be tracking in trouble as well as uncleanliness. I lay my head back against the pillow brought in by what I now know to be Kattu's apprentice, which was shaped like a brown bit of pigsteak and smothered in an odd, pink slip for decoration. It resembled a diseased berry pastry of some kind. What she was thinking owning something that horrendously ugly I'll never know. She appeared before me, short and young, messy hair in front of her face, two black and braided pigtails jutting out on each side, a soft, relaxed smile on her face. I felt her petting at my face with her palm flat, as if fluffing a pillow of some kind.
“Wakey wakey! Ayem da alarm clock!” she said, sounding groggy but content. Ayem? Was that her name or something? No, it just turned out to be how she said I am. She insisted on being transcribed this way for 'historical accuracy' though if you all want accuracy, I'd have instead wrote down every word she said as 'horf' or some such. Kid's a spacey brat, and of no importance, but threatened me with her collection of odd pillows and paper surgical gowns if I didn't comply with this one request. I just pried my one eye open and blinked at her, seeing her polish a gallstone with my rag from my pouch. Hey, just because I'd forgotten it a while doesn't mean she could freely use it! But I was still too weak and rubbery to reclaim it, watching her buff it with her breath and squeak it as it pressed against her small bosom, pretending she was some hot shot jewel appraiser or something.
“Ayem gonna clean ya up!” she said in her assured, sleepy tone, rolling me off the bed and into a wheelbarrow lined with warm towels. “Ayem gonna prep you!” There went the petting again, bringing me around back of the wagon circle and pulling out a large, metal tub filled with water, placed up on a rack with a strong fire roaring under it. The sun was still rising, so most were asleep and wouldn't see me. “Ayem da nurse! Cough for me!” she commanded as I helped her get me out of my clothes, coughing and burbling weakly, drool sputtering down my face. “Wow, that's attractive. No wonder the dragons wanna do ya. You're da hottest!”
I'm too tired for that shit, so I don't even comment. She does prove she's surprisingly strong though, lifting me up with no problem despite being what looks like a foot or so smaller than me, and dumping me in the tub with no issue. As she does this, a happy tune hums form her lips, ears flicking as she gets a washcloth out and pats my face slowly and oddly again. Finally, I get the nerve up to ask her who she thinks she is. You think I would have done this before she stripped me, but you'd be wrong. Drugs are a hell of a drug and it wasn't until she started washing and rinsing my hair that I realized quite what was going on.
“Ayem da doctor's apprentice! My name is Icilina, but she just calls me Whippersnapper. Funny, I don't remember my mama ever calling me that! I don't think I look like a whip! Maybe my pretty hair does, but that's not for fighting, that's for being so adorable people are more inclined to buy our medicine. Maybe bat my cute eyes a bit.” She says, giggling a bit. Her bangs are so thick I can't even tell if her eyes are open or not, or even there, let alone blinking or something. “Say, you wouldn't happen to want to fork all your ducats over as a tip for me helping ya, would ya? Ayem da cutest!”
I just bleh and manage to avoid drooling on my own tits some more. “Is that a no?” You're damn right it's a no, kid, go earn money the way all kids do. By stealing a twenty ducat piece from mom's wallet to support your candy habit or by preying on those lower in the playground hierarchy. Kids these days have no work ethic, and I hope that's something that's changed for the better by your time. This cutesy crap will get you a boot to the butt at most from me. Here's a tip: Don't rot my teeth out being a beggar. Also, take a shower, you damn hippie. And get a haircut.
Slowly, she begins to unravel my bandages around my right eye socket. “Hold still, would ya?” I feel her hand take some cream and smear it on my face, in particular around my eyelids and such. It's warm and numbing, making my lids open without trouble. “Pap pap. Now you look like a frosted pastry. Maybe I should eat ya for breakfast.” This was followed up by a hissing laughter I thought only possible by lamia. She poured a tiny bit of some bubbling solution inside my eye and swished it around, cleaning it completely and making sure it was prepped for what she was about to do. “Okay, say ahhh, open wide! Wait, that's for food. Oh well, do it anyways.”
Something cold and hard went into my socket. It was actually rather snugly fit and kept its place pretty well. Icilina's fingers massages my face and forehead, particularly around my nose and under my eyes, getting everywhere I see and breathe with, relaxing me. A hot, dry towel came to my face and dried me off, making sure to get my hair as well. A roll of fresh bandages came out and she re-did them, a small bit of black fabric being stretched over the bandages and keeping my eye in place under it, patting me slowly on the nose again. I wonder if she was mistaking me for a dune cat. “Now, it might feel like you got a rock in there a while. It's because you got a rock in you. Aye went ahead and polished up a gallstone as you slept and made you a new eye with it! It won't do anything special. But it looks pretty cool! You could probably trick people into thinking you were a roguish pirate now, bullying them into giving you your ducats. Of course, you'll give me a cut for this brilliant idea, right, savvy?” she mumbled as she handed me a mirror.
An eye patch. She was right. I do look handsome. But what good were devilish looks going to do me when all I wanted was to sit around and fiddle with that engine I found? After talking to the elder, of course. I don't think charisma is a fuel source, but if it was, you can bet I'd never have to run out of it again. “Ya can keep da patch when you get da bandages off. Give it a day or two before ya can, and I assure ya, everyone will have adjusted to your amazing new look by then!” A bunch of hot water got dumped on me right before I got pulled out, being pat dry with more hot towels and being given a fresh set of clothing. My cape was here too, mended and cleaned, and The Marshal was with it, looking completely serviced. Wasn't I going to take care of that? “Ya can thank me later. Boss Kattu said if I didn't help, she'd make me eat my own braids.” This is when I notice The Marshal has a pink ribbon tied around the butt. “That's just my own personal touch. Ayem the most gun smithing!”
Okay brat. Get out of my sight. Your record in history is done. I hope everyone in the future is mocking you right now. I got dressed and watched her hop in the tub afterward, still dressed, singing merrily, splashing around and rubbing her ears like one of the dune cats. Makes me wonder how much of that prick plant she ingested this morning, because if I remember right, Kattu said it was her plant she was toying with. Those two were definitely made for each other. If the whole Stormlock tribe isn't wiped out someday by their own machinations, I will honestly be quite surprised. Though probably only the bards are stupid enough to fall for being their test subjects. Then again, I'm pretty sure that would be considered a day of celebration, not one of mourning. I know I'd try to get it instated as a tribe holiday. They'd probably not like me trying to very much, but I can guarantee I'd write down every detail of my own personal celebration and seeing if any of you future scholars turn it into an official party or something. I know the lot of you are always looking for an excuse to get drunk. It's the least you could do in my name.
I went over to where Lock was, standing outside Kattu's wagon, and nudging her awake. The least I could do, disgusting winged handbag or not, is offer to have breakfast with her as thanks for saving me. That, and I don't want the elder digging into me for mistreating her right now, nor do I want my rumbling stomach to interrupt me while discussing things with her. Pigsteak and hawk legs, with extra Razan wolf pepper sauce and citrus juice, with a bit of sand garlic and black dirt pepper added. Fresh squeezed melon juice to drink. I sit over a campfire diligently making a huge batch, enough to keep Lock plied and too fat to move, and offer her the first share. There's a delight in her eyes then that came off as entirely odd to me. This wasn't a look of selfishness or entitlement to her, as I thought all of her kind had, but a look of genuine hunger and thanks.
It hit me. Hard. I swallow my first bite quietly. There was not a hint of untruth to that expression. She was really that hungry and that grateful to be fed something of substance. It's why all our other shared meals were eaten so willingly. Why she even ate what was knowingly drugged. Every shard of pyrite or whatnot lapped up and enjoyed fully. She mentioned that this was better than being with her family. Even as stupid and ugly as a lot of the Stormlock tribe is, betraying them is just something I couldn't do. I couldn't sell out. No matter how tempting. But Lock did it without any hesitation or regret, all for a hot meal and some validation. The smile she had as sauce ran down her chin was the most genuine smile I'd seen in ages.
This woman. For the first time in my entire life, a certain thought passed through my head.
The lizard standing before me was not my enemy.
Chances are, when she attacked us the other day, it was for food. For survival. She's like any one of us, just looking for easy days and maybe a bit of adventure. Always a full belly, maybe someone to warm her bed for her. To be honest, I don't know very much about the dragonkin tribe. Just that they, like the lamias and harpies, are offshoots of the beastpeople tribe that roam our lands. I just knew they attacked us now and again, stole a lot of our tech, and ate our food. Some people have died in their raids. Not many I knew well. I just had assumed that they were nasty elfhaters given our relations in the past and how tense it was whenever one came near. There had to be a reason for it, right? But what if they were just trying to make do, with their own internal struggles? What if their own tribe mistreated them or was especially harsh to those growing up? What if, by her actions eating this up so hastily, that starvation was a common punishment tool?
What if I'd been wrong? It hurt a lot to think that this could be true. That my arrogance and goals and whatnot could just be further hurting someone. It's a scary thing to realize.
My next bite went down like a rock. Lock actually asked me if I was okay. I said I was, just still medicated and getting used to the eye I was given, and excused myself to go take a piss.
What I was actually doing was crying. There was still so much hate and bile raging up in my stomach. She attacked me. I wanted to continue rationalizing my hatred against her, pushing her away and making her my stupid pet or slave worker. Watch her beg for scraps on the ground. But that smile of hers was just something I could no longer work towards taking. Maybe other dragonkin still, yes, if they did attack again. But not Lock. My heart felt like it was going to burst as I stifled my bawling, choking on myself and puking silently behind a bush, just laying there and feeling where my right eye used to be sting and well up already. They took my eye. They almost took my tribe. They almost took my dream. So why the fuck couldn't I fight back against that disgusting hornshitter sitting at my camp? Why was I the only one still showing animosity towards her? And why did I no longer want to?
Because she smiled. I hate to joke about this now, but I hadn't pegged me for the type to actually give a shit about someone who's head I still wanted mounted on the front of my plane engine not a day prior to all this. Feelings are stupid. This is the kind of tender bullshit that bards sing about, and no doubt if they're reading this in the future, they're already making ballads about. Fuck you all, I hope your eardrums burst on your own iambic pentameter. Maybe you all can stop singing about broken hearts when you stop causing them yourselves. You don't know shit about mom.
I wiped my face on my cape and tried my best to make myself look presentable as I walked back, head pointing up towards the sky, thinking about why Laeshann brought me back. I was given a second chance, if I even was close to dying to begin with, because that seems unlikely now, and here I was, wasting it on more pain. Sorry, Our Lady. I don't mean to squander my gift already. I'll fly. I'll fly yet. And I'll get my revenge. I'll see myself soar. Just stop making me so confused and headachey. The last thing I need is to hesitate like this when I go out to kill them all. If I even can now. It's kind of hard to plan genocide against your enemy when the first thing you see upon returning to camp is one of them smiling at you, wondering if your stomach was okay, thinking I may have done myself in on the Razan wolf pepper sauce. That stupid, genuine smile, as warm as the winds that dance across the sands. I bit my lower lip and forced a smile back, nodding and admitting what a fool I was to try to make my breath as fiery as her own, choking up a harsh, raspy laugh.
I took a seat next to her and offered her the rest of my share. There was no way I could bring myself to finish it now. It'd just wreck my throat and gut up now. Her eyes lit up brighter than Laeshann's tits were pale and snow blinding almost. Sauce made her fingers all sticky, but not a drop was wasted, being lapped up as she wrapped her tongue around each digit and sucked them dry. By Our Lady, that sounds way worse than I had intended. This is still not and never will be a porno. There is no hurt or comfort kink being played out here. Gross. I don't want my tears streaking down to my vagina. Could you just imagine what sort of infection that would lead to? I'm officially going to declare myself too fucking old for this shit.
But for all the world, I still wanted to wipe that fucking stupid grin off of her face. If only to ease my pain.
I'm such an idiot. I'll report on the meeting with the elder in a bit. For now, I need to rest and get a drink. Nothing like drowning your sorrows in lemonade and pretending you're a vicious, bar stool busting punk. You know what they say, when life gives you lemons, fake a bar fight and fuck you. I always thought that was one of the dumber sayings of our tribe, but it finally began to make sense to me. Makes me wonder what 'A picture is worth less than the asking price no matter how cool the artist's hat is' is all about. Probably someone more jilted than I am.
I just pray to Our Lady I don't start having second thoughts about the bards and everything I've written about them today or ever next. That would be the icing on the pastry pillow and I'd be out. You can all find me taking over the world like I said I would if that ever happens. With instrument shredding devices. Don't tempt me to go through with this, be you mortal or man! Because so help me Laeshann, I will make sure all recycled wood products are just one hundred percent reconstituted mandolins.
Feelings are fucking hard. It's nap and juice time, no matter how much of a child that makes me sound like. And don't you dare say it's more than usual, I'll flip you off so hard from my grave, you'll feel it straight up your ass.
-Basira Nejem
Dated noon of the eighth day of the third week of spring in the year 367 which is about as many fucks as I am not giving right now
Total Words So Far - 28580
I was told I'd need to bathe and get the stench of all the blood and ore off of me before I could attend any meeting with the elder today. Her wagon has always been the biggest and fanciest, so if I got dirt in it at all, I'd know I'd be tracking in trouble as well as uncleanliness. I lay my head back against the pillow brought in by what I now know to be Kattu's apprentice, which was shaped like a brown bit of pigsteak and smothered in an odd, pink slip for decoration. It resembled a diseased berry pastry of some kind. What she was thinking owning something that horrendously ugly I'll never know. She appeared before me, short and young, messy hair in front of her face, two black and braided pigtails jutting out on each side, a soft, relaxed smile on her face. I felt her petting at my face with her palm flat, as if fluffing a pillow of some kind.
“Wakey wakey! Ayem da alarm clock!” she said, sounding groggy but content. Ayem? Was that her name or something? No, it just turned out to be how she said I am. She insisted on being transcribed this way for 'historical accuracy' though if you all want accuracy, I'd have instead wrote down every word she said as 'horf' or some such. Kid's a spacey brat, and of no importance, but threatened me with her collection of odd pillows and paper surgical gowns if I didn't comply with this one request. I just pried my one eye open and blinked at her, seeing her polish a gallstone with my rag from my pouch. Hey, just because I'd forgotten it a while doesn't mean she could freely use it! But I was still too weak and rubbery to reclaim it, watching her buff it with her breath and squeak it as it pressed against her small bosom, pretending she was some hot shot jewel appraiser or something.
“Ayem gonna clean ya up!” she said in her assured, sleepy tone, rolling me off the bed and into a wheelbarrow lined with warm towels. “Ayem gonna prep you!” There went the petting again, bringing me around back of the wagon circle and pulling out a large, metal tub filled with water, placed up on a rack with a strong fire roaring under it. The sun was still rising, so most were asleep and wouldn't see me. “Ayem da nurse! Cough for me!” she commanded as I helped her get me out of my clothes, coughing and burbling weakly, drool sputtering down my face. “Wow, that's attractive. No wonder the dragons wanna do ya. You're da hottest!”
I'm too tired for that shit, so I don't even comment. She does prove she's surprisingly strong though, lifting me up with no problem despite being what looks like a foot or so smaller than me, and dumping me in the tub with no issue. As she does this, a happy tune hums form her lips, ears flicking as she gets a washcloth out and pats my face slowly and oddly again. Finally, I get the nerve up to ask her who she thinks she is. You think I would have done this before she stripped me, but you'd be wrong. Drugs are a hell of a drug and it wasn't until she started washing and rinsing my hair that I realized quite what was going on.
“Ayem da doctor's apprentice! My name is Icilina, but she just calls me Whippersnapper. Funny, I don't remember my mama ever calling me that! I don't think I look like a whip! Maybe my pretty hair does, but that's not for fighting, that's for being so adorable people are more inclined to buy our medicine. Maybe bat my cute eyes a bit.” She says, giggling a bit. Her bangs are so thick I can't even tell if her eyes are open or not, or even there, let alone blinking or something. “Say, you wouldn't happen to want to fork all your ducats over as a tip for me helping ya, would ya? Ayem da cutest!”
I just bleh and manage to avoid drooling on my own tits some more. “Is that a no?” You're damn right it's a no, kid, go earn money the way all kids do. By stealing a twenty ducat piece from mom's wallet to support your candy habit or by preying on those lower in the playground hierarchy. Kids these days have no work ethic, and I hope that's something that's changed for the better by your time. This cutesy crap will get you a boot to the butt at most from me. Here's a tip: Don't rot my teeth out being a beggar. Also, take a shower, you damn hippie. And get a haircut.
Slowly, she begins to unravel my bandages around my right eye socket. “Hold still, would ya?” I feel her hand take some cream and smear it on my face, in particular around my eyelids and such. It's warm and numbing, making my lids open without trouble. “Pap pap. Now you look like a frosted pastry. Maybe I should eat ya for breakfast.” This was followed up by a hissing laughter I thought only possible by lamia. She poured a tiny bit of some bubbling solution inside my eye and swished it around, cleaning it completely and making sure it was prepped for what she was about to do. “Okay, say ahhh, open wide! Wait, that's for food. Oh well, do it anyways.”
Something cold and hard went into my socket. It was actually rather snugly fit and kept its place pretty well. Icilina's fingers massages my face and forehead, particularly around my nose and under my eyes, getting everywhere I see and breathe with, relaxing me. A hot, dry towel came to my face and dried me off, making sure to get my hair as well. A roll of fresh bandages came out and she re-did them, a small bit of black fabric being stretched over the bandages and keeping my eye in place under it, patting me slowly on the nose again. I wonder if she was mistaking me for a dune cat. “Now, it might feel like you got a rock in there a while. It's because you got a rock in you. Aye went ahead and polished up a gallstone as you slept and made you a new eye with it! It won't do anything special. But it looks pretty cool! You could probably trick people into thinking you were a roguish pirate now, bullying them into giving you your ducats. Of course, you'll give me a cut for this brilliant idea, right, savvy?” she mumbled as she handed me a mirror.
An eye patch. She was right. I do look handsome. But what good were devilish looks going to do me when all I wanted was to sit around and fiddle with that engine I found? After talking to the elder, of course. I don't think charisma is a fuel source, but if it was, you can bet I'd never have to run out of it again. “Ya can keep da patch when you get da bandages off. Give it a day or two before ya can, and I assure ya, everyone will have adjusted to your amazing new look by then!” A bunch of hot water got dumped on me right before I got pulled out, being pat dry with more hot towels and being given a fresh set of clothing. My cape was here too, mended and cleaned, and The Marshal was with it, looking completely serviced. Wasn't I going to take care of that? “Ya can thank me later. Boss Kattu said if I didn't help, she'd make me eat my own braids.” This is when I notice The Marshal has a pink ribbon tied around the butt. “That's just my own personal touch. Ayem the most gun smithing!”
Okay brat. Get out of my sight. Your record in history is done. I hope everyone in the future is mocking you right now. I got dressed and watched her hop in the tub afterward, still dressed, singing merrily, splashing around and rubbing her ears like one of the dune cats. Makes me wonder how much of that prick plant she ingested this morning, because if I remember right, Kattu said it was her plant she was toying with. Those two were definitely made for each other. If the whole Stormlock tribe isn't wiped out someday by their own machinations, I will honestly be quite surprised. Though probably only the bards are stupid enough to fall for being their test subjects. Then again, I'm pretty sure that would be considered a day of celebration, not one of mourning. I know I'd try to get it instated as a tribe holiday. They'd probably not like me trying to very much, but I can guarantee I'd write down every detail of my own personal celebration and seeing if any of you future scholars turn it into an official party or something. I know the lot of you are always looking for an excuse to get drunk. It's the least you could do in my name.
I went over to where Lock was, standing outside Kattu's wagon, and nudging her awake. The least I could do, disgusting winged handbag or not, is offer to have breakfast with her as thanks for saving me. That, and I don't want the elder digging into me for mistreating her right now, nor do I want my rumbling stomach to interrupt me while discussing things with her. Pigsteak and hawk legs, with extra Razan wolf pepper sauce and citrus juice, with a bit of sand garlic and black dirt pepper added. Fresh squeezed melon juice to drink. I sit over a campfire diligently making a huge batch, enough to keep Lock plied and too fat to move, and offer her the first share. There's a delight in her eyes then that came off as entirely odd to me. This wasn't a look of selfishness or entitlement to her, as I thought all of her kind had, but a look of genuine hunger and thanks.
It hit me. Hard. I swallow my first bite quietly. There was not a hint of untruth to that expression. She was really that hungry and that grateful to be fed something of substance. It's why all our other shared meals were eaten so willingly. Why she even ate what was knowingly drugged. Every shard of pyrite or whatnot lapped up and enjoyed fully. She mentioned that this was better than being with her family. Even as stupid and ugly as a lot of the Stormlock tribe is, betraying them is just something I couldn't do. I couldn't sell out. No matter how tempting. But Lock did it without any hesitation or regret, all for a hot meal and some validation. The smile she had as sauce ran down her chin was the most genuine smile I'd seen in ages.
This woman. For the first time in my entire life, a certain thought passed through my head.
The lizard standing before me was not my enemy.
Chances are, when she attacked us the other day, it was for food. For survival. She's like any one of us, just looking for easy days and maybe a bit of adventure. Always a full belly, maybe someone to warm her bed for her. To be honest, I don't know very much about the dragonkin tribe. Just that they, like the lamias and harpies, are offshoots of the beastpeople tribe that roam our lands. I just knew they attacked us now and again, stole a lot of our tech, and ate our food. Some people have died in their raids. Not many I knew well. I just had assumed that they were nasty elfhaters given our relations in the past and how tense it was whenever one came near. There had to be a reason for it, right? But what if they were just trying to make do, with their own internal struggles? What if their own tribe mistreated them or was especially harsh to those growing up? What if, by her actions eating this up so hastily, that starvation was a common punishment tool?
What if I'd been wrong? It hurt a lot to think that this could be true. That my arrogance and goals and whatnot could just be further hurting someone. It's a scary thing to realize.
My next bite went down like a rock. Lock actually asked me if I was okay. I said I was, just still medicated and getting used to the eye I was given, and excused myself to go take a piss.
What I was actually doing was crying. There was still so much hate and bile raging up in my stomach. She attacked me. I wanted to continue rationalizing my hatred against her, pushing her away and making her my stupid pet or slave worker. Watch her beg for scraps on the ground. But that smile of hers was just something I could no longer work towards taking. Maybe other dragonkin still, yes, if they did attack again. But not Lock. My heart felt like it was going to burst as I stifled my bawling, choking on myself and puking silently behind a bush, just laying there and feeling where my right eye used to be sting and well up already. They took my eye. They almost took my tribe. They almost took my dream. So why the fuck couldn't I fight back against that disgusting hornshitter sitting at my camp? Why was I the only one still showing animosity towards her? And why did I no longer want to?
Because she smiled. I hate to joke about this now, but I hadn't pegged me for the type to actually give a shit about someone who's head I still wanted mounted on the front of my plane engine not a day prior to all this. Feelings are stupid. This is the kind of tender bullshit that bards sing about, and no doubt if they're reading this in the future, they're already making ballads about. Fuck you all, I hope your eardrums burst on your own iambic pentameter. Maybe you all can stop singing about broken hearts when you stop causing them yourselves. You don't know shit about mom.
I wiped my face on my cape and tried my best to make myself look presentable as I walked back, head pointing up towards the sky, thinking about why Laeshann brought me back. I was given a second chance, if I even was close to dying to begin with, because that seems unlikely now, and here I was, wasting it on more pain. Sorry, Our Lady. I don't mean to squander my gift already. I'll fly. I'll fly yet. And I'll get my revenge. I'll see myself soar. Just stop making me so confused and headachey. The last thing I need is to hesitate like this when I go out to kill them all. If I even can now. It's kind of hard to plan genocide against your enemy when the first thing you see upon returning to camp is one of them smiling at you, wondering if your stomach was okay, thinking I may have done myself in on the Razan wolf pepper sauce. That stupid, genuine smile, as warm as the winds that dance across the sands. I bit my lower lip and forced a smile back, nodding and admitting what a fool I was to try to make my breath as fiery as her own, choking up a harsh, raspy laugh.
I took a seat next to her and offered her the rest of my share. There was no way I could bring myself to finish it now. It'd just wreck my throat and gut up now. Her eyes lit up brighter than Laeshann's tits were pale and snow blinding almost. Sauce made her fingers all sticky, but not a drop was wasted, being lapped up as she wrapped her tongue around each digit and sucked them dry. By Our Lady, that sounds way worse than I had intended. This is still not and never will be a porno. There is no hurt or comfort kink being played out here. Gross. I don't want my tears streaking down to my vagina. Could you just imagine what sort of infection that would lead to? I'm officially going to declare myself too fucking old for this shit.
But for all the world, I still wanted to wipe that fucking stupid grin off of her face. If only to ease my pain.
I'm such an idiot. I'll report on the meeting with the elder in a bit. For now, I need to rest and get a drink. Nothing like drowning your sorrows in lemonade and pretending you're a vicious, bar stool busting punk. You know what they say, when life gives you lemons, fake a bar fight and fuck you. I always thought that was one of the dumber sayings of our tribe, but it finally began to make sense to me. Makes me wonder what 'A picture is worth less than the asking price no matter how cool the artist's hat is' is all about. Probably someone more jilted than I am.
I just pray to Our Lady I don't start having second thoughts about the bards and everything I've written about them today or ever next. That would be the icing on the pastry pillow and I'd be out. You can all find me taking over the world like I said I would if that ever happens. With instrument shredding devices. Don't tempt me to go through with this, be you mortal or man! Because so help me Laeshann, I will make sure all recycled wood products are just one hundred percent reconstituted mandolins.
Feelings are fucking hard. It's nap and juice time, no matter how much of a child that makes me sound like. And don't you dare say it's more than usual, I'll flip you off so hard from my grave, you'll feel it straight up your ass.
-Basira Nejem
Dated noon of the eighth day of the third week of spring in the year 367 which is about as many fucks as I am not giving right now
