They crash land, destroying the garden and sending debris flying everywhere. There is shouting from inside. Two hags step out the door. "I'm glad you finally got rid of that pretty garden, Greasegrip!" says the ancient grey one. "If only you could get rid of your pretty self!" Cackles the young, pretty one. The Crone swats the Maiden's head. "Then who would be the banker, you twit? We wouldn't be able to play monopoly!" "I could be the banker!" "You," the Crone says, jabbing a finger in her sister's face, "are a cheat." Granny Greasegrip climbs out of the crater. "Stop bickering, ladies! We have company!"
"That's a shame. It'll be here if you need it." He takes the mug and goes to wash it.
*We have BLTs but I can't get into the kitchen.*
The company, being Geralt meekly waves at all of them, sheathing his magical sword and bowing respectfully to all of them, looking radiant despite trying to be respectful.
He stands up, an ethereal mist around him “I don’t believe I caught your name sir, and I would prefer to remember you.”
All three curtsy their ragged dresses. "Now, set the table!" Greasegrip commands. "Bah! I hate following orders!" the Crone replies before they all glide into the scrambled cottage. It's clear there were many spats and witch duels in this cottage, and there are huge scratch marks all over the walls, floors, and even ceiling. The three sisters quickly set the table with clean (if chipped and cracked) dishes, all made of bone china, sweeping the board games off into the corner with many others shoved aside in fits of rage.
"Giovanni Grasso. Thank you for asking, Walter." He stares at the mist for a second, then decides not to question it. He's going to have to get used to weird stuff anyway.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
They crash land, destroying the garden and sending debris flying everywhere. There is shouting from inside. Two hags step out the door. "I'm glad you finally got rid of that pretty garden, Greasegrip!" says the ancient grey one. "If only you could get rid of your pretty self!" Cackles the young, pretty one. The Crone swats the Maiden's head. "Then who would be the banker, you twit? We wouldn't be able to play monopoly!" "I could be the banker!" "You," the Crone says, jabbing a finger in her sister's face, "are a cheat." Granny Greasegrip climbs out of the crater. "Stop bickering, ladies! We have company!"
"That's a shame. It'll be here if you need it." He takes the mug and goes to wash it.
*We have BLTs but I can't get into the kitchen.*
The company, being Geralt meekly waves at all of them, sheathing his magical sword and bowing respectfully to all of them, looking radiant despite trying to be respectful.
He stands up, an ethereal mist around him “I don’t believe I caught your name sir, and I would prefer to remember you.”
All three curtsy their ragged dresses. "Now, set the table!" Greasegrip commands. "Bah! I hate following orders!" the Crone replies before they all glide into the scrambled cottage. It's clear there were many spats and witch duels in this cottage, and there are huge scratch marks all over the walls, floors, and even ceiling. The three sisters quickly set the table with clean (if chipped and cracked) dishes, all made of bone china, sweeping the board games off into the corner with many others shoved aside in fits of rage.
"Giovanni Grasso. Thank you for asking, Walter." He stares at the mist for a second, then decides not to question it. He's going to have to get used to weird stuff anyway.
He sits down politely, tightening his bandages and putting his hands in his lap, looking to the plates and smiling at the crones without an ounce of anything other than kindness in his eyes.
The closer he looks at the mist, the less it becomes a mist, more appearing to be strings floating in the air, suspended by nothing at all and connected to the man’s white gloves “What a wonderful name, Italian.” He bows deeply before leaving.
She pulls over a chair and sits a few feet away. "I get that. I mean, sometimes people become the exciting illicit threats, as you said, or they make their own, but that doesn't happen often. And it has intrigue, sure, just not the same kind as faeries and such."
*It's all good, I was too busy eating dinner to notice.*
He pours her a cup of piping-hot apple-cherry tea, made with whole tea leaves, and nods. "Maybe. Going around killing people is fun, but I don't like the guilt that comes with it. I gotta have a reason. Other than hasty generalizations and moralizing humanoid nature, I mean." He takes a sip of his own tea. "I don't want to go back to my old job. You saw how... edgy it made me."
She pulls over a chair and sits a few feet away. "I get that. I mean, sometimes people become the exciting illicit threats, as you said, or they make their own, but that doesn't happen often. And it has intrigue, sure, just not the same kind as faeries and such."
*It's all good, I was too busy eating dinner to notice.*
He pours her a cup of piping-hot apple-cherry tea, made with whole tea leaves, and nods. "Maybe. Going around killing people is fun, but I don't like the guilt that comes with it. I gotta have a reason. Other than hasty generalizations and moralizing humanoid nature, I mean." He takes a sip of his own tea. "I don't want to go back to my old job. You saw how... edgy it made me."
She gratefully accepts the offered tea- she doesn't have a mouth, but it's the thought that counts. "I can understand that- the part about murder being fun, maybe less so- but still. People act in ways that make no sense all the time- I can see why a job about finding sense in senseless behavior would bring out the worst in someone."
All three curtsy their ragged dresses. "Now, set the table!" Greasegrip commands. "Bah! I hate following orders!" the Crone replies before they all glide into the scrambled cottage. It's clear there were many spats and witch duels in this cottage, and there are huge scratch marks all over the walls, floors, and even ceiling. The three sisters quickly set the table with clean (if chipped and cracked) dishes, all made of bone china, sweeping the board games off into the corner with many others shoved aside in fits of rage.
"Giovanni Grasso. Thank you for asking, Walter." He stares at the mist for a second, then decides not to question it. He's going to have to get used to weird stuff anyway.
He sits down politely, tightening his bandages and putting his hands in his lap, looking to the plates and smiling at the crones without an ounce of anything other than kindness in his eyes.
The closer he looks at the mist, the less it becomes a mist, more appearing to be strings floating in the air, suspended by nothing at all and connected to the man’s white gloves “What a wonderful name, Italian.” He bows deeply before leaving.
The coven seems to like him already, pouring him tea, putting doilies on his lap, getting him pie. Eventually, they all sit down. Greasegrip speaks. "Now, first order of business: my Grandson, Thane, is in trouble with the Valentine Sisters. I'm going to kill them, and both of you are going to help. I need all the shadows and scarecrows and bullywugs and banderhobbs and all that fun stuff. We're going on a raid, sisters!" The other two, originally hesitant, cheer.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
All three curtsy their ragged dresses. "Now, set the table!" Greasegrip commands. "Bah! I hate following orders!" the Crone replies before they all glide into the scrambled cottage. It's clear there were many spats and witch duels in this cottage, and there are huge scratch marks all over the walls, floors, and even ceiling. The three sisters quickly set the table with clean (if chipped and cracked) dishes, all made of bone china, sweeping the board games off into the corner with many others shoved aside in fits of rage.
"Giovanni Grasso. Thank you for asking, Walter." He stares at the mist for a second, then decides not to question it. He's going to have to get used to weird stuff anyway.
He sits down politely, tightening his bandages and putting his hands in his lap, looking to the plates and smiling at the crones without an ounce of anything other than kindness in his eyes.
The closer he looks at the mist, the less it becomes a mist, more appearing to be strings floating in the air, suspended by nothing at all and connected to the man’s white gloves “What a wonderful name, Italian.” He bows deeply before leaving.
The coven seems to like him already, pouring him tea, putting doilies on his lap, getting him pie. Eventually, they all sit down. Greasegrip speaks. "Now, first order of business: my Grandson, Thane, is in trouble with the Valentine Sisters. I'm going to kill them, and both of you are going to help. I need all the shadows and scarecrows and bullywugs and banderhobbs and all that fun stuff. We're going on a raid, sisters!" The other two, originally hesitant, cheer.
Geralt takes the tea, sipping it slowly and nodding, though he doesn’t know how he ended up in this situation he is pleasantly enjoying it. Once he finishes his sip he asks through sign “Who is Thane? Can I help?” His eyes glow softly as he seems to grow warmer with heat.
*It's all good, I was too busy eating dinner to notice.*
He pours her a cup of piping-hot apple-cherry tea, made with whole tea leaves, and nods. "Maybe. Going around killing people is fun, but I don't like the guilt that comes with it. I gotta have a reason. Other than hasty generalizations and moralizing humanoid nature, I mean." He takes a sip of his own tea. "I don't want to go back to my old job. You saw how... edgy it made me."
She gratefully accepts the offered tea- she doesn't have a mouth, but it's the thought that counts. "I can understand that- the part about murder being fun, maybe less so- but still. People act in ways that make no sense all the time- I can see why a job about finding sense in senseless behavior would bring out the worst in someone."
He sighs and looks at his tiny teacup. "I looked outside today. From my hotel. And you know what I saw? People. Just people. They lived miserable lives under the thumbs of miserable people. But they found joy in things. Little things. 'Why can't I do that?' I asked myself. 'Because women frustrate me. Men bore me. Food never satiates and I never awaken restful.' I reply in all seriousness. I laugh. 'You state symptoms when I was asking for the disease!' 'Well, I don't know the disease.' 'Well, I do.' And I stopped. 'What is it?' I asked myself, hesitant. 'You're not a person.' And I didn't know how to respond. How do you respond to something like that?"
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
*Potato soup warms everything, especially with bacon.*
*good evening friends :>*
*Wassup dude.*
All three curtsy their ragged dresses. "Now, set the table!" Greasegrip commands. "Bah! I hate following orders!" the Crone replies before they all glide into the scrambled cottage. It's clear there were many spats and witch duels in this cottage, and there are huge scratch marks all over the walls, floors, and even ceiling. The three sisters quickly set the table with clean (if chipped and cracked) dishes, all made of bone china, sweeping the board games off into the corner with many others shoved aside in fits of rage.
"Giovanni Grasso. Thank you for asking, Walter." He stares at the mist for a second, then decides not to question it. He's going to have to get used to weird stuff anyway.
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
*Good evening! How doth thee fare?*
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
*[Huggles] hi.*
"Forgive the mess, I am trying to regain my sanity again."
[Taken by my gourmand boyfriend]
He sits down politely, tightening his bandages and putting his hands in his lap, looking to the plates and smiling at the crones without an ounce of anything other than kindness in his eyes.
The closer he looks at the mist, the less it becomes a mist, more appearing to be strings floating in the air, suspended by nothing at all and connected to the man’s white gloves “What a wonderful name, Italian.” He bows deeply before leaving.
*It's all good, I was too busy eating dinner to notice.*
He pours her a cup of piping-hot apple-cherry tea, made with whole tea leaves, and nods. "Maybe. Going around killing people is fun, but I don't like the guilt that comes with it. I gotta have a reason. Other than hasty generalizations and moralizing humanoid nature, I mean." He takes a sip of his own tea. "I don't want to go back to my old job. You saw how... edgy it made me."
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
She gratefully accepts the offered tea- she doesn't have a mouth, but it's the thought that counts. "I can understand that- the part about murder being fun, maybe less so- but still. People act in ways that make no sense all the time- I can see why a job about finding sense in senseless behavior would bring out the worst in someone."
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
*My two year old brain wrote another sheet https://docs.google.com/document/d/1-e-xgDh-VPgXJjaGQfWdI9Pmn9lncK9ICYYTZTOWotQ/edit?usp=sharing *
"Forgive the mess, I am trying to regain my sanity again."
[Taken by my gourmand boyfriend]
The coven seems to like him already, pouring him tea, putting doilies on his lap, getting him pie. Eventually, they all sit down. Greasegrip speaks. "Now, first order of business: my Grandson, Thane, is in trouble with the Valentine Sisters. I'm going to kill them, and both of you are going to help. I need all the shadows and scarecrows and bullywugs and banderhobbs and all that fun stuff. We're going on a raid, sisters!" The other two, originally hesitant, cheer.
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
*I fare well, making cookies :>*
*hooooiiiii*
*How are you?*
"Forgive the mess, I am trying to regain my sanity again."
[Taken by my gourmand boyfriend]
*Sounds wonderful! Glad to see you're doing well :]*
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
Geralt takes the tea, sipping it slowly and nodding, though he doesn’t know how he ended up in this situation he is pleasantly enjoying it. Once he finishes his sip he asks through sign “Who is Thane? Can I help?” His eyes glow softly as he seems to grow warmer with heat.
*doing good :3*
*Gonna do crimes in a bit :)*
*how are you ms Monarch?*
He sighs and looks at his tiny teacup. "I looked outside today. From my hotel. And you know what I saw? People. Just people. They lived miserable lives under the thumbs of miserable people. But they found joy in things. Little things. 'Why can't I do that?' I asked myself. 'Because women frustrate me. Men bore me. Food never satiates and I never awaken restful.' I reply in all seriousness. I laugh. 'You state symptoms when I was asking for the disease!' 'Well, I don't know the disease.' 'Well, I do.' And I stopped. 'What is it?' I asked myself, hesitant. 'You're not a person.' And I didn't know how to respond. How do you respond to something like that?"
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
*I am doing rather well myself! I didn't have the most eventful of days, but it's been a good day nonetheless.*
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)