He's dressed in a red and gold nightgown with matching slippers and a floppy, pointed cap, as though he were getting ready for bed. He's got an entire tea set on a silver tray beside him, complete with a teapot, an extra cup, and cream and sugar. "I expected more... weird stuff. You know, exciting, illicit treats."
"I mean, there's lots of weird stuff here- just not the mind-breaking sort. At least, not to my knowledge."
He kicks his feet passively. "I mean, I get that, but I wanted some faeries or something."
"Well... what's he like? Strugels are supposed to be a highly comfort-oriented people. Born of the cold, they had to find warmth inside themselves. Maybe he couldn't find his own warmth among that of the others', so he thinks he doesn't have any. I dunno. Maybe I'm too focused on the analogy. I doubt I know the guy, so I'm making assumptions."
"I don't know much about him to tell ya... He's closed off, and seemingly hurt deeply. I asked around about him, Felix, and the consensus is he was." he sighs, pouring a liquid from a hip-flask into his mug. "I don't even know anymore."
"Maybe try asking him about it directly. Have you tried that? Actually, you probably have. If you really love him, I think you should try helping him. What are his strengths? I mean, what draws you to him?"
*salem finally ur on i can do the sale* Taika Mathide (that's the inventor's name) is waiting in the tavern for the proprietress.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
I'm fry, and I make doodles. That's why they call me FRY DOODLES. Also no pressure but check out my YouTube channel (Fry Doodles) I'm a disabled, neurodivergent, artsy dumpster fire who's always open to chat or share a fun fact or two. I'm a sensitive little sad bean. But, I'm also god's favorite princess and the most interesting girl in the world. Crafter of Constellations, vocaloid enjoyer, waluigi’s #1 fan, space alien, and certified silly goose
"We're landing, boy-o!" She laughs as the board slows its spin, heading straight for... "Oh, the poor garden!" She cackles. "Oh well, I didn't like those roses anyway!"
"Complexity is an important element of any good drink. Speaking of which, would you like to keep the mug? They're very good. Sturdy and easy to wash."
He cackles, continuing to hold on via his magically strong chain attached to his body.
He shakes his head, holding it back up to them “You should keep it, I have no need for something like that. My work requires I do things at almost all times, meaning I can’t make things for myself.”
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.”
He's dressed in a red and gold nightgown with matching slippers and a floppy, pointed cap, as though he were getting ready for bed. He's got an entire tea set on a silver tray beside him, complete with a teapot, an extra cup, and cream and sugar. "I expected more... weird stuff. You know, exciting, illicit treats."
"I mean, there's lots of weird stuff here- just not the mind-breaking sort. At least, not to my knowledge."
He kicks his feet passively. "I mean, I get that, but I wanted some faeries or something."
*sorry about the delay*
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."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
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)
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.
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."
He kicks his feet passively. "I mean, I get that, but I wanted some faeries or something."
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
He raises an eyebrow “Cuddleable? Do you see these horns? The sword maybe?” He says, shaking his head.
After her skin turned back to a normal color she turns beet red again, shifting in place, her hands tightly clasped together.
He nods “But aren’t we too young to drink?” He says, getting next to her, holding her hand as he looks to his feet.
He looks at her, guilty as charged “Would you believe me if I said no?”
"Maybe try asking him about it directly. Have you tried that? Actually, you probably have. If you really love him, I think you should try helping him. What are his strengths? I mean, what draws you to him?"
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
"You're not fooling anyone." Zeph smiles, leaning into them.
"But you're probably too pious for that, aren't you?"
"You are, momma's agin' like a weed." She grabs his arm, dragging him to the bar.
"Not when I saw you wolf down that meal." She grabs the plate, giving him a second helping.
Error. (Traceback) line 1, <Salem> is undefined.
>Attemp <EXTENDED SIG>? Jester Day 5/1... We'll miss you
YES NO
[Enter: A new RP Thread: Anytown, USA] (That's a link.. Please click it.)
S♡J
2-13-25
*salem finally ur on i can do the sale*
Taika Mathide (that's the inventor's name) is waiting in the tavern for the proprietress.
I'm fry, and I make doodles. That's why they call me FRY DOODLES. Also no pressure but check out my YouTube channel (Fry Doodles)
I'm a disabled, neurodivergent, artsy dumpster fire who's always open to chat or share a fun fact or two.
I'm a sensitive little sad bean. But, I'm also god's favorite princess and the most interesting girl in the world.
Crafter of Constellations, vocaloid enjoyer, waluigi’s #1 fan, space alien, and certified silly goose
*Turkey soup to warm the soul.*
"Obsessed? Maybe... Devoted? Very."
[Taken by my blessed beloved]
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.”
"Obsessed? Maybe... Devoted? Very."
[Taken by my blessed beloved]
*sorry about the delay*
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."
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)
He smiles, kissing them softly on the forehead “I suppose I’m not.”
One of her hands reaches out towards them, though she continues to look away, getting only redder and redder.
He comes willingly, looking up to the woman he somehow ended up with, surprising himself.
He takes the second helping, moving through that one quickly too before looking back up “Sorry baby, I’ll be better, I promise not to starve myself.”
*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.
*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.*
"Obsessed? Maybe... Devoted? Very."
[Taken by my blessed beloved]
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.
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 *
"Obsessed? Maybe... Devoted? Very."
[Taken by my blessed beloved]