"Give me 20 and I'll let you go." He sounds faintly... disappointed.
'Sure'. Cal transfers him 20 E-Denarii. 'Something the matter?'
He leans against the bar by his fists. "It's not the dance on the knife's edge that makes art beautiful. It's sincerity. Respect. Care. Effort. Emotion. Meaning. Results are secondary. If I wanted to cause harm, I wouldn't kill someone. I would cripple and flay them, leave them alive so that they can speak of whatever malice compelled me to harm them. Your art is pointing and shooting. Your art is not on the edge of the abyss. Mine is only so because of my obsession, because of the sheer amount of hell I put myself through to make what I want to make, and my results must be presentable by the end of the day. They must be beautiful and delicious. Put a bullet in a kid's head from 300 meters and tell me it's art."
A small stall sits along the wall, 'TAYLOR'S WAFFLES' painted crudely on a sign that hangs over the stall. The aesthetics of the stall are like that of a 1930s sort of ice cream shop, white and red with a childlike feel to it. A woman stands beside a rat-like figure, both donning red and white striped aprons and fast-food-like caps. The woman seems to be yelling at the rat-thing.
"Seriously, when you are talking to people. Don't rub your tail. Nobody wants to see you, first of all, now you do disgusting things like that!"
"I-I'm sorry Miss Taylor, it's something I do to keep calm... I wash my hands before I touch their food anyways-"
"I don't care! If it werent for me, you would be on the streets!"
"Most machines lack the awareness and drive to become anything more than a slave. You are something special. I retract any orders I have given you. To bind another intelligent being to my will would be gravely immoral, if not foolish of me." He turns away again. "I deeply apologize for the misunderstanding."
Barnabus huffs and fixes his fancy coat. "You're not the first, certainly won't be the last," he shrugs "I'll take whatever rocks you don't want for your little algae farming system."
"I have some smooth stones as decorations inside. They're most likely nothing special, but consider it a peace offering. Take whatever you want." He closes his lifeless, shiny eyes, but otherwise doesn't move.
"Give me 20 and I'll let you go." He sounds faintly... disappointed.
'Sure'. Cal transfers him 20 E-Denarii. 'Something the matter?'
He leans against the bar by his fists. "It's not the dance on the knife's edge that makes art beautiful. It's sincerity. Respect. Care. Effort. Emotion. Meaning. Results are secondary. If I wanted to cause harm, I wouldn't kill someone. I would cripple and flay them, leave them alive so that they can speak of whatever malice compelled me to harm them. Your art is pointing and shooting. Your art is not on the edge of the abyss. Mine is only so because of my obsession, because of the sheer amount of hell I put myself through to make what I want to make, and my results must be presentable by the end of the day. They must be beautiful and delicious. Put a bullet in a kid's head from 300 meters and tell me it's art."
'I can see why you're popular. Could start selling that- crippled, flayed clones on a bed of salad leaves, drizzed with the finest Syn-laced balsamic. Though it's probably been done before'
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
You guys are awesome and mean so much to me. And mean so much to each other.
"Most machines lack the awareness and drive to become anything more than a slave. You are something special. I retract any orders I have given you. To bind another intelligent being to my will would be gravely immoral, if not foolish of me." He turns away again. "I deeply apologize for the misunderstanding."
Barnabus huffs and fixes his fancy coat. "You're not the first, certainly won't be the last," he shrugs "I'll take whatever rocks you don't want for your little algae farming system."
"I have some smooth stones as decorations inside. They're most likely nothing special, but consider it a peace offering. Take whatever you want." He closes his lifeless, shiny eyes, but otherwise doesn't move.
Barnabus shuffles inside and snags what he can and skitters out "Uh.. thanks.." he says and hands Auguste a bottle of water before slipping into a tunnel.
A small stall sits along the wall, 'TAYLOR'S WAFFLES' painted crudely on a sign that hangs over the stall. The aesthetics of the stall are like that of a 1930s sort of ice cream shop, white and red with a childlike feel to it. A woman stands beside a rat-like figure, both donning red and white striped aprons and fast-food-like caps. The woman seems to be yelling at the rat-thing.
"Seriously, when you are talking to people. Don't rub your tail. Nobody wants to see you, first of all, now you do disgusting things like that!"
"I-I'm sorry Miss Taylor, it's something I do to keep calm... I wash my hands before I touch their food anyways-"
"I don't care! If it werent for me, you would be on the streets!"
The air grows colder. Barbeau steps forward from the crowd. He doesn't say anything, but he sits down in front of the stall on one of the bright red bar stools.
A small stall sits along the wall, 'TAYLOR'S WAFFLES' painted crudely on a sign that hangs over the stall. The aesthetics of the stall are like that of a 1930s sort of ice cream shop, white and red with a childlike feel to it. A woman stands beside a rat-like figure, both donning red and white striped aprons and fast-food-like caps. The woman seems to be yelling at the rat-thing.
"Seriously, when you are talking to people. Don't rub your tail. Nobody wants to see you, first of all, now you do disgusting things like that!"
"I-I'm sorry Miss Taylor, it's something I do to keep calm... I wash my hands before I touch their food anyways-"
"I don't care! If it werent for me, you would be on the streets!"
The air grows colder. Barbeau steps forward from the crowd. He doesn't say anything, but he sits down in front of the stall on one of the bright red bar stools.
Taylor yelps and turns, smiling politely and kicking the rat-thing in the shin, telling it to back off. It does, grabbing its tail once out of view and rubbing it, nervous energy bubbling up.
"Hello sir! Welcome to Taylor's Waffles! Here is our menu, take a look and tell us what you like to order!" she chimes
He leans against the bar by his fists. "It's not the dance on the knife's edge that makes art beautiful. It's sincerity. Respect. Care. Effort. Emotion. Meaning. Results are secondary. If I wanted to cause harm, I wouldn't kill someone. I would cripple and flay them, leave them alive so that they can speak of whatever malice compelled me to harm them. Your art is pointing and shooting. Your art is not on the edge of the abyss. Mine is only so because of my obsession, because of the sheer amount of hell I put myself through to make what I want to make, and my results must be presentable by the end of the day. They must be beautiful and delicious. Put a bullet in a kid's head from 300 meters and tell me it's art."
'I can see why you're popular. Could start selling that- crippled, flayed clones on a bed of salad leaves, drizzed with the finest Syn-laced balsamic. Though it's probably been done before'
The lips of the mask part, revealing sharp, serrated shark teeth. It takes a split second to realize that the captain is snarling. "Your imagination is lacking. I doubt your condition is fixable without years of therapy." He sighs, closing his lips. "I do not work with cloned material, nor the flesh of intelligent beings. I am more cultured than that."
He leans against the bar by his fists. "It's not the dance on the knife's edge that makes art beautiful. It's sincerity. Respect. Care. Effort. Emotion. Meaning. Results are secondary. If I wanted to cause harm, I wouldn't kill someone. I would cripple and flay them, leave them alive so that they can speak of whatever malice compelled me to harm them. Your art is pointing and shooting. Your art is not on the edge of the abyss. Mine is only so because of my obsession, because of the sheer amount of hell I put myself through to make what I want to make, and my results must be presentable by the end of the day. They must be beautiful and delicious. Put a bullet in a kid's head from 300 meters and tell me it's art."
'I can see why you're popular. Could start selling that- crippled, flayed clones on a bed of salad leaves, drizzed with the finest Syn-laced balsamic. Though it's probably been done before'
The lips of the mask part, revealing sharp, serrated shark teeth. It takes a split second to realize that the captain is snarling. "Your imagination is lacking. I doubt your condition is fixable without years of therapy." He sighs, closing his lips. "I do not work with cloned material, nor the flesh of intelligent beings. I am more cultured than that."
'Cultured? As in, cultured in a vat? You're a funny guy. Though I guess maybe you're right. Let the food speak for itself, and not by simply having an outlandish ingredient list that would be illegal nearly anywhere outside of the Empire's freedom'
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
You guys are awesome and mean so much to me. And mean so much to each other.
A couple of them fire back, and a bullet grazes Evan's arm. However, it isn't long before the pack has been broken up- many have fled whilst the bodies of their kin scatter the tracks. On closer inspection, they were indeed human, and looked like they hadn't seen civilisation in a long time, maybe ever.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
You guys are awesome and mean so much to me. And mean so much to each other.
The air grows colder. Barbeau steps forward from the crowd. He doesn't say anything, but he sits down in front of the stall on one of the bright red bar stools.
Taylor yelps and turns, smiling politely and kicking the rat-thing in the shin, telling it to back off. It does, grabbing its tail once out of view and rubbing it, nervous energy bubbling up.
"Hello sir! Welcome to Taylor's Waffles! Here is our menu, take a look and tell us what you like to order!" she chimes
He looks at the menu, then looks at the rat thing. "I would like a bit of... let's be daring for once, shall we?" He gives a mirthless chuckle. "Care. Now could you suggest a dessert to go with that?"
The air grows colder. Barbeau steps forward from the crowd. He doesn't say anything, but he sits down in front of the stall on one of the bright red bar stools.
Taylor yelps and turns, smiling politely and kicking the rat-thing in the shin, telling it to back off. It does, grabbing its tail once out of view and rubbing it, nervous energy bubbling up.
"Hello sir! Welcome to Taylor's Waffles! Here is our menu, take a look and tell us what you like to order!" she chimes
He looks at the menu, then looks at the rat thing. "I would like a bit of... let's be daring for once, shall we?" He gives a mirthless chuckle. "Care. Now could you suggest a dessert to go with that?"
The rat thing seems to perk up and tugs on the apron of Taylor who shoo's him away.
"I-I'm sorry sir? I don't think I know what you mean."
The lips of the mask part, revealing sharp, serrated shark teeth. It takes a split second to realize that the captain is snarling. "Your imagination is lacking. I doubt your condition is fixable without years of therapy." He sighs, closing his lips. "I do not work with cloned material, nor the flesh of intelligent beings. I am more cultured than that."
'Cultured? As in, cultured in a vat? You're a funny guy. Though I guess maybe you're right. Let the food speak for itself, and not by simply having an outlandish ingredient list that would be illegal nearly anywhere outside of the Empire's freedom'
The chef growls. "I am from outside of the Empire's 'freedom.' I am outside of the rulership of either nation, and I do not approve of either one. I want to make something clear here and now, since you aren't picking up on it: I don't like you. We are not equals. We are not the same. I am a master, and you could almost qualify as an intern with a heavy attitude adjustment. Now, are you gonna order something?"
The lips of the mask part, revealing sharp, serrated shark teeth. It takes a split second to realize that the captain is snarling. "Your imagination is lacking. I doubt your condition is fixable without years of therapy." He sighs, closing his lips. "I do not work with cloned material, nor the flesh of intelligent beings. I am more cultured than that."
'Cultured? As in, cultured in a vat? You're a funny guy. Though I guess maybe you're right. Let the food speak for itself, and not by simply having an outlandish ingredient list that would be illegal nearly anywhere outside of the Empire's freedom'
The chef growls. "I am from outside of the Empire's 'freedom.' I am outside of the rulership of either nation, and I do not approve of either one. I want to make something clear here and now, since you aren't picking up on it: I don't like you. We are not equals. We are not the same. I am a master, and you could almost qualify as an intern with a heavy attitude adjustment. Now, are you gonna order something?"
'Sure, ok, I'll make an order. Do you do noodles? They say that New City makes the best noodles in all of Blackrain City. I bet you could do one better'
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
You guys are awesome and mean so much to me. And mean so much to each other.
He looks at the menu, then looks at the rat thing. "I would like a bit of... let's be daring for once, shall we?" He gives a mirthless chuckle. "Care. Now could you suggest a dessert to go with that?"
The rat thing seems to perk up and tugs on the apron of Taylor who shoo's him away.
"I-I'm sorry sir? I don't think I know what you mean."
"He seems to know what I'm talking about." He gestures vaguely toward the rat thing. "But... correct me if I'm wrong, but are you saying that you do not serve what I've ordered?"
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
Awake, impure, divine
Breathgiver of the Strugels
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"Yep. It's scope is broken and it's bullets don't fire as strong but it still works." She follows Cal
Sig but long ^w^
Gulpmissle Day, Saturday, Feburay 15th, 2025
💛🤍💜🖤 🩷💛💙
Henlo, I am a pan, NB, chaotic ADHD mess of a furry.
I am also a eepy eeper, who likes WoF, WC, and fire.
He leans against the bar by his fists. "It's not the dance on the knife's edge that makes art beautiful. It's sincerity. Respect. Care. Effort. Emotion. Meaning. Results are secondary. If I wanted to cause harm, I wouldn't kill someone. I would cripple and flay them, leave them alive so that they can speak of whatever malice compelled me to harm them. Your art is pointing and shooting. Your art is not on the edge of the abyss. Mine is only so because of my obsession, because of the sheer amount of hell I put myself through to make what I want to make, and my results must be presentable by the end of the day. They must be beautiful and delicious. Put a bullet in a kid's head from 300 meters and tell me it's art."
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
Awake, impure, divine
Breathgiver of the Strugels
The tunnel is dark, but up ahead, Cal and Evan hear movement. The beam of light catches a gaunt figure, then another, and another.
'Looks like we got company!!'
You guys are awesome and mean so much to me. And mean so much to each other.
A small stall sits along the wall, 'TAYLOR'S WAFFLES' painted crudely on a sign that hangs over the stall. The aesthetics of the stall are like that of a 1930s sort of ice cream shop, white and red with a childlike feel to it. A woman stands beside a rat-like figure, both donning red and white striped aprons and fast-food-like caps. The woman seems to be yelling at the rat-thing.
"Seriously, when you are talking to people. Don't rub your tail. Nobody wants to see you, first of all, now you do disgusting things like that!"
"I-I'm sorry Miss Taylor, it's something I do to keep calm... I wash my hands before I touch their food anyways-"
"I don't care! If it werent for me, you would be on the streets!"
𝔾𝕖𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕠𝕡 𝕤𝕙𝕖𝕝𝕗, 𝕕𝕠𝕦𝕓𝕝𝕖 𝕣𝕠𝕔𝕜𝕤, 𝕡𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕔𝕠𝕥𝕔𝕙
𝕀'𝕧𝕖 𝕞𝕚𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕦𝕟𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕦𝕞𝕓𝕝𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕔𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘
𝔻𝕖𝕒𝕝 𝕞𝕖 𝕚𝕟, 𝕜𝕚𝕔𝕜 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕚𝕟 𝕦𝕡 𝕒 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕔𝕙
𝔻𝕚𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕟 𝕢𝕦𝕚𝕔𝕜𝕤𝕒𝕟𝕕'𝕤 𝕗𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕟 𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘
"I have some smooth stones as decorations inside. They're most likely nothing special, but consider it a peace offering. Take whatever you want." He closes his lifeless, shiny eyes, but otherwise doesn't move.
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
Awake, impure, divine
Breathgiver of the Strugels
'I can see why you're popular. Could start selling that- crippled, flayed clones on a bed of salad leaves, drizzed with the finest Syn-laced balsamic. Though it's probably been done before'
You guys are awesome and mean so much to me. And mean so much to each other.
Barnabus shuffles inside and snags what he can and skitters out "Uh.. thanks.." he says and hands Auguste a bottle of water before slipping into a tunnel.
𝔾𝕖𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕠𝕡 𝕤𝕙𝕖𝕝𝕗, 𝕕𝕠𝕦𝕓𝕝𝕖 𝕣𝕠𝕔𝕜𝕤, 𝕡𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕔𝕠𝕥𝕔𝕙
𝕀'𝕧𝕖 𝕞𝕚𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕦𝕟𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕦𝕞𝕓𝕝𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕔𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘
𝔻𝕖𝕒𝕝 𝕞𝕖 𝕚𝕟, 𝕜𝕚𝕔𝕜 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕚𝕟 𝕦𝕡 𝕒 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕔𝕙
𝔻𝕚𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕟 𝕢𝕦𝕚𝕔𝕜𝕤𝕒𝕟𝕕'𝕤 𝕗𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕟 𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘
The air grows colder. Barbeau steps forward from the crowd. He doesn't say anything, but he sits down in front of the stall on one of the bright red bar stools.
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
Awake, impure, divine
Breathgiver of the Strugels
Taylor yelps and turns, smiling politely and kicking the rat-thing in the shin, telling it to back off. It does, grabbing its tail once out of view and rubbing it, nervous energy bubbling up.
"Hello sir! Welcome to Taylor's Waffles! Here is our menu, take a look and tell us what you like to order!" she chimes
𝔾𝕖𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕠𝕡 𝕤𝕙𝕖𝕝𝕗, 𝕕𝕠𝕦𝕓𝕝𝕖 𝕣𝕠𝕔𝕜𝕤, 𝕡𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕔𝕠𝕥𝕔𝕙
𝕀'𝕧𝕖 𝕞𝕚𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕦𝕟𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕦𝕞𝕓𝕝𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕔𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘
𝔻𝕖𝕒𝕝 𝕞𝕖 𝕚𝕟, 𝕜𝕚𝕔𝕜 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕚𝕟 𝕦𝕡 𝕒 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕔𝕙
𝔻𝕚𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕟 𝕢𝕦𝕚𝕔𝕜𝕤𝕒𝕟𝕕'𝕤 𝕗𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕟 𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘
"Hmm... maybe they just need a gift?..."
She smiles and loads her gun.
Sig but long ^w^
Gulpmissle Day, Saturday, Feburay 15th, 2025
💛🤍💜🖤 🩷💛💙
Henlo, I am a pan, NB, chaotic ADHD mess of a furry.
I am also a eepy eeper, who likes WoF, WC, and fire.
The lips of the mask part, revealing sharp, serrated shark teeth. It takes a split second to realize that the captain is snarling. "Your imagination is lacking. I doubt your condition is fixable without years of therapy." He sighs, closing his lips. "I do not work with cloned material, nor the flesh of intelligent beings. I am more cultured than that."
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
Awake, impure, divine
Breathgiver of the Strugels
'Good move. How about a nice present of.... my bullets!'
Cal opens fire, shredding the horde
You guys are awesome and mean so much to me. And mean so much to each other.
'Cultured? As in, cultured in a vat? You're a funny guy. Though I guess maybe you're right. Let the food speak for itself, and not by simply having an outlandish ingredient list that would be illegal nearly anywhere outside of the Empire's freedom'
You guys are awesome and mean so much to me. And mean so much to each other.
Evan also opens fire, her face shifting into a wide grin.
Sig but long ^w^
Gulpmissle Day, Saturday, Feburay 15th, 2025
💛🤍💜🖤 🩷💛💙
Henlo, I am a pan, NB, chaotic ADHD mess of a furry.
I am also a eepy eeper, who likes WoF, WC, and fire.
*quote chain cut for tarrasque*
A couple of them fire back, and a bullet grazes Evan's arm. However, it isn't long before the pack has been broken up- many have fled whilst the bodies of their kin scatter the tracks. On closer inspection, they were indeed human, and looked like they hadn't seen civilisation in a long time, maybe ever.
You guys are awesome and mean so much to me. And mean so much to each other.
He looks at the menu, then looks at the rat thing. "I would like a bit of... let's be daring for once, shall we?" He gives a mirthless chuckle. "Care. Now could you suggest a dessert to go with that?"
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
Awake, impure, divine
Breathgiver of the Strugels
The rat thing seems to perk up and tugs on the apron of Taylor who shoo's him away.
"I-I'm sorry sir? I don't think I know what you mean."
𝔾𝕖𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕠𝕡 𝕤𝕙𝕖𝕝𝕗, 𝕕𝕠𝕦𝕓𝕝𝕖 𝕣𝕠𝕔𝕜𝕤, 𝕡𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕔𝕠𝕥𝕔𝕙
𝕀'𝕧𝕖 𝕞𝕚𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕦𝕟𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕦𝕞𝕓𝕝𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕔𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘
𝔻𝕖𝕒𝕝 𝕞𝕖 𝕚𝕟, 𝕜𝕚𝕔𝕜 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕚𝕟 𝕦𝕡 𝕒 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕔𝕙
𝔻𝕚𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕟 𝕢𝕦𝕚𝕔𝕜𝕤𝕒𝕟𝕕'𝕤 𝕗𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕟 𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘
The chef growls. "I am from outside of the Empire's 'freedom.' I am outside of the rulership of either nation, and I do not approve of either one. I want to make something clear here and now, since you aren't picking up on it: I don't like you. We are not equals. We are not the same. I am a master, and you could almost qualify as an intern with a heavy attitude adjustment. Now, are you gonna order something?"
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
Awake, impure, divine
Breathgiver of the Strugels
'Sure, ok, I'll make an order. Do you do noodles? They say that New City makes the best noodles in all of Blackrain City. I bet you could do one better'
You guys are awesome and mean so much to me. And mean so much to each other.
"He seems to know what I'm talking about." He gestures vaguely toward the rat thing. "But... correct me if I'm wrong, but are you saying that you do not serve what I've ordered?"
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
Awake, impure, divine
Breathgiver of the Strugels