02-02-2020, 03:24 AM
[align=center]
[align=center]
Rosemary has always hated socializing. But she loved tea. And she loved teaching people about tea. With the potluck came the opportunity to bond with others, learning about their tastes through their taste in cuisine, and potentially get a few additional answers on how they worked.
And to see her family. Rosemary hasn’t talked with Goldie in weeks, and hasn’t seen Roxie since her sister’s return – how much else has she missed out on? The social anxiety grabbed hold of her heart and held firm. Yet now… she thought those claws weakened, if only for a day.
Forked tails swishing behind her, the ocelot finished setting up the teapots and the labels before them. Orange blossom oolong, peach black tea, sweetened green tea, and herbal citrus were her chosen varieties. Rosemary herself loved fruity teas more than herbal ones, and her personal collection reflected that bias. Earl grey, in her opinion, was highly overrated.
Her mouth watered at the smell of Goldie’s creamy linguine and the Tanglewooder’s fish and chips; her toes curled into the sand, and the ocelot set off to their tables. Her social anxiety, roaring in her ears, was dwarfed by the hunger gnawing at her stomach. “I can smell the spice from here, Goldie. Is the kick as strong as Pincher’s?” she asked the captain, though she nearly regretted bringing him up in such an abrupt manner – they’d never talked about him, but she often thought they should.
“Subpar fish and chips? Then you haven’t seen my sorry excuse for a meal,” Rosemary said, trying her hand at sliding into the conversation. She’d been working on her conversation skills – mostly by reading books with excessive amounts of dialogue. It was working… slowly. “I’m Rosemary Roux. I don’t think we’ve met?”
She glanced over her shoulder to the wheezing cat, one pair of her four eyes breaking away from the Goldie and Autumn to look at her. “You sound like you need to get better. Are you alright?” Rosemary’s first thought, given the season, was some kind of cold or flu – which seemed a disaster for an event dealing with food and plenty of vectors to carry the disgusting germs.
And to see her family. Rosemary hasn’t talked with Goldie in weeks, and hasn’t seen Roxie since her sister’s return – how much else has she missed out on? The social anxiety grabbed hold of her heart and held firm. Yet now… she thought those claws weakened, if only for a day.
Forked tails swishing behind her, the ocelot finished setting up the teapots and the labels before them. Orange blossom oolong, peach black tea, sweetened green tea, and herbal citrus were her chosen varieties. Rosemary herself loved fruity teas more than herbal ones, and her personal collection reflected that bias. Earl grey, in her opinion, was highly overrated.
Her mouth watered at the smell of Goldie’s creamy linguine and the Tanglewooder’s fish and chips; her toes curled into the sand, and the ocelot set off to their tables. Her social anxiety, roaring in her ears, was dwarfed by the hunger gnawing at her stomach. “I can smell the spice from here, Goldie. Is the kick as strong as Pincher’s?” she asked the captain, though she nearly regretted bringing him up in such an abrupt manner – they’d never talked about him, but she often thought they should.
“Subpar fish and chips? Then you haven’t seen my sorry excuse for a meal,” Rosemary said, trying her hand at sliding into the conversation. She’d been working on her conversation skills – mostly by reading books with excessive amounts of dialogue. It was working… slowly. “I’m Rosemary Roux. I don’t think we’ve met?”
She glanced over her shoulder to the wheezing cat, one pair of her four eyes breaking away from the Goldie and Autumn to look at her. “You sound like you need to get better. Are you alright?” Rosemary’s first thought, given the season, was some kind of cold or flu – which seemed a disaster for an event dealing with food and plenty of vectors to carry the disgusting germs.
waded through the spirits like a flood on the floor
SHE PUSHED THE WATER INSIDE
I FEEL SO HUNGRY —
— Dear diary, I don't know what's going on, but something's up / The dog won't stop barking, and I think my TV is bust / Every channel is the same, it's sending me insane / And earlier somebody bit me, what a fucking day / The sky is falling / It's fucking boring / I'm going braindead, isolated / God is a shithead / And we're his rejects / Traumatized for breakfast / I can't stomach any more survival horror / Dear diary, I feel itchy like there's bugs under my skin / The dog's gone rabid (shut the fuck up) / Doing my head in —— WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING?