09-17-2020, 04:54 AM
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THERE’S VACANCY IN EVERY NIGHTMARE
Rosemary’s ear twitched at the announcement, and the ocelot’s eyes focused on him. She stopped walking, her satchel tapping her shoulder, as she considered continuing as planned and running off to the river for a meditation and swim. However, she tried to stop doing that and form real social connections with the group. When had she even talked with Michael?
The witch sighed quietly to herself and walked towards him, detouring from the familiar path with no small amount of trepidation. A few paces later, she stood in front of him, one pair of eyes glancing between his various contraptions and items on the table. None of the alcohol looked familiar to her, besides the moonshine or clear vodka varieties; her treehouse had a distillery… which she only used for disinfectant purposes, oddly enough.
“I do not drink alcohol, so a small serving? One with… minimal alcohol. But not beer. Or some whiskey varieties? I’m allergic to wheat, barley, and rye. Whiskey gets confusing… but definitely no beer.” Her mouth twitched slightly into a frown; perhaps this had been a bad idea.
Ever since a fiasco with Pincher’s boyfriend (that man loved to make pasta… and Rosemary could not eat pasta), she tended towards wariness on foods with potentially counter intuitive ingredients. After all, how was she to know squid ink pasta wasn’t literally made out of squid and squid ink only?
She sighed again. “I like fruity teas? Surprise me with a fruity thing.”
[sub][W]isker[/sub]The witch sighed quietly to herself and walked towards him, detouring from the familiar path with no small amount of trepidation. A few paces later, she stood in front of him, one pair of eyes glancing between his various contraptions and items on the table. None of the alcohol looked familiar to her, besides the moonshine or clear vodka varieties; her treehouse had a distillery… which she only used for disinfectant purposes, oddly enough.
“I do not drink alcohol, so a small serving? One with… minimal alcohol. But not beer. Or some whiskey varieties? I’m allergic to wheat, barley, and rye. Whiskey gets confusing… but definitely no beer.” Her mouth twitched slightly into a frown; perhaps this had been a bad idea.
Ever since a fiasco with Pincher’s boyfriend (that man loved to make pasta… and Rosemary could not eat pasta), she tended towards wariness on foods with potentially counter intuitive ingredients. After all, how was she to know squid ink pasta wasn’t literally made out of squid and squid ink only?
She sighed again. “I like fruity teas? Surprise me with a fruity thing.”
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?