What am I getting myself into?
Scrawled in a loose hand on the pages of a maimed and singed oilcloth-wrapped journal. It's cover and page margins are scrawled over with doodles of kittens. Some of these are, unfortunately, pink.
I've followed up on that little chat I had at the mead hall. The one that had me so upset. So I went out, having worked up a beefy blue mope, despite ( Read more... )
I've followed up on that little chat I had at the mead hall. The one that had me so upset. So I went out, having worked up a beefy blue mope, despite ( Read more... )
...wait, aren't you married?
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...wait, aren't you married?
Um...that would be an entirely different sort of interesting than you're apparently thinking of, Gil.
I don't have those sort of interesting nights anymore. The ones where you wake up wearing one boot that isn't yours and half-lying in a puddle of delicious gravy in strange rooms and have to sneak your way out of large, confusing houses you've never seen before, wondering where all your buttons have got to and forced to use a stolen pair of pants to cover yourself until you get home.
If that's what you'd meant.
Or were you talking about something else?
Besides. That only happened the once.
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Ummm...Gil?
Considering who the other party involved in that particular evening's entertainment was, that comment might be a bit lacking in taste.
Oh...I never told you about that, did I?
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Oh, wait...him.
That's a given. If you're female and in Amber, you don't get voting rights til you do that.
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