Mara, dressed in a skin-tight pair of black leggings and a shirt almost as ugly as Eggsy's terrifying wolf coat under her own leather jacket, glanced over at her date for the night. "Why do you smell like Outer Rim livestock?" she asked as they walked past an obscene number of tattoo shops and whiskey bars
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It was called Kale-ifornia Dreaming.
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"Oooh, what kind of food?" she asked.
[OOC: Sorry! Two guys with a machete chopped down a tree in our neighbor's yard and killed the telephone/internet and put a ten foot hole in our razor wired fence. Because they are idiots.]
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Mara, you are such a troll.
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"Ain't a proper date until we make people cry."
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But make it a Big Mac. Nothing artisan or locally sourced about that.
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Not even remotely.
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That was the optical illusion of the skinny jean.
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Because it really would.
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