If I get clarification
As to whether I can post
My blog link

If I can I will

wounder where her pub is

sneaking a glass of mom's wine

are you here

so just what do you have planed

will check back in a little while

Fairram Rise
dropping wood onto the smoldering embers to ignite the nights fire. three rabbits gutted and skinned hang waiting for the kiss of the skewer. a small flame leaps up between the gathering of small logs and starts to spread. he remembers when he used to read and memorize poetry to recite to his lady fair, now he reads the images wavering in the fire and listens to the stories the hissing of wet wood tell. quite the departure of his mindless evenings spent in carnage.

I'm kind of with you. I would like to get out and play - I generally have at least a little time. But I have zero inspiration. Might just have to think up whole new characters.

peeks in.
gets a Dr. Pepper takes a seat

hope your still here

I guess I missed everyone.

going back to my pub

good evening

The photos may be of heights, but the quality of this quizz reaches a new low...asking if the photo is real or AI then saying that the person actually died.

Maybe you should stick to something you are good at, like countdowns.

looks in

Apartment
Holly projected calm, in the weirdest possible sense, and perhaps it wasn't going to work exactly as she intends.
That whatever that call was, it had a definite ceiling in how bad it could possibly be.

As long as it wasn't a lawyer or doctor, there was nothing that could be told to you in words that she felt was truly capable of being all that bad.

Then again… her personal scale for things had an Overton window that was shifted awkwardly towards the sensational.

"What is it?" she answered with a quiet, almost demure mute over her tone, thoughtlessly leaving her hand out for your reach.

The other one? It had some fancy, heavy, silver signing pen.

Here, and here, and here by the ×, and once more, here with today's date, and a deposit and first month and security and…

"Well…" she set the pen down on the stack of papers that the agent then took and folded together.

"…look, at the very least you've got a place, it's paid up. One less thing to worry about, right? Compared to… uh…"

The posture spoke volumes — not just a linear scale for your stress, but the form that the stress was taking, coming from. The texture of the exact kind of knife that you were handling. This one was serrated, and was postured right in the gap in your armor.

…well let's face it, there is no armor. That's… sorta part of what makes you special.

A glance to the agent, a shift of her wide eyes, she might as well have dismissed her verbally, and within seconds everything was settled without so much as a handshake.

are you here

need p/w

Fit