I do cook. I'd say I'm not terrible at it, but that's better judged by a third party. If you're hungry, is there anything you don't eat? For reasons of preference, allergy, what have you.
Matriculating personally was never really in the cards, let's put it that way. And I always had tutors. Not because the people who raised me were rich, mind, it was just--very specialized schooling. Admittedly I'm curious about yours, but consider me curious about you in general.
I could eat, and I've been roughing it medieval-style for too long to be all that picky.
Mine... was and wasn't normal. There was a killing spree my freshman year. Two seniors tried to emulate the stabbings that made our town infamous in the 90s.
True. We're not exactly spoiled for choice, but I'm mostly trying to avoid poisoning you, so it's good to know anyway. Anaphylactic shock can really bring down a mood, or so I'm told.
[ he wonders offhandedly if the minstrel would bring him a wok, actually; at home he'd just throw together a stir fry, and it would be goddamn delicious. meanwhile, this part of sam's high school experience is uh, unexpected, but for better or worse he has the foreknowledge to know she's Been Thru It, as they say. some of that is knowing exactly how scars produced by knife wounds look; he would wonder if she was targeted in said killing spree if he couldn't also tell those scars are too fresh to have incurred them freshman year. ]
Jesus. If that's a story you want to tell I'm sure I can scare up some truly awful alcohol to bring with me. Turnip liquor or whatever it is they have here.
[ Val's communication is typically more three dimensional than the network itself, so Sam may get the sense that he's moving around, the atmosphere briefly darkening as he steps outside. Legs as long as his will mow down the relatively lengthy walk, and he frankly needs a minute to think of a story he can tell that approximately uhh anyone would want to hear. ]
All right. The club I told you about? You know, the one you made me prove my credentials for running. Most nightclubs fail within their first year, but if they make in that long within two they're in the black. When Pandora actually started making the kind of money a person could live on, naturally we threw a party. Where also quite naturally, I had to breakup a seven-way in the bathroom. In a stall.
Before you ask why this the story I'm telling you, while the seven-way formerly known as a bachelorette party is funny, it was still the second best night of my life to that point. That's the important part.
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Matriculating personally was never really in the cards, let's put it that way. And I always had tutors. Not because the people who raised me were rich, mind, it was just--very specialized schooling. Admittedly I'm curious about yours, but consider me curious about you in general.
no subject
Mine... was and wasn't normal. There was a killing spree my freshman year. Two seniors tried to emulate the stabbings that made our town infamous in the 90s.
no subject
[ he wonders offhandedly if the minstrel would bring him a wok, actually; at home he'd just throw together a stir fry, and it would be goddamn delicious. meanwhile, this part of sam's high school experience is uh, unexpected, but for better or worse he has the foreknowledge to know she's Been Thru It, as they say. some of that is knowing exactly how scars produced by knife wounds look; he would wonder if she was targeted in said killing spree if he couldn't also tell those scars are too fresh to have incurred them freshman year. ]
Jesus. If that's a story you want to tell I'm sure I can scare up some truly awful alcohol to bring with me. Turnip liquor or whatever it is they have here.
no subject
I'll trade my freshman year experience for one of your stories.
no subject
[ Val's communication is typically more three dimensional than the network itself, so Sam may get the sense that he's moving around, the atmosphere briefly darkening as he steps outside. Legs as long as his will mow down the relatively lengthy walk, and he frankly needs a minute to think of a story he can tell that approximately uhh anyone would want to hear. ]
All right. The club I told you about? You know, the one you made me prove my credentials for running. Most nightclubs fail within their first year, but if they make in that long within two they're in the black. When Pandora actually started making the kind of money a person could live on, naturally we threw a party. Where also quite naturally, I had to breakup a seven-way in the bathroom. In a stall.
Before you ask why this the story I'm telling you, while the seven-way formerly known as a bachelorette party is funny, it was still the second best night of my life to that point. That's the important part.