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A cataclysmic war, referred to hereafter as the Collapse, erupted about one thousand years into creation, and all but three demigods, all but two races, and all the gods died off. The tattered remnants of the world held together through the power of the three surviving demigods, including yours; the female demigod of the elves, named Asa. Three huge alchemic weather machines keep the world habitable, while the demigods have dispensed with the use of Heralds in favor of Avatars: physical projections of themselves that can walk and talk like people.

The afterlife was dismantled in the wake of the Collapse, and now, all souls are simply ‘inverted’ in the seas of Chaos outside reality after death, and absorbed by their corresponding demigod.

You were assigned by your King to track down a gang of bandits that had sided with the secessionists in the southlands, but were ambushed and nearly murdered by the conspiracy and their ancient weapon, the Orb of the Feathered Demon. Because the weapon can kill demigods, the Pantheon survivors made you a Herald in secret, and have charged you with killing the ten conspirators who survived the battle in the woods.


Previously, brought a member of the Brotherhood of Adventurers to the city of Margent to kill her own sister, a member of the conspiracy, and luckily enough, her soul yielded crucial information: the address of the conspiracy's Number Three. You returned to pass along the knowledge to the King, and en route, you gained a new Chaotic ability, and tapped the Well of Life, which extends lifespans and slows aging. You haven't really stopped to consider the ramifications of that.

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CHAPTER EIGHT: AND THE WICKED MEN DISAPPEAR


Far below in the tunnels underneath the castle, you walk towards your home. You’re footsore and saddlesore, but you’ve nearly forgotten. It’s dinnertime, you’re going home, there’s a hot shower and a hot meal in your immediate future, and it’s time to collect on both!

The dark, smelly tunnel rolls on and on in a straight line – it was a water pipe, in a previous life, after all – until your door looms out of nowhere. You fumble the key into the lock and it screeches open, grating with the sound of rusted metal. You flinch and cover your ears. “Yeah, I need to oil that,” you grumble.

Inside, the stairs lead up into your basement. You emerge into the familiar room and lock the door behind you – can’t be too careful. As you do, you notice the little runes on the door and hinges; either Garren or Asa put them there, for sure.

Upstairs, the place is dark and empty. Jerome clearly isn’t here, but if the schedule he’s adopted on his new job is the same as the schedule from his last position, he’ll be home in half an hour or so. He may have even been behind you in the tunnel somewhere. He has his own key.


>Get a dinner started
>Pull on some civilian clothes
>writein

Rolled 7 (1d20)

>>34164328

>Get a dinner started

Oh thank fuck, the email function still works.

Moot, you assmunch, stop taking features people use!

ALL RIGHT: IN THE ABSENCE OF A MEANS OF DELINEATING POSTS THAT ARE OFFICIAL, ASSUME ANY POST I MAKE THAT DOESN'T END WITH EITHER
>options
A DICEROLL PROMPT
OR (con't) IS NOT QUEST MATERIAL!

>>34164328
>Get a dinner started

Yaaays dinner with Jerome

>>34164328
>>Get a dinner started

The lamellar coat fits on the rack by the door well enough, and you can change after eating. You putter about in the kitchen, making a small dinner. You’re ravenous, but he didn’t have much food in the house – he must have been planning on shopping tomorrow morning, Saturday. Hard to believe you’ve been a Herald for almost three full weeks…

You get some soup going and slice a bit of potato in, humming idly. You can’t help but smile as you remember what life was like before you were mustered in the Auxilia for the trip south. You’d come home a few minutes before him chop up some veggies, he’d come home, and the two of you would chat as he did the men’s work: chopping up whatever dried meats had been in the market the previous week. He called it men’s work, of course; you were far more experienced at cutting things with sharp edges than he, but he always wanted to do the hard work. Bless him.

Sure enough, nearly forty minutes after you came home, you hear the door swing open down in the basement. You cock an ear and wait.

Seconds later, you hear his voice. “Elsa?”

“Jerome! Glad you’re safe!” you call back. He thumps up the stairs and beams.

“Elsa! Hey, sweetheart, I’m glad you’re back!” he says, holding his arms wide. You tackle/hug him around the chest and lean up for a kiss he’s happy to provide.

After a moment’s happy reunion, he pulls back a bit to look you over. “Hey, you’re drenched. Were you out in the rain?”


(con’t)

You pull a face and squeeze him again. “Yeah. Got caught on horseback out in the farmlands. I’ll go bathe after food.”

“Food, eh? Excellent,” he says cheerfully. “We had the same idea.”

“The same-” You break off as he produces a little box from his new apron pocket. “What?”

“Well, it’s more like dessert, but hey,” he says modestly. You squeal in delight as he hands it over.

“Truffles? Aw, Jerome, thank you!” you exclaim, grabbing the package. “This is wonderful!”

He steps back and smiles broadly. You take a moment to examine his new appearance. His uniform is different, of course, since he lost his old job. Now, it’s a brown worker’s uniform with a black armory apron, with pockets at the waist and left breast. He has a hat in his free hand, bone dry – he doesn’t have to go outside with the tunnel in place.


>So how’s the new job?
>Tell him of your adventures
>Ask him what Asa’s told him
>writein

>>34164786
>>So how’s the new job?

I think we should start with this at least.

>>34164786
>So how’s the new job?

afterwards

>Ask him what Asa’s told him

We can regale him with tales of our bravery later.

You start setting out cutlery as he sinks into a chair and kicks his new workboots into the corner by the door. “So how’s the new job?”

Jerome shrugs. “Just more lifting things, but it’s decent money, and I like working in the armory. The guys remember me, you know? They’re worried, though.”

“Worried?”

“So many troops have been sent south that there’s not really much to do. Layoffs may be in the works,” he says darkly.

“Would they have hired you if they were going to be cutting people soon?” you ask.

He pauses. “Probably not, actually. And I guess they need to finish sorting the gear from your… you know.”

You hide a grimace. “I know.” You finish tipping some salted pork into the soup and grab two bowls. “So, what else is new?”

“Not much, really,” he says, taking one. “The whole Castle is buzzing about the new Prince. Apparently, the King decided not to put him ahead of his sister in line for the throne.”

Interesting. “Aldric isn’t going to supercede Mara?” you ask. There’re not many sex-specific roles in a world with both birth restrictions and a Pantheon with men and women on it, but Kingship usually passes to the first same-sex child.


(con’t)

Your husband shrugs again. “Apparently, he wants Maraven to be Queen. I dunno what the rush is. He tapped the Well, he’s not going anywhere, and his wife is a genius. She’d do a perfectly good job warming the throne.”

The Well. It’s not time to break that news. You swiftly move on. “So, what has Asa told you about my trip?” you ask as you dole out soup.

He digs in with great gusto, giving you his answer between spoons. “Well, she told us about the trip to Margent, and she says you got nicked in a fight, but other than that… not much.”

Nicked? You took an arrow straight through the leg. Asa’s sparing his feelings. “Okay. Yeah, some things changed, but I can explain this weekend.”

The room goes quiet except for the sounds of two hungry elves. The soup vanishes under the Ledren family’s hunger in no time at all.

Jerome leans back in his chair and sighs contentedly. “Thanks for dinner, sweetheart,” he says tiredly. “Dibs on first shower, alright? Trust me.”

“Sure,” you snort.


>Anything you want to talk about?

>Go ahead and discuss your new powers
>just go get ready for bed so you can both get up early to go to market tomorrow

>>34165342
>>just go get ready for bed so you can both get up early to go to market tomorrow

I can't think of anything and I think tomorrow might be a better time.

>>34165342
>just go get ready for bed so you can both get up early to go to market tomorrow

Gonna have to agree

After dinner, you dig into the truffles, splitting some and devouring others. After more than two weeks of cold meat and bread, chocolate is a luxury you don’t intend to squander.

The rain doesn’t let up. The huge thunderbreak just keeps coming, drenching the entire city. Inside your house, you drop some more wood on the fire, just to keep the place warm.

“Winter’s almost here,” Jerome sighs.

“Yeah,” you agree. “I’d have been most of the way to the south by now; it’s probably warmer there.”

He stands and stretches. “Don’t you want to get out of that armor?” he asks, maybe a little too casually.

“More than anything,” you reply in the same tone.


Upstairs, you finish carefully hanging your gear out by some candles to dry off as Jerome takes a quick rinse. You glance over the bed, noting that he’s changed it since you moved back in two weeks ago, but not in the last few days.


Okay, I kind of lost control here. Prepare for the lewdest thing I’ve ever written.
http://pastebin.com/fpFqfJa8


(con’t)

You lie still and listen to the raging lightning outside the window. The contrast with Jerome’s quiet, steady breath makes you smile. All the tempest in the world doesn’t penetrate the cocoon of contentment around you both.

On a whim, you focus your thoughts, and your new Chaotic ability activate. You lean over and look into your snoozing husband, noting with interest what you see. He doesn’t glow with golden light, like you do. Nor is his soul the shadowy grey and white that Dervich’s was. Jerome’s is silver and black. That matches what Garren told you, at least.

The ability you left active before, the one you think of as And All The World Shall Sing, reacts when you look at Jerome. You watch, surprised, as tiny tendrils of curling light drift from your soul over to his and caress it, before fading away. The spots your soul touches flicker, until the pattern of light across his spectral form matches the pattern in your own soul. You glance up at his face, and you see that even though he’s sound asleep, he’s smiling.

You will the Chaotic vision away, and the spectral images of the world vanish. As interesting as it was, watching your abilities working in concert like that, you’re exhausted. You curl up on Jerome’s flank and rest your head beside his shoulder, drifting off to sleep in moments.


>Roll 1d100 for the Dream Table. Only the first roll I see gets counted!

Rolled 63 (1d100)

>>34165979

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Very well! This is a short one (and there's no horrific, afterlife-scarring trauma in it). Good thing I shuffle these, because you rolled that number before.

Writing!

You are Countess Talia. Maybe you had another name once, but the Gem made that superfluous.

The title is well-deserved, according to everybody you’ve ever asked. You speak to the Pantheon, after all. There is no higher honor.

“May the next speaker please address the Countess-Herald?” your crier bellows. The crowd parts for a dark elf man, who walks up before your throne and kneels.

“Your Ladyship, I am Calhe, of the Cave Tribe, Second Province,” he says. His voice is a bit shaky, but he’s putting on a brave face. “I come to beseech your aid in the growing conflict with the praun settlers.”

“And what conflict is this?” you ask.

He looks up at you, amazed. “You haven’t heard, Countess?”

“I hear much, petitioner Calhe,” you say coolly. “Remind me.”

He scowls, but proceeds. “The prauns poach our game, they haunt our roads. There is talk of gangs, roaming about.”

“Oh?” You ponder this. The prauns have been growing a bit ambitious of late. “Very well. I shall hear you.”


*CRACK*

Lightning jolts you awake in your bed. You sit upright and stare around you, but it’s calm. It’s just you and Jerome.

“Bloody storm,” you mutter. You glance down at your husband, but he’s still out cold. “May as well get something done,” you sigh.

You slip out of bed and grab the dirty sheets, carrying them over your shoulder down into the basement, where you can get them cleaned up.

As you scrub, just whiling away time, you have a rare moment to think. Pursuing Soutri will take time, resources, and allies. If he has Forest with him, or his spies – he’d be mad not to – then you’ll need soldiers. Whether that takes the form of a few elites, a lot of normal men, or a hell of a lot of either, you don’t know.


>Ask the experts (Dietrich, Maas, Ekrine, Culler, Garren, Kelscik) in the morning
>See if Asa has any salient memories to share
>propose something else

>>34166394
>>Ask the experts (Dietrich, Maas, Ekrine, Culler, Garren, Kelscik) in the morning
Is Garren still in town? Wasn't she leaving?

>>34166394
>>See if Asa has any salient memories to share

Or at least get her input before asking the various experts.

>>34166456

As you hang the sheets up in front of the still-warm fireplace, you consider your options. Garren is in town another two days – she may be of help. Asa, of course, is always available. You thumb the Gem and think. {Sister, how should I approach Soutri?}

[You’re up late. If I were you, I would surround the place and attack in the dead of night, preferably with a major distraction ready to go. Something he’d be unable to ignore.]

{I just woke up and I’m doing laundry. What kind of distraction?}

[Oh, I don’t know. Recall he can teleport. Something he’d find attractive, not repulsive. If he thinks he’s about to be killed, or if he’s being diverted, he’d just run. So… not a fire. Not a fight. Maybe something he’d find important?]

{Like what? He’s a rich, superpowered sociopath,} you point out.

[I didn’t say it would be easy, Elsa,] Asa reminds you. [But that’s what I’d do. If an assassination isn’t possible, of course. If I were you, I’d focus on reconnoitering. I would ask the King for the best spy in the country to survey him. I mean top drawer,] she emphasizes. [A master. If that’s not something he can do… recall that there are Assassins’ and Thieves’ guildhalls in town. Pour money on them, and they’ll kill Soutri for you. A lot of money. Or just focus on one and help them out. Present them with a Royal seal, perhaps? Just thinking out loud.]

>any other questions?
>yes (what)
>no (go back to bed)

>>34166890
>>no (go back to bed)
Need to talk to Garren in the morning. Definitely need her to move against Soutri. Whatever the price is. But the pouring money idea is the way to go. Can't leave any chances for this one.

Also we need to move fast. If he isn't already gone, he will be soon if he gets word of his ladyfriend dying. It honestly wouldn't surprise me if that's just the place he entertains fellow conspirators and he actually lives somewhere nobody knows.

>>34166890
>>no (go back to bed)

{Thank you. I may have more questions in the morning,} you think as you climb back into bed and pull the covers up to your ears. It’s cold out with all the rain.

[So may I hazard a guess that Jerome was happy to see you?]

{You have no idea.}

[Oh, I do,] she says slyly. [He was counting the days.]

{Awww.} You lean over and peck him on the cheek again. {Too cute.}

[Sleep well, my sister. Any more nightmares?]

{No, they seem to come and go,} you inform her.

[Odd. Let me know if you have any bad ones.]

{I will. Good night.}


The next morning brings even more water, as the rain sluices out of gutters and drains into the huge tunnels under the city, through the Utility tower and back into the city’s reservoirs. The portal from the river into the tunnels is barely four blocks from your house, and it’s silent today, no surprise. All that water from the sky means you don’t need any from the river.

Jerome yawns as he flips some bacon on the stove. “Hey, want to go to the market with me in an hour?” he asks sleepily.

You struggle a shirt on in your seat at the table and scratch your shower-wet hair. “Sure! What do we need?”

“Everything. Meat, veggies, fruit, bread,” he lists. “I timed it so I ran out when you got back. No need to buy food for a house with only me in it.”

“Fine.” You start on your food as Jerome sits down with a plate of his own.

He munches on some bacon as you clean your plate. “So what happened out on the road? Can you tell me?”


>Reveal all (including Well access)
>Reveal all except (something)
>”Not now, I think. A lot happened. (stall)”
>writein

>>34167789
>Reveal all (including Well access)

>>34167789
>>Reveal all (including Well access)

>>34167789
>>Reveal all (including Well access)
Time for freak outs

“A hell of a lot,” you admit. You feel your stomach clench as you say it. “Actually, something really important happened to me. I unlocked some new abilities.”

“Yeah, Asa told me,” he says around a mouthful of toast.

You blink. “She did?”

“Was she not supposed to tell me? About the Well, I mean?” he asks.

Your jaw drops. “She… I didn’t tell her not to,” you admit. “That doesn’t scare you?”

He stares. “Scare me? That my wife is smart and courageous enough to gain a divine lifespan? I’m proud of you!”

“Oh.” You blush into your food in embarrassment. “I, uh… I thought you’d freak out.”

He shrugs uncomfortably. “Well, I did when Asa told me. But, you know, you said you had that healing ability, and if we do move out onto that farm by the shrine, we’ll have a lot of time to ourselves… I always sort of expected you to do it, frankly.”

“What?”

“A lot of veterans do, just by accident, right?” he asks. “It’s not that rare.”

You think furiously. The Well of Life is a sort of font of power created by the Spireling God, Vill. He opened it to all species before he died at the hands of his own children. It allows anybody who fulfils strangely diverse conditions to extend their lives, and the more times they match those conditions, which vary from person to person to an extent, the longer they live, up to a cap of about 800 years at the standing record. History’s only immortal person, Master Sun of the Firesouls, extended his life past 800 to possibly forever, but he’s claimed many times, in public, that it was a huge fluke, a product of his bizarre mind and uncanny luck, and not something that can be repeated.


(con’t)

The few things all Well-tapping people have in common are the ability to think past their instincts, a strong sense of personal conduct, and combat skill of some kind, learned or natural. The other conditions are anything from winning card games to playing good music in bad keys to juggling flaming swords – they have no commonality.

“I guess not,” you say quietly. “So you’re not upset?”

“Not any more,” he says. “Asa and I had a long talk about it.” He reaches across to squeeze your hand. “Hey. I love you, Elsa. Becoming a Herald hasn’t changed your personality one bit, and you put your entire mission on the line to ensure my safety. When I got mad and broke the rule you put down to keep me safe, I got messed up by some thugs, remember? And what did you do?”

You sigh in recollection of that awful night. “I said I would always love you,” you murmur.


(con’t)

“After admitting fault and making me stop feeling like a jackass,” he reminds you. “Asa talked with me a few nights back. She said that she sees every single memory that every single elf has, and nothing makes her sadder than seeing a marriage like ours fall apart because of… damn.” He closes his eyes. “What was the word she used? I had to ask her what it meant.” He focuses for a moment. “…Percieved inequalities of contributional capacity. I asked her to use shorter words, and she said that if I left you because I felt like I couldn’t keep up, you’d feel horrible, I’d never forgive myself, and she’d feel guilty for making it happen.” He lets go of your hand and bites into the last of the toast. “So I thought about that, and I thought about it, and I thought, and I realized she was right. I was just feeling dumb again.”

“Yeah,” you say, through building tears he hasn’t noticed.

“And besides, she says she’d be happy to show me that meditative technique she showed you,” he says casually. “Says it does more to keep you in shape than a full workout routine.” He pauses. “You okay?”

You grab his hand again and run your fingers over the palm. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

He stares at you for a second, before he seems to realize what he said. “Okay,” he says. “Hey. We’ll go to the market when you’re ready.”


>Is there any non-food item you want to buy?
>Special clothes
>New gear
>Maps
>writein

>>34168660
>>Special clothes
>>Maps

I think our gear is pretty good as is, I think.

Okay I'm an idiot.


Please specify what KIND of clothes, maps, etc you want. Maps of what? Clothes for what occasion? (may i suggest Circle meetings?)

>>34168660
Jerome ;_;

>Maps

>>34168743
Maps of the city
especially around where Soutri lives

>>34168693 Here

>> Maps of the areas where Souter lives and on the way there.
>>Clothing for circle meetings

That's what i have coming to mind inmediately.

>>34168806
I figured we could just use our heraldic outfit
Asa has to have completed it by now

“Thanks, handsome,” you say, wiping the tear away. “Uh, hang on.” You quickly press the Gem as he polishes off the toast. {Sister, this Heraldic uniform, what does it look like? Could it pass for modern clothes?}

[Sure, at a masque,] she says drily. [Or a theater. The formal one, anyway. The battle one is pretty unknown to the modern world, I’d imagine. No suits of it survived the Collapse. I made sure of it.]

{There’s a battle variant?}

[If you want one. I had to assemble the design from memory, and it took a bit. I haven’t fabricated it.]

{Where are you doing this? I thought manifesting material from nothing was very difficult, even for you.}

[Oh, yes. I’m fabricating it from materials I’ve salvaged from shipwrecks; pirates mostly, the ones who are dumb enough to hide in the shoals around Sanctuary and Passage. Don’t worry, it won’t smell like salt,] she says cheerfully. [Just a thread or two when I can spare the attention, until it’s done. Haret won’t stop making jokes about it, but to hell with him; I’m playing dressup with you whether he approves or not.]

Delightful.

“I should pick up some maps and stuff while I’m there,” you say, pulling your hand away. “So I can case out the next target without looking like a tourist.”

“Smart,” he says. “I need some new socks and shirts in work colors, too. Do you need any clothes?”


(con’t)

“Yeah, actually, something I can wear to Circle meetings,” you say. “Can you…?”

“Sure. Luckily, I won’t have to make a guess at your dimensions,” he says.

You roll your eyes. “Right.”

“I made careful measurements, you understand,” he says as you stand up and clear the table.

“Yes, I know.”

“In the shower, bedroom, balcony when it’s really dark, et cetera,” he continues.

“I know, Jerome.”

“It was a lot of fun,” he says, raising his voice to be heard as you climb up the stairs.

“I imagine.”

“There was a lot of sex is what I’m saying,” he calls up the stairwell.

“Get dressed, Jerome.”
The two of you set out as soon as he grabs his wallet and yours, though you both wear something to conceal your heads a bit – he chooses his work hat so he can match the uniform color with his purchases, you just use the hat you use when you’re attending the Circle – and make off for the marketplace. The rainclouds are gone, and in their place, the brightest, warmest sun you’ve seen in three weeks is blazing without a cloud in the sky.

“Bizarre weather,” Jerome mutters as the two fo you join the stream of people in the road to the markets.

“Yeah, Asa said it was just the weather machines kicking into winter mode when I asked her,” you reply. “Know what you’re looking for?”

“Sure. I know what the pantry doesn’t have in it,” he says. “See you at lunch with what we have?”

“Sure.” You make to move away when he grabs your wrist.

“Are we safe out here?” he asks quietly.


(con’t)

“Probably. I doubt Soutri or Forest would hit us in the middle of the markets, but if he can, being together wouldn’t change anything,” you remind him. “He also doesn’t have any way of knowing where I am right now. For all he knows, I fled the city, and you’ve been using the tunnels.”

“Right.” He looks around. “We should still move fast.”

“I agree. See you at the exit at noon? We’ll go get lunch and go home,” you say.

“A plan.” He squeezes your hand and vanishes into the stalls.

You walk right over to a small booth with ‘Tourism’ printed on the banner. “Excuse me, sir, but do you have any maps of local permanent stores?” you ask the man behind the boxes.

He looks up from his book. “Oh, yes, I do. Something specific?”

“Just browsing, you know,” you say politely.

“Hmm. Here,” he says, grabbing a map of the city and examining it. “Yes, this has some local shops and stores. It’s not complete, but it’s better than nothing.”

“Thank you, sir,” you say, passing him a few silvers.

>what else do you want to buy here today? Nearly any mundane item is available.

>>34169446
We should get Jerome a gift. Some of his favorite food or something. Defer to Elsa's knowledge of what he would like.

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>>34169787
Get a gift for Asa, cause why the fuck not.

As you walk out into the brilliant sunlight, you can’t help but feel your spirits lift. After two weeks of pain, boredom, and wonder, you’re shopping. You were never one of the giggling society girls at school – you preferred the boxing ring – but that doesn’t mean you don’t know when a small gift is appropriate.

You walk over to the food area, where all the farmers, chefs, cooks, and bakers are hawking their wares. You brows until you find something Jerome would like: a stall that sells spices.

Heading in, you peruse the racks until your eyes alight on a bottle of something called ‘Unbearable.’ “Sir, what is this?” you ask the vendor.

The vendor, a small human man with a bunch of cookbooks on the table beside him, walks over to look at your selection. “Ah, Unbearable. The spiciest stuff I sell,” he says. “Are you planning to prank someone? All I ask is that you read the warnings, first.”

Okay, maybe not. “Uh, and this?” you ask, selecting something a bit more safe.

“Chili powder and onion salt, mixed for soups and meat sauces,” he says instantly.

“Perfect. I’ll take it.” Jerome loves spicy things. You pass over the coins when an odd thought strikes you. What would a demigoddess who can manifest any object she wishes like? “Is there a flower stall nearby?” you ask.

He nods. “Yes, by the exit.”


(con’t)

“Thanks, sir.”


Over by the exit, you find the promised stall, a large one, with many customers already packed inside. You look over the many, many colorful bouquets, looking for something you’d recognize.

Something in the back corner catches your eye. Upon closer inspection, you spot a small wreath of yellow and green flowers, with vibrant red leaves that are almost as colorful as the petals.

The flower girl wanders over when she sees you spot your target. “Someone expecting, madam?” she asks cheerfully. “Aurora flowers are traditional in the mountain countries, for pregnant mothers.”

“No, just somebody who would like them,” you say, plucking one wreath. “I’ll take it.”

>anything else?
>if not, vote >skip

sorry i'm late D:

>>34171081
>skip

>>34171081
>>if not, vote >skip
I hate you for being late. Not really

With all your things assembled, you wait by the entrance to the market. A few minutes before noon, Jerome appears in the crowd, bags in hand. “Found you,” he huffs. “Ready to go?”

“I am,” you say, accepting a few bags out of fairness. “Let’s go home.”

You walk back to the house, watching every alley and rooftop for Soutri or Forest, but neither shows up. As soon as you’re back in your own home, Jerome lets out a sigh of pure relief. “Thank goodness,” he says under his breath. “I wish that weren’t so risky.”

“No kidding,” you agree fervently.

“Here, these are yours,” he says, passing you a bag of fabric. “Go try it on, see if it fits.”

“Thought you had my measurements,” you say playfully.

“I can always check,” he shoots back as you vanish into the room.


[Temporary End of Thread]

Picking up tomorrow, just before noon eastern!

>>34171910
cool
bumpfags pls

bump

keep this alive!

fappo