Date: 2017-07-10 07:58 pm (UTC)
From: [personal profile] pengwern
His tongue was going numb. No, wait, those salty chunks were probably the barbecued pork chips, and not flesh sloughing off his palate. Mikodez summons the strength of all his Shuos forebears who ever had to endure experimental Andan aperitifs and smiles.

“If you send me a map, we can bring a few duplicates up to the kitchen first, and I’ll promise to not to mix all the bottles with walnut frosting and mulberry sprinkles.” He strolls off at the first branching of the corridor, regardless of where the cargo hold actually is. “My most useful skill is probably that. Don’t know what else I can add to a bunch of smugglers, but I used to help my sister with dyeing her moon rabbit fleeces, and I can do a spot of drop spindling or make little felt sculptures.” Both involve sharp implements, but maybe Ashari knew that already.

[SURE, but is it like an actual bug, or something that puts out a trail that would decay with time? He might feed the other two-fifths to tiny adorable puppies/robots bounding through the Wasp, if it’s the latter. And he’s probably going to be ostentatiously un-Shuos for a good while - at least an hour.]
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The Intolerable Clock: A Non-Canon Hexarchate RPG

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