a very special holiday game.

[poleaxed]

FORM: Crystal.
SENDER: Jone of Denerim.
RECIPIENT: All y'all.
NOTES: a history of violence.

[Jone's voice comes out a bit nasal, as if one of her nostrils are blocked. The reason quickly becomes clear:] Oi! You lot! I've a contest. Which of you's the best healer? Fix this old nose of mine... and my face along with it, would you?

It's not especially bollocksed, but which of you can do it fastest, eh? I'm at the mess.

While I'm here, this lad I know, Benedictus? Little Vint. Everybody should attack him-- non-lethally-- when he's least expecting it. Which is all the time, innit? Ben, lad, it's the next step in your training.

Comments

[altusimperius]

...thank you.

[He doesn't want to wear the words out, but the sincerity of gratitude is there.]

I don't mind that she wants to train me. I get what she's doing, in hindsight, it was just--

--well it was frightening.

[bouchonne]

You don't need to justify your feelings, my boy.

[altusimperius]

[aw.]