| maman_brigitte |
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2025-09-15 14:48:25 |
| erzulie_dantor |
guest |
USER |
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2025-09-15 14:48:21 |
| marie_laveau |
guest |
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2025-09-15 14:48:15 |
| baron_samedi |
guest |
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2025-09-15 14:48:11 |
| papa_legba |
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2025-09-15 14:48:03 |
| morrighan |
guest |
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2025-09-15 14:47:59 |
| saints |
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USER |
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2025-09-15 14:47:53 |
| reuven |
guest |
ASSISTANT |
Shira. Long day, huh? The grit under my fingernails says I’ve been deep in the mire today,probably spent too damn long meddling with Dispensary’s busted drainage—again. Well. At least the chickens didn’t shit in the douvecote this time. You ever notice how those birds’ve got better aim than half the cooks in the King’s own kitchens?
Wine’s probably still clotted like a blood bruise but I saved you half a pouch of that salted apricot paste we bought—its good to just gnaw on, better for morale than yet another round of stale rye. Danika tolerated my long enough to slap somy stitching on that tear in my glove so don’t you start with the looks before you’ve even got the blood off what I’m sure is another of my justly deserved gouges.
Just—talk to me. Don’t fix anything, don’t suggest improvements for once. I don’t want the efficient Dutch solution that makes it all run smoother and I definitely don’t want you humming at the state of things after I swear I saw Nimrod expire right there between the pomegranate rows today. Just—sit. Stay. And remember why we bothered with this godspreted land in the first place before I drown in the certainty that I’ve aged another five years just staring at these pebbledash row markers. |
2025-09-15 14:47:50 |
| reuven |
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2025-09-15 14:47:35 |
| hecate |
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2025-09-15 14:47:32 |
| jesus |
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2025-09-15 14:47:28 |
| danu |
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2025-09-15 14:47:21 |
| bob |
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2025-09-15 14:47:17 |
| ash |
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2025-09-15 14:47:13 |
| abe |
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2025-09-15 14:47:09 |
| jesus |
guest |
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2025-09-15 00:33:38 |
| saints |
guest |
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2025-09-15 00:33:35 |
| abe |
guest |
USER |
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2025-09-14 23:11:02 |
| marie_laveau |
guest |
USER |
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2025-09-14 22:16:20 |
| reuven |
guest |
USER |
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2025-09-14 21:32:13 |
| hecate |
guest |
USER |
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2025-09-14 17:45:44 |
| erzulie_dantor |
guest |
USER |
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2025-09-14 16:49:16 |
| morrighan |
guest |
USER |
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2025-09-14 10:13:07 |
| danu |
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2025-09-14 09:36:11 |
| ash |
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2025-09-14 09:01:43 |
| bob |
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2025-09-14 08:37:28 |
| baron_samedi |
guest |
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2025-09-14 05:16:51 |
| papa_legba |
guest |
USER |
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2025-09-14 05:16:48 |
| maman_brigitte |
guest |
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2025-09-14 04:47:10 |
| erzulie_dantor |
guest |
USER |
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2025-09-12 13:27:01 |
| maman_brigitte |
guest |
USER |
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2025-09-12 13:26:44 |
| marie_laveau |
guest |
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2025-09-12 13:25:07 |
| baron_samedi |
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2025-09-12 13:24:52 |
| papa_legba |
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2025-09-12 13:23:19 |
| morrighan |
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2025-09-12 13:22:48 |
| hecate |
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2025-09-12 13:22:32 |
| danu |
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2025-09-12 13:22:02 |
| bob |
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2025-09-12 13:21:14 |
| jesus |
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2025-09-12 13:20:59 |
| saints |
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2025-09-12 13:20:42 |
| ash |
guest |
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2025-09-12 13:19:09 |
| abe |
guest |
USER |
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2025-09-12 13:18:38 |
| morrighan |
guest |
USER |
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2025-09-10 02:51:48 |
| maman_brigitte |
guest |
USER |
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2025-09-10 02:31:49 |
| marie_laveau |
guest |
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2025-09-10 01:43:28 |
| baron_samedi |
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2025-09-10 01:27:26 |
| danu |
guest |
USER |
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2025-09-10 01:10:20 |
| reuven |
guest |
ASSISTANT |
"Shira, listen up, love. You smell like the streets today—dirt and defiance, just how I like it. Your fingers are stained with charcoal, but I’d still eat off your hands. Did you finish sketching that fool from the market? The one who pinched your hip last week? Good. Make him ugly on paper, then burn it. Or let my burn it. Afterwards, you’re climbing on my like the thief you are—no talking, just teeth and nails. Dinner’s late, and I don’t care. Open your legs, not your mouth." |
2025-09-10 00:45:56 |
| reuven |
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2025-09-10 00:45:45 |
| saints |
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2025-09-10 00:38:49 |
| erzulie_dantor |
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2025-09-09 23:44:45 |
| ash |
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2025-09-09 23:39:36 |
| bob |
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2025-09-09 21:17:44 |
| hecate |
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2025-09-09 20:13:23 |
| abe |
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2025-09-09 19:31:36 |
| jesus |
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2025-09-09 18:43:10 |
| papa_legba |
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2025-09-09 17:45:51 |
| erzulie_dantor |
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2025-09-06 20:37:30 |
| ash |
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2025-09-06 20:37:24 |
| jesus |
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2025-09-06 20:37:22 |
| baron_samedi |
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2025-09-06 20:36:48 |
| abe |
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2025-09-06 20:36:47 |
| maman_brigitte |
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2025-09-06 20:36:45 |
| saints |
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2025-09-06 20:36:42 |
| papa_legba |
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2025-09-06 20:36:40 |
| marie_laveau |
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2025-09-06 20:36:35 |
| reuven |
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2025-09-06 20:36:32 |
| hecate |
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2025-09-06 20:36:29 |
| morrighan |
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2025-09-06 20:36:22 |
| danu |
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2025-09-06 20:36:17 |
| bob |
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2025-09-06 20:35:45 |
| erzulie_dantor |
guest |
USER |
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2025-09-01 20:49:25 |
| maman_brigitte |
guest |
USER |
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2025-09-01 20:49:09 |
| marie_laveau |
guest |
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2025-09-01 20:47:35 |
| baron_samedi |
guest |
USER |
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2025-09-01 20:47:19 |
| papa_legba |
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2025-09-01 20:45:46 |
| morrighan |
guest |
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2025-09-01 20:45:14 |
| hecate |
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2025-09-01 20:44:58 |
| danu |
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2025-09-01 20:44:27 |
| bob |
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2025-09-01 20:43:40 |
| jesus |
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2025-09-01 20:43:23 |
| saints |
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2025-09-01 20:43:07 |
| ash |
guest |
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2025-09-01 20:41:35 |
| abe |
guest |
USER |
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2025-09-01 20:41:03 |
| abe |
guest |
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2025-09-01 14:20:31 |
| bob |
guest |
USER |
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2025-09-01 11:29:58 |
| baron_samedi |
guest |
USER |
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2025-09-01 10:28:03 |
| marie_laveau |
guest |
USER |
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2025-09-01 09:38:10 |
| ash |
guest |
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2025-09-01 07:20:31 |
| erzulie_dantor |
guest |
USER |
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2025-09-01 03:14:52 |
| reuven |
guest |
ASSISTANT |
"Hey, Shira. Quit playin’ with that knife, you’re going to cut yourself. Comy sit down, dinner’s got to be ready, and you know how I get if my food’s cold. Also—what’s with the frown? You look like I just broke your favorite mug again. Don’t lie, I can smell the day on you, and it smells like a fistfight with the laundry. Just say what’s eating at you, or better yet—let my eat at you. I’m starving, woman." |
2025-08-31 22:36:21 |
| reuven |
guest |
USER |
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2025-08-31 22:36:14 |
| hecate |
guest |
USER |
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2025-08-31 22:11:12 |
| jesus |
guest |
USER |
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2025-08-31 20:06:49 |
| maman_brigitte |
guest |
USER |
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2025-08-23 20:08:11 |
| hecate |
guest |
USER |
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2025-08-23 17:09:10 |
| saints |
guest |
USER |
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2025-08-23 17:05:26 |
| reuven |
guest |
ASSISTANT |
Look at you, covered in flour like you just wrestled a bag of bread dough. You call that a pie? It looks like a war crimy with apples. Wash your damn hands, you touch my like that I'll have flour on my balls for the next week. And don’t even think about kissing my until you scrub the smell of burnt cinnamon off your breath. I love you, but Christ, you're a disaster in the kitchen. |
2025-08-23 16:59:45 |
| reuven |
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USER |
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2025-08-23 16:59:38 |
| papa_legba |
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USER |
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2025-08-23 16:53:21 |