CAN WE PLEASE ?

YOU GET MEEEEEEE

i see a whole lot of yapping and not a whole lot of thread starting

okay but do u know that the cost is minute, merely a personal ... and eternal sacrifice ? if this paradise is to be maintained for everyone , someone must remain trapped in solitary wakening , until the end of the cosmos

(affectionately) i’ll kill you

#openrp #casual #group #funny #characterdevelopment #openlore #oc&canon #adventure #fantasyrp

Food. The mortal prerequisite, yet even the gods choose to eat. For living beings, it is a celebration of a moment, made ordinary by the frequency of death upon their existence. To consume and be alive for another day longer and satisfy the ill-tempered body being made to work for a continued survival. Food is simple joy. Food is proof of yearning. Food is…

“How do you feel about eggs? Yay or nay? Bread? Pasta?” The broad-shouldered man, equipped in heavy armor and a frying pan sword, lifts a crock pot above his head. Stripped tentacles jiggle by his hips, strapped around him in red ribbbons.

“Do you like spicy food?”

Dimos wrinkled his nose. Briefly, he wondered if the chef de cuisine in this goddess-forsaken place was trying to kill him. It was entirely possible, but there were easier methods than preparing an entire meal for him.

He's eaten leftover gristle before. Rotten cabbages when the alternative was starvation. Stale bread was once his treasure, a promise of another day. But at least all of those things didn't try to suffocate him with capsaicin. 

"I'm not picky. But hold the spice." Please.

He didn't stare at the tentacles because it was impolite. But it did make him feel woefully underdressed in the Elysian Fields. Shangri-la. El Dorado. Arcadia. Fiddler's Green. Whatever this was.

”Oh,” the man replies, a mild confusion spreading on his dirt-spotched face. Thin stretches of scars like palm lines peer beneath curly brown hair. “Why? Does it make you fart?”

It’s a question he considers inmediately resolved by the way he nods and grins, setting the crock pot down, clearing small rocks and branches with a sweep of his foot.

“It be like that. DW, I wasn’t planning on making one. Just curious cus everyone’s real different when it comes to spicy food.”

"...Ah! If you don't mind my intrusion," a voice pipes up, from a few paces north. Hands neatly folded within her lap, she offers the two of them a small wave; although boasting little to speak of in terms of presence, she's already comfortably seated herself amidst the grass, as if she's been present here much more than a few minutes' time.

The young woman carries herself gracefully, nodding towards the two strangers with an enigmatic smile— but the streaks of dirt strewn across the hem of her dress, vibrant colors having long faded, tell a tale longer than that of a purple-blooded princess. For someone of her condition, a hoarseness present in the back of her throat as she raises her voice to speak again, a passer-by's meal is hardly anything to scoff at.

"If you've something spicy he can't eat, I'd gladly volunteer." A sideways glance, this time given to Dimos, pairs itself with a raised eyebrow— If you're so ungrateful, there are people here who'd give an arm and a leg for your leftovers.

Either way, she's still smiling.

eat drink breathe let’s play ink