paradisa | 064. Down By the Seaside

[Dictated somewhat lazily.]

Alright, I haven't mentioned this in awhile and with the like... revolving door policy the castle likes to do, figured I should say something. Name's Brock, I have a little bit of land sort of southwest of the castle, off the main road to the city.

There's a community garden there if you don't feel like wishing for food or paying the townspeople with fake magic money. Which I totally get, by the way; it feels a little, uh... dishonest. Anyway, the garden's there for anybody who wants to use it. Just don't take everything without putting some work in too, alright?

I got a greenhouse too, in case you want to grow something out of season. There's also a smokehouse but I don't want anybody putting weird mystery meat in there so that's sort of off-limits, okay?

That's about all I wanted to say.

[A pause. Apparently he remembered something else, so--]

Oh, uh, if you see a little dude around the garden, that's just Frodo. So don't scare him or anything. He works for me.

[Vereesa.]
Hey. I'm guessing you went with everybody on that expedition, right? You back yet?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Tess is zeroing in on one thing there.]

Petty? Nothing I ask for is petty. You can go fuck yourself.

You first, pig-bitch. If you do not think a steak is a petty wish, then you should be ashamed of your priorities. Do us all a favor and wish to be sterilized so that you can never breed.

You don't know jack shit about me. Now fuck off before I get tempted to put a bullet in your head.

[Molotov laughs, tickled by the idea.]

Try it. I dare you.

I've got no problem with that.

Make it through the thirty angry bears, the booby traps, and my supply of grenades, and then we can fight, bitch.

[A derisive laugh!]

Bears? Seriously?

Thirty, all ready to tear out the throat of anyone who threatens me.

That's ridiculous.

Is it?

[There comes a low grumbling through the journal, animalistic and maybe a little sleepy. Certainly not human. Molotov is sitting on a rock with a grizzly bear, its head in her lap like a dog. She has poked it to elicit the sound.]

You should should tell Bonya, he is taking a nap next to me as we speak.

Sure. How about with an AA-12?

[Then the journal closes, abruptly. Joel!!]

[Well then. Molotov was about to make a quip about preferring her AN-94, but then she hears the journal close, so she shrugs and goes back to stroking the head of her bear.

She'll chalk it up as a victory.]