Slowswift's Writing Stuff

[+Slowswift he/him]

Seeing as how I've been writing a little bit more lately--not a lot, but enough that I don't feel like a total failure--I thought I'd create this thread to share bits and pieces of what I write. I'm mostly sharing for fun, but if I'd like more feedback or constructive criticism on a particular piece I'll indicate so in the post.

Anyways, the first post will be coming...sometime. I'd share a meme but the Shard doesn't want to let me do that right now.

Edited May 16 by Slowswift
Memes away!

[Edema Rue she/her]

Oo, I’m excited!!

[+Slowswift he/him]

On 5/15/2024 at 7:56 AM, Edema Rue said:

Oo, I’m excited!!

I think you're entirely too optimistic.  

But anyways, here's most of a scene I've been working on. It's going to be part of a larger work that I'm not quite sure where to take yet, but has caught my fancy nonetheless. 

I've got the whole chapter mostly done, but I've been staring at it for far too long and it needs some fresh eyes on it before I try and implement any new ideas. Tell me what y'all think?

An Excerpt from an Untitled Chapter from an Untitled Work no. 1:

Spoiler

I kept walking until the first restaurant without a line—some bar type, the kind with live music and too many hipsters. Well, I’d fit right in, I suppose. I shouldered my way through the door and stood just inside while I got my bearings. The host stand was right in front of me; the entrance to the kitchen behind it and the bar behind that, running the length of the wall to the stage. The stage itself was a quarter circle in the corner. A number of tables were scattered on the floor, and the wall opposite the bar was lined with booths. Despite the late hour, there were a handful of diners still, watching the band on the stage and chatting amongst themselves.

The hostess led me back into the dining area. She slowed next to a table in the center, but instead I asked, “Sorry, is a booth available?”

She blinked and then consulted her tablet. “There is. Right this way.” She then took me to a booth in the corner. It was dimly lit and partially obscured by some fake plants. Perfect.

I told her as much; she smiled and indicated a server would be by shortly.

I took the time to check on my various bruises. Prodding gently, I made sure nothing was broken. Plenty of cuts and scrapes, but nothing too bad, and the ribs—blessedly—were just sore, not broken like I’d feared. Once done, I let out a deep breath and sank back into the seat.

“Long day, hun?” a voice asked.

I cracked an eye.

A waitress stood there, notebook at the ready and eyebrow raised.

“You could say that,” I said.

She smiled. It didn't reach her eyes. “My name’s Megan; I’ll be your server tonight. I’m guessing some water to start?”

“Yes please.”

She was off. Not long after, she arrived carrying a tray with a glass of water and a jug, condensation dripping down the sides. She set the glass down, and I picked it up and drank it in one.

Megan didn’t even bat an eye as she refilled the glass. “Have you decided what you’d like to eat?”

While drinking the second glass, I put my finger down on the menu without looking.

She smirked and said, “One clam chowder, coming right up.” She left, but not before filling the glass one last time.

I sat back, closed my eyes again, and drifted off. At some point the band stopped playing. They were replaced by generic pop piped through the PA system and the sounds of patrons gathering their things and leaving. The next distinct sound I heard was the puff of someone sitting down across from me.

“Long day?” A new voice asked.

“That obvious, huh?” I opened my eyes.

Across from me sat a young woman who looked to be in her mid-twenties. She toyed idly with the end of her red braid as she gazed at me with an expression half concerned, half amused.

“A little bit,” she said.

“Damn.”

“Sorry.”

I waved off her apology. “Nah, I look like a wreck and I know it. I’m just glad to finally be sitting down somewhere.”

A rather guilty look passed over her face. “I’m not bothering you, am I? I can leave, if you’d like.”

I looked her in the eyes a little longer, searching. Her concern seemed genuine. What were the odds someone had followed me here? I probably shouldn’t be talking to anyone until I could check back in with the office. But I was so out of my way, and the last week had been so abjectly miserable that I wanted nothing more than something so normal and mundane as a chat with a random stranger at a bar.

“No, that’s all right. Honestly…it’s probably for the best I not be alone right now.”

She nodded, seeming to understand. She held out her hand. “I’m Tia. Nice to meet you.”

I reached across the table and shook it. Warm and firm, slightly callused. It felt nice. “Likewise. I’m Forrest.”

“That’s a nice name.”

“You think so?”

“I do.” She smiled. It was a nice smile.

Damn. Was this flirting? Was she flirting with me?

“Uh. Well, thanks. Are you here often?”

Really? That’s what you say next? The single most cliché pickup line on the planet?

The smile turned into a full-sized grin. She reached beside the table and hefted an object I hadn’t noticed. An instrument case?

“Yes, actually,” she said. “I play with a band here every Thursday night.”

“Guitar?” I asked, noting the shape of the case. That would explain the calluses.

“Close. I play bass.”

“Was that you earlier, when I first walked in?” I asked, gesturing to the stage.

“Hmm? Oh, no, we go on in a few minutes.”

I glanced over. The crew bustling around, bringing out instrument stands and adjusting microphones. A group of people in assorted clothing stood around an upright piano, laughing uproariously. A tattooed man with curly hair in a bandanna and a plaid shirt with rolled-up sleeves sat at the bench, while a stocky fellow in denim and a woman in a tracksuit leaned against it. The other bandmates, I assumed.

“That’s pretty late,” I said, turning back.

She shrugged. “Not for us.”

“Shouldn’t you be over there? Looks like they’re almost ready.”

Another shrug. “Probably.”

“So…”

“So maybe I like talking to you more than I like just waiting around.” That small, smug smile was back.

Okay, that was blatant. “Well, then by all means.”

Just then, the waitress stopped at our table and handed over a steaming bowl. I didn’t miss the stink-eye she gave Tia.

“Thank you,” I said. The soup looked and smelled delicious, though too hot to start on right away.

A voice called from the other side of the room. “Hey, Tia! We’re ready for you!”

Over on the stage, the musicians had taken their places and were tuning their instruments. The pianist, evidently the one who had spoken, was waving at her.

She sighed. “Duty calls. Stick around?”

The offer made me smile despite myself. “I’d love to.”

“Great! See you later, alligator.” She slid out of the booth, picked up her instrument, and walked off.

 

Edited May 30 by Slowswift

[Edema Rue she/her]

5 hours ago, Slowswift said:

I think you're entirely too optimistic.  

But anyways, here's most of a scene I've been working on. It's going to be part of a larger work that I'm not quite sure where to take yet, but has caught my fancy nonetheless. 

I've got the whole chapter mostly done, but I've been staring at it for far too long and it needs some fresh eyes on it before I try and implement any new ideas. Tell me what y'all think?

An Excerpt from an Untitled Chapter from an Untitled Work no. 1:

  Reveal hidden contents

I kept walking until the first restaurant without a line—some bar type, the kind with live music and too many hipsters. Well, I’d fit right in, I suppose. I shouldered my way through the door and stood just inside while I got my bearings. The host stand was right in front of me; the entrance to the kitchen behind it and the bar behind that, running the length of the wall to the stage. The stage itself was a quarter circle in the corner. A number of tables were scattered on the floor, and the wall opposite the bar was lined with booths. Despite the late hour, there were a handful of diners still, watching the band on the stage and chatting amongst themselves.

The hostess led me back into the dining area. She slowed next to a table in the center, but instead I asked, “Sorry, is a booth available?”

She blinked and then consulted her tablet. “There is. Right this way.” She then took me to a booth in the corner. It was dimly lit and partially obscured by some fake plants. Perfect.

I told her as much; she smiled and indicated a server would be by shortly.

I took the time to check on my various bruises. Prodding gently, I made sure nothing was broken. Plenty of cuts and scrapes, but nothing too bad, and the ribs—blessedly—were just sore, not broken like I’d feared. Once done, I let out a deep breath and sank back into the seat.

“Long day, hun?” a voice asked.

I cracked an eye.

A waitress stood there, notebook at the ready and eyebrow raised.

“You could say that,” I said.

She smiled. It didn't reach her eyes. “My name’s Megan; I’ll be your server tonight. I’m guessing some water to start?”

“Yes please.”

She was off. Not long after, she arrived carrying a tray with a glass of water and a jug, condensation dripping down the sides. She set the glass down, and I picked it up and drank it in one.

Megan didn’t even bat an eye as she refilled the glass. “Have you decided what you’d like to eat?”

While drinking the second glass, I put my finger down on the menu without looking.

She smirked and said, “One clam chowder, coming right up.” She left, but not before filling the glass one last time.

I sat back, closed my eyes again, and drifted off. At some point the band stopped playing. They were replaced by generic pop piped through the PA system and the sounds of patrons gathering their things and leaving. The next distinct sound I heard was the puff of someone sitting down across from me.

“Long day?” A new voice asked.

“That obvious, huh?” I opened my eyes.

Across from me sat a young woman who looked to be in her mid-twenties. She toyed idly with the end of her red braid as she gazed at me with an expression half concerned, half amused.

“A little bit,” she said.

“Damn.”

“Sorry.”

I waved off her apology. “Nah, I look like a wreck and I know it. I’m just glad to finally be sitting down somewhere.”

A rather guilty look passed over her face. “I’m not bothering you, am I? I can leave, if you’d like.”

I looked her in the eyes a little longer, searching. Her concern seemed genuine. What were the odds someone had followed me here? I probably shouldn’t be talking to anyone until I could check back in with the office. But I was so out of my way, and the last week had been so abjectly miserable that I wanted nothing more than something so normal and mundane as a chat with a random stranger at a bar.

“No, that’s all right. Honestly…it’s probably for the best I not be alone right now.”

She nodded, seeming to understand. She held out her hand. “I’m Tia. Nice to meet you.”

I reached across the table and shook it. Warm and firm, slightly callused. It felt nice. “Likewise. I’m Forrest.”

“That’s a nice name.”

“You think so?”

“I do.” She smiled. It was a nice smile.

Damn. Was this flirting? Was she flirting with me?

“Uh. Well, thanks. Are you here often?”

Really? That’s what you say next? The single most cliché pickup line on the planet?

The smile turned into a full-sized grin. She reached beside the table and hefted an object I hadn’t noticed. An instrument case?

“Yes, actually,” she said. “I play with a band here every Thursday night.”

“Guitar?” I asked, noting the shape of the case. That would explain the calluses.

“Close. I play bass.”

“Was that you earlier, when I first walked in?” I asked, gesturing to the stage.

“Hmm? Oh, no, we go on in a few minutes.”

I glanced over. The crew bustling around, bringing out instrument stands and adjusting microphones. A group of people in assorted clothing stood around an upright piano, laughing uproariously. A tattooed man with curly hair in a bandanna and a plaid shirt with rolled-up sleeves sat at the bench, while a stocky fellow in denim and a woman in a tracksuit leaned against it. The other bandmates, I assumed.

“That’s pretty late,” I said, turning back.

She shrugged. “Not for us.”

“Shouldn’t you be over there? Looks like they’re almost ready.”

Another shrug. “Probably.”

“So…”

“So maybe I like talking to you more than I like just waiting around.” That small, smug smile was back.

Okay, that was blatant. “Well, then by all means.”

Just then, the waitress stopped at our table and handed over a steaming bowl. I didn’t miss the stink-eye she gave Tia.

“Thank you,” I said. The soup looked and smelled delicious, though too hot to start on right away.

A voice called from the other side of the room. “Hey, Tia! We’re ready for you!”

Over on the stage, the musicians had taken their places and were tuning their instruments. The pianist, evidently the one who had spoken, was waving at her.

She sighed. “Duty calls. Stick around?”

The offer made me smile despite myself. “I’d love to.”

“Great! See you later, alligator.” She slid out of the booth, picked up her instrument, and walked off.

 

If I want to be an optimist then I’ll be an optimist and you can’t stop me.

Besides, that was really good!! You drop lots of nice hints, and I’m curious to see where it goes. If you’re looking for feedback, I’d mostly just say read over it, little line edits. I love semicolons, but make sure you don’t overuse them or it starts to feel forced, at least to me. Just my thoughts. I like it though, keep writing!

[+Slowswift he/him]

Rest of the chapter should be done and ready to share soon, then I can finally move on and figure out what the rest of the dang book is going to be.

[Hyper129 He/Him]

Ooh yes please!

[+Slowswift he/him]

Here it is! I'm mostly looking for thoughts on flow and pacing, in addition to general feedback. Thanks to everyone who gives this a shot! I appreciate it greatly.  

(Also, there have been some minor edits in the first half, so if even you've read the previous post I recommend reading the whole thing.)

An Untitled Chapter from an Untitled Work no. 1:

Spoiler

I kept walking until I found the first restaurant without a line—some bar type, the kind with live music and too many hipsters. Well, I’d fit right in, I suppose. I shouldered my way through the door and stood just inside while I got my bearings. The host stand was right in front of me; the entrance to the kitchen behind it and the bar behind that, running the length of the wall to the stage. The stage itself was a quarter circle in the corner. A number of tables were scattered on the floor, and the wall opposite the bar was lined with booths. Despite the late hour, there were a handful of diners still, watching the band onstage and chatting amongst themselves.

The hostess led me back into the dining area. She slowed next to a table in the center, but instead I asked, “Sorry, is a booth available?”

She blinked and then consulted her tablet. “There is. Right this way.” She then took me to a booth in the corner. It was dimly lit and partially obscured by some fake plants. Perfect.

I told her as much; she smiled and indicated a server would be by shortly.

I took the time to check on my various bruises. Prodding gently, I made sure nothing was broken. Plenty of cuts and scrapes, but nothing too bad, and the ribs—blessedly—were just sore, not broken like I’d feared. Once done, I let out a deep breath and sank back into the seat. 

“Long day, hun?” a voice asked. 

I cracked an eye.

A waitress stood there, notebook at the ready and eyebrow raised.

“You could say that,” I said.

“My name’s Megan; I’ll be your server tonight. I’m guessing some water to start?” She said all of this with the kind of faux alacrity you only see in service workers. I resolved to leave a hefty tip…assuming the company card still worked.

“Yes please.”

She was off. Not long after, she arrived carrying a tray with a glass of water and a jug, condensation dripping down the sides. She set the glass down, and I picked it up and drank it in one.

Megan didn’t even bat an eye as she refilled the glass. “Have you decided what you’d like to eat?”

While drinking the second glass, I put my finger down on the menu without looking. 

She smirked and said, “One clam chowder, coming right up.” She left, but not before filling the glass one last time.

I sat back, closed my eyes again, and drifted off. At some point the band stopped playing. They were replaced by generic pop piped through the PA system and the sounds of patrons gathering their things and leaving. The next distinct sound I heard was the puff of someone sitting down across from me.

“Long day?” A new voice asked. 

“That obvious, huh?” I opened my eyes.

Across from me sat a young woman who looked to be in her mid-twenties. She toyed idly with the end of her red braid as she gazed at me with an expression half concerned, half amused.

“A little bit,” she said.

“Damn.”

“Sorry.”

I waved off her apology. “Nah, I look like a wreck and I know it. I’m just glad to finally be sitting down somewhere.”

A rather guilty look passed over her face. “I’m not bothering you, am I? I can leave, if you’d like.”

I looked her in the eyes a little longer, searching. Her concern seemed genuine. What were the odds someone had followed me here? I probably shouldn’t be talking to anyone until I could check back in with the office. But I was so out of my way, and the last week had been so abjectly miserable that I wanted nothing more than something so normal and mundane as a chat with a random stranger at a bar.

“No, that’s all right. Honestly…it’s probably for the best that I not be alone right now.”

She nodded, seeming to understand. She held out her hand. “I’m Tia. Nice to meet you.”

I reached across the table and shook it. Warm and firm, slightly callused. “Likewise. I’m Forrest.”

“That’s a nice name.”

“You think so?” 

“I do.” She smiled. It was a nice smile.

Damn. Was this flirting? Was she flirting with me?

“Uh. Well, thanks. Are you here often?”

Really? That’s what you say next? The single most cliché pickup line on the planet?

The smile turned into a full-sized grin. She reached beside the table and hefted an object I hadn’t noticed. An instrument case?

“Yes, actually,” she said. “I play with a band here every Thursday night.”

“Guitar?” I asked, noting the shape of the case. That would explain the calluses.

“Close. I play bass.”

“Was that you earlier, when I first walked in?” I asked, gesturing to the stage.

“Hmm? Oh, no, we go on in a few minutes.”

I glanced over. The crew bustling around, bringing out instrument stands and adjusting microphones. A group of people in assorted clothing stood around an upright piano, laughing uproariously. A tattooed man with curly hair in a bandanna and a plaid shirt with rolled-up sleeves sat at the bench, while a stocky fellow in denim and a woman in a tracksuit leaned against it. The other bandmates, I assumed.

“That’s pretty late,” I said, turning back.

She shrugged. “Not for us.”

“Shouldn’t you be over there? Looks like they’re almost ready.”

Another shrug. “Probably.”

“So…”

“So maybe I like talking to you more than I like just waiting around.” That small, smug smile was back.

If this wasn’t flirting, then I’d eat my hat. After I hurled myself off a cliff. “Well, then by all means.”

Just then, the waitress stopped at our table and handed over a steaming bowl. I didn’t miss the stink-eye she gave Tia. 

“Thank you,” I said. The soup looked and smelled delicious, though too hot to start on right away. She gave a tight smile and walked away. 

I thumbed over my shoulder with a confused look. Tia actually looked a little uncomfortable. “Leave it to me,” she said. “It’s a long story.”

“Right.”

A voice called from the other side of the room. “Hey, Tia! We’re ready for you!”

Over on the stage, the musicians had taken their places and were tuning their instruments. The pianist, evidently the one who had spoken, was waving at her.

She sighed. “Duty calls. Stick around?”

The offer made me smile despite myself. “I’d love to.”

“Great! See you later, alligator.” She slid out of the booth, picked up her instrument, and walked off.

I settled back in my seat as Tia ran up to the stage and got ready for the show. In swift, practiced motions, she knelt and opened her instrument’s case. From it, she drew a pastel blue bass. After checking the strings, she plugged it in, then stood. Finally, she pulled a pair of monitors from her pocket, put them in, and gestured to the pianist.

They began to play. A little like early Coldplay, I thought, or maybe Keane. They were good. The drummer was confident and precise. The pianist was quite lively, and the guitarist let him lead for the most part, supplementing the sound rather than trying to steal the spotlight. This was clearly a band who had years of practice both with their instruments and each other.

Tia fit in nicely. The current song had her jumping around the stage, grinning widely and singing along with the pianist. I wondered where she found all that energy. Was it the pure joy of playing music, or the people she was playing with? The enthusiasm of the audience? A little of each one?

I kept wondering as they finished a song and took a break. Drinks were taken, jackets were removed, muscles were stretched. I realized I’d forgotten the soup, and attacked it with vigor. Not half bad, though I’d let it grow a little too cold. 

Tia glanced over at my table and waved. She walked over to the pianist and said something to him. He cocked his head, then looked over his shoulder and found me. Clearly Tia hadn’t meant for him to do this, judging by the punch to the shoulder he received. Laughing, he turned back and said something in reply. She nodded excitedly, then ran back to her spot by the drums. She slung her bass over her shoulder, then hoisted the mic stand and carried it up to the front of the stage.

I leaned forward. This was interesting. I’d gotten a hint of her singing before, when she was backing up the pianist, but now it seemed she was taking the lead. The audience was chittering excitedly, and though a few had made hurried exits, most looked eagerly toward the stage. Did they know what was coming? Tia reached into her pocket and withdrew something—a ring with a gemstone that sparkled under the lights. Well, well, well. Gorgeous, talented, and a magician to boot? 

She slipped it on, and a cool breeze swept through the room. All the lights save the ones at the tables went out and the stage and walls fell away into nothingness. The only source of light on the stage was the tiny beaming jewel on Tia’s ring. Then, as the pianist began to play, dawn broke over a horizon that wasn’t there before and the band stood giant amidst mountains and valleys. I glanced around and saw that the walls and floor had all taken on the illusion. I thanked my lucky stars for my childhood love of heights.

The pianist finished his intro, and Tia sang. Her voice was, well, average, but in a way, I preferred that. Instead of shining like an opera star, she invited me out onto her porch for some comfortable, honest conversation. Look up, she was telling me. Look around you. Everything you need is right here.

This crush could be troublesome. I wanted to like her—did like her—but I didn’t know her from the man in the moon, and this mission was so far turning out to be much more difficult than I’d foreseen. Boston wasn’t unattainably far away from Providence, especially for a magician, so that wasn’t an issue. I just didn’t know where the mission would yet take me, nor was it particularly responsible to involve a civilian in a MAGIC operation, even if she was a magician.

Well, for tonight, at least, I could enjoy her company. She was attractive, but more than that, she was easy to be around. I couldn’t say the same for most of the strangers I’d met. Even better, it seemed she felt the same way. 

Her song was over far too soon. I sat for a moment, savoring the fading notes while the others in the room applauded. The illusory landscape dissipated into mist. The room, once seeming warm and cozy, now seemed stuffy and confining. 

The players gathered their things and walked offstage while the crew began to take everything down. I cleaned up the last bit of soup in my bowl while I waited. Eventually, as I hoped, I again heard that little puff of air.

“So?” Tia asked. “What’d you think?” 

“I dunno,” I said, setting the bowl aside. “It’s not normally my type of music, and there was this really strange girl on bass.”

She pouted. “Is that any way to speak to a lady you just met?”

“Hey, the first thing you said to me was that I looked like a wreck.”

“Those were your words, not mine.”

“But you implied it first.”

The pout deepened.

“Fine,” I said, sighing. “You were amazing.”

The pout turned into a grin in an eye-blink. “Thought so.”

I raised an eyebrow at this.

“It’s not a big room,” she explained. “I could see you watching me the whole time. You hardly ever looked away.”

I help up my hands. “Got me. Sorry, I couldn’t help it. You just looked so…alive up there. You really love it, don’t you?”

She met my eyes and nodded. “Yes.”

Her frankness caught me off-guard. She sounded perfectly sure of herself, her chin raised slightly, only a tinge of pink on her cheeks betraying any self-consciousness.

A moment of silence. Despite my earlier resolve, I was overcome with the urge to ask her out, to ask for her number, to do anything to be able to spend more time with this woman I found so intriguing. 

“So, a magician, eh?” I asked instead.

The spell was broken. She nodded again, relaxing a little. “I only do that every once in a while, because people get vertigo. But I thought you’d like it.”

“You were right,” I said. “That was a pretty impressive show.”

She pursed her lips, evidently trying not to smile. “Thanks.”

Neither of us said anything for a minute after that. Eventually, Tia spoke up.

“My turn,” she said. “Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot,” I said.

“What brings someone like you to a little hole in the wall like this?”

“Work.”

“Work,” she repeated.

“Yep.”

“Hell of a job,” she said drily. 

“Oh, you have no idea.”

She raised an eyebrow. When I didn’t say anything more, she leaned close and stage-whispered “This is the part where you tell me what your job is.”

While technically my job at MAGIC wasn’t a secret, considering the events of the last few days I wasn’t sure it was wise to advertise it, either.

“I work with books,” I said instead. At her incredulous look, I continued. “It sounds boring, but some people get really, ah, passionate about it.”

She glanced again over my bruises and ragged clothing. “I can tell.”

I grinned. “Rare books are my specialty. While I have run afoul of fans’ passion on release night before, the books I work with…well, information is a powerful tool.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “That I believe. So you’re a collector?”

“My employer’s the collector,” I said. “I just do his dirty work.”

Before the conversation could continue, a small group walked up to our table. I tensed for a moment before I recognized Tia’s bandmates.

The tall, burly man in denim had his guitar case slung over his shoulder. The woman in the tracksuit stood next to him, idly twirling a drumstick in her hand. The tattooed man stood between them. 

“Thought we’d find you here,” he said to Tia. “We were about to head out. You coming?”

She glanced at me. “Are you going to be all right?”

I nodded. “I should get going too. Thanks for everything, Tia.” 

She scooted out of the booth and picked up her instrument, then hesitated. “I’m sorry we couldn’t have met under better circumstances.”

“It is what it is,” I said. “Take care.”

She nodded. “You too.” 

They left.

Almost immediately, the waitress reappeared with the check. I paid—the card worked, thank goodness—and got up to leave. My time in the bar had let me recover somewhat, though I wasn’t sure where I would go next, despite what I’d told Tia.

I had only made it a few steps when I heard a call from behind me. “Forrest, wait!”

I turned. Tia ran up to me, breathless. I could see her exasperated bandmates waiting by the back door. 

“Here,” she said, taking my hand and pressing something into it. Then she turned and ran back to the door. I watched them leave before I looked down at the thing in my hand—a business card? On one side was embossed a golden flower, the name of the band, and an email address. I turned it over and found handwriting.

I had a great time talking with you, it said. Let’s do it again. Below that was a phone number.

It seemed she wasn’t done with me yet. I tried not to feel too happy about that as I tucked the card into my jacket pocket and walked out the door into the night.

Edited July 20 by Slowswift

[Hyper129 He/Him]

More. Now. So good.

[Edema Rue she/her]

I want more too!!

[+Slowswift he/him]

10 hours ago, Hyper129 said:

More. Now. So good.

 

1 hour ago, Edema Rue said:

I want more too!!

I guess I did all right, then.  Thank you muchly!

I've got some ideas for where this will go, but I'm not 100% sure of all the details yet.