Post by Sully the Raptor on May 14, 2013 7:58:34 GMT -5
Francis, you’re in the middle of a few things. Roll moonlighting and lets us know what they are and how they’re going. One of those jobs involves a heavy chest.
You and Jimmy are carrying the large heavy chest out of a sketchy lean-to. The lean-to is made of two charred logs from the forest up north and many blankets and rags sewn and patched and repatched and mildewed and reeking. The tent is empty, and it’s down at the far reaches of the marketplace that sprawls to the west of Fort Cheeto. The market is littered with widespread tents and campers with makeshift awnings and pictorial signs and flags showing what the merchants have for trade.
The market place is beginning to flood with the scorching morning light of the dry season and you and Jimmy hasten to take advantage of the dying shadows of the ashen dunes. You’re sure none of the lazy and hedonistic merchants are awake yet but you see a figure withdrawing silently from a small sordid tent perched just out of the shade’s reach.
It’s Mini and she squints into the morning sun, her breasts doing something noteworthy when she stretches. She adjusts the plaid skirt you’d given her and ruffles up her hair. You’re masked by the shade of the dune but she seems to notice your movement in the shadows.
What do you do?
You and Jimmy are carrying the large heavy chest out of a sketchy lean-to. The lean-to is made of two charred logs from the forest up north and many blankets and rags sewn and patched and repatched and mildewed and reeking. The tent is empty, and it’s down at the far reaches of the marketplace that sprawls to the west of Fort Cheeto. The market is littered with widespread tents and campers with makeshift awnings and pictorial signs and flags showing what the merchants have for trade.
The market place is beginning to flood with the scorching morning light of the dry season and you and Jimmy hasten to take advantage of the dying shadows of the ashen dunes. You’re sure none of the lazy and hedonistic merchants are awake yet but you see a figure withdrawing silently from a small sordid tent perched just out of the shade’s reach.
It’s Mini and she squints into the morning sun, her breasts doing something noteworthy when she stretches. She adjusts the plaid skirt you’d given her and ruffles up her hair. You’re masked by the shade of the dune but she seems to notice your movement in the shadows.
What do you do?
