Certified Rebel Scum

Surprise I got bored again! Which dnd class is prev?

enjoy! Open tags to anyone who sees this :D

I’m actually very Curious to see how this poll turns out my money is on a lot of bards but we shall see

"There is coffee, ma'am," Kaz often pointed out to her, perplexed, when she complained out the lack, holding up the packets of dehydrated brown crystals that their group frequently found in the Alliance supply drops behind Reaper lines.

"For a boy who made coffee for a living before this damn war, you sure don't know the first thing about it," she would just as often say in reply.

She'd never been much of a coffee snob, but John had. Maybe when she'd been Kaz's age, she'd have choked down those cheap crystals doused in some lukewarm water to get through her day. But like so many other things in her life, John had spoiled her for anything else.

Because it wasn't the coffee. It was the ritual of putting the old purple enameled kettle on the stove, waiting for it to heat until it worked up a whistle, and slowly, patiently pouring the hot water into the paper filter over the aromatic grounds with just a pinch of salt perched precariously over a mug. Then sipping it slowly and savoring the rich, complex taste while sitting on the front porch to greet the day.

Every morning, for more years than she dared to count, John had started their day like that, moving in time with the steps of the dance that they'd made in their life together. With him gone, she'd been dancing those steps alone, comforted by their familiar rhythm that kept parts of him with her, always. Sometimes sharing them with Jo or with Beth in their infrequent visits home.

But now even that was gone. And all she had were tasteless coffee packets that could never hold a candle to the real thing.

It has 30 prompts for November but feel free to write and post whenever, but please add the tag #No one nuts November or #NoonenutsNovember wherever you post. You do not have to @ or credit this blog if you use any of these prompts.

(Text version under the cut)

"There is coffee, ma'am," Kaz often pointed out to her, perplexed, when she complained out the lack, holding up the packets of dehydrated brown crystals that their group frequently found in the Alliance supply drops behind Reaper lines.

"For a boy who made coffee for a living before this damn war, you sure don't know the first thing about it," she would just as often say in reply.

She'd never been much of a coffee snob, but John had. Maybe when she'd been Kaz's age, she'd have choked down those cheap crystals doused in some lukewarm water to get through her day. But like so many other things in her life, John had spoiled her for anything else.

Because it wasn't the coffee. It was the ritual of putting the old purple enameled kettle on the stove, waiting for it to heat until it worked up a whistle, and slowly, patiently pouring the hot water into the paper filter over the aromatic grounds with just a pinch of salt perched precariously over a mug. Then sipping it slowly and savoring the rich, complex taste while sitting on the front porch to greet the day.

Every morning, for more years than she dared to count, John had started their day like that, moving in time with the steps of the dance that they'd made in their life together. With him gone, she'd been dancing those steps alone, comforted by their familiar rhythm that kept parts of him with her, always. Sometimes sharing them with Jo or with Beth in their infrequent visits home.

But now even that was gone. And all she had were tasteless coffee packets that could never hold a candle to the real thing.