#(open;)

Fuck. A broken ankle was bad enough, but a broken ankle outside of town in the middle of the night was worse. Much worse.

Embarrassingly, it wasn't even the trash beast that injured him. In fact, the beast was dead when Follo got his foot stuck in that hole. Not to mention, this was only days after his late-night adventures were noticed.

Now he has to limp his way back to town. He had walked for about 40 minutes when he found the trash beat, he wondered how long it'll take to walk that far back...

About halfway back, he gives in to the exhaustion and pain and decides to sit for awhile, hoping someone would notice him missing when the sun comes up. Unfortunately, he knows it will be longer than that for his absence to be noticed.

on one hand, they seem pretty angry and mean.

— — — “Well, you know what they say. Give a gal a fish, and she’ll eat for a day. Teach a gal to phish and she’ll be inside your checking account by dessert.”

Maybe.

But she’d spent a good portion of the last decade not having many people to celebrate with, so it became a tradition to go to the fanciest self owned bakery she could find and buy herself a small six inch birthday cake. That way if she ate it all in one night she wouldn’t get too sick.

“Hi, yes, I have an order, for Wilhelmina Hammond?”

Rocking back on her heels, she gave the shop girl a smile, stuffing her hand in her pocket to get her wallet.

“Here you are Ms. Hammond. And happy birthday.”