My muse smells like…
Part 2
... if the angel of Truth has started to keep secrets, perhaps the world really has gone crazy.
Definitely lots of regret.
Very obviously could not give less of a shit about any of this.
“Uh... what?” Even an insane undead ancient wyrm knows that gravity doesn’t have a smell.
“I’m sure that’s a sex act somewhere. ‘The Buttered Scotland’, haha!”
Oddly enough, not inaccurate. Or unpleasant.
“Foxes are smart and cunning, ‘n I’m certainly so fucking free. Sounds good to me.”
“So, like a barbarian? Sure, why th’fuck not... ‘cept it’s not th’crop kind of ‘harvest’ tha’ m’smellin’ like.”
« ... It’s spelled ‘whiskey’. »
Like whatever language-handicapped entity had been drinking when they created this... thing.
“...ah. Alright then.”
