#muutos

Mulla on teoria, jonka mukaan tuotantoeläimille syötetyt antibiootit on aiemmin heikentäneet mun vastustuskykyä huomattavasti (opiskelin aikoinaan lihanleikkaajaksi, joten kuvittelen tietäväni aiheesta jotain), ja koska mulla on kroonisia sairauksia ja valmiiksi heikentynyt vastustuskyky niin tää on johtanut jatkuvaan sairasteluun.

Toinen tämän vuoden merkittävä elämäntapamuutos on pilven polton lopettaminen lähes kokonaan. Nykyään, jos tahdon pistää aivot lomalle, turvaudun mieluummin edibleihin. Tää on vähentänyt mun kulutusta massiivisesti. Ottaen huomioon että pajauttelin about 18 vuotta lähes päivittäin, on se ollut mun astmaisille keuhkoille valtava rasite. Puhumattakaan siitä, millaisen riippuuvuuden pelkästään kyhäämisen rituaali ja oraalifiksaatio saa aikaan.

Kolmas, ehkä vähäisempi, ehkä ei, muutos: en ole harrastanut tänä vuonna seksiä juuri ollenkaan. On vähemmän todennäköistä tulla kipeäksi, jos ei koskaan vaihda eritteitä toisen ihmisen kanssa. En oo ihan varma lähtisinkö varsinaisesti suosittelemaan tätä kellekään, jolla on libido. Haittoja ja hyötyjä lienee suunnilleen samassa suhteessa ainakin omalla kohdallani.

there's 200 year old steel pressed against the apple of his throat -- still warm from a previous shot that, to the untrained eye, might have looked as though it missed its mark. the bullet had flown wide to the right of him, striking the fading and crumbling poster on the wall that was advertising some revue or another. echo hadn't paid attention to it much, instead finding the man on his knees in front of her to be a much more important object of her focus. the shot was not meant for him, something she had a feeling he knew and that thought alone aggravated the ever loving FUCK out of her. it was simply meant to let anyone knew that she was not afraid to pull the trigger.

"you promise?" it's a little mocking, a little bit of a purr, a little bit amused as her dark eyes watched him. she was still piecing together her memories, but none were so put together as the ones from that night. his words, the feeling of the rope chafing her wrists, the dirt in her mouth. the sound of the shot. the feeling of her body slamming into the ground beneath her.

bam! thud. splat.

the hand tightly holding onto the 10mm finally dropped to her side and for now, benny was free from her wrath. god, she'd thought about this. fantasized. but now that she was here, well... killing him wasn't going to make her feel better. and it wouldn't necessarily be FAIR, would it? she was quiet for a moment, weighing her options. deciding his future.

"benny -- right? that's your name? i'd know that fuck ass suit anywhere... but i don't think we were ever formally introduced." right hand flexed around the grip of her gun. and she remembered again. the shot, the drop.

bam! thud. splat.

that same appendage reared back. no, she wouldn't SHOOT him. instead, most of her rage went into the sheer force of her slamming the pistol against his face as it made contact with his right cheek. a sigh, one of pleasure. almost fucking CARNAL.

Nathaniel sneers at the mage that the Captain brings before him.

The Warden-Commander of Ferelden, they call this apostate. A joke, surely, played on him and all of Ferlden by the Maker. 

Amber hues look long into the flames of the hearth, his hand hovering over it for a moment before he moves away, satisfied it would burn for a while, now. There's a half full goblet of wine dangling from his other hand as he moves closer to the table at the center of the room.

He hasn't slept, tunic half tucked into the top of his trousers, longer hair pulled back to the back of his head to stay out of tired eyes. The wine was supposed to help.

Calculating eyes flit over the map, staring at the markers in weary interest before he hears the sound of foot falls entering the room. Lighter hair hangs in his face as the towering presence approaches, and a small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. Loghain was an imposing presence to most who witnessed him entering a room. But when his eyes land on the older man, it's comfort that bleeds into his bones.

" Seems sleep has abandoned us both, Father. " Alistair greets quietly as he draws the wine to his lips to take a sip, his large frame looming over the strategies strew across the table in what an untrained eye would find cacophonous and unruly. But for them, only a puzzle needing its remaining pieces. Admittedly though, he's grown tired of looking at it. Maybe he just needs some air.

" And in truth, I can't look at this shit anymore. "

it was almost like clockwork, the two of them. rain would be doing something, anything that took concentration, silence, and attention. once swiss noticed it? it was over. sometimes he'd start silent, simply approaching the water ghoul, oh so intentionally placing himself in line of sight. eyes would lock onto the other, a bright dancing fire of yellow, tail swaying to and fro in swift motion. that sharp trademark grin of his.

other times, he'll be very, very vocal. whining, calling his name, practically begging for attention rather loudly.

almost every time, there's contact. legs. arms. shoulders. waist. face. neck. swiss knows his boundaries, but that doesn't mean he won't keep pushing them. that's the point of the game, wasn't it?

this instance was more silent — the multi ghoul crouching in front of rain, behind the book he read. he was practically staring a hole through the pages, arms resting on bent knees, ass practically on the ground. ( the balance was impeccable ) he was rather attentive, noticing how suddenly the pages haven't moved, no progress has been made, and the other's eyes seemed to be looking at nothing.

it might have something to do with his imposing of personal space.

patience ran thin, however, and he'd finally spoken. that's when the book had lowered, finally looking directly at rain with that shit eating grin growing onto his face.

Alistair feels like his blood may boil out of his body.

Loghain is alive. Against all sense, all reason, all decency – his fellow Grey Warden and Riordan have decided to not only spare Loghain’s life, but grant him the greatest honor and mercy Alistair has ever known. They’ve made him a Grey Warden. 

Alistair cannot let it stand. 

He’s been pacing a hole in Eamon’s floor for what feels like an eternity. But he must take action now.

And so he came here, cloaked like a thief, like some… common criminal. To the room where they did it, gave him the cup that his lips never deserved to touch. Loghain is awake, alive. And Alistair intends to change at least one of those things, for Loghain or himself.