The Tavern

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"Well you failed at Randomosity," Illumisit replied, scornfully.
vulgus vult decipi, ergo decipiatur






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"You're being rather high and mighty today, Italian," TheDay mused, checking her nails and taking a sip of her long-forgotten drink.
Veni. Vidi. Vici.

People are made of places. They carry with them
hints of jungles or mountains, a tropic grace
or the cool eyes of sea-gazers. -EB

Love thy mangoes or die.




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"Well yes," Illuminist replied, smugly. "With good cause."
vulgus vult decipi, ergo decipiatur






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"I Hate people like that," TheDay made eye contact with Italian for the first time, her brown eyes drilling holes into him.
Veni. Vidi. Vici.

People are made of places. They carry with them
hints of jungles or mountains, a tropic grace
or the cool eyes of sea-gazers. -EB

Love thy mangoes or die.




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Rosie raises her head, yawns massively, pushes her glasses up her nose and mumbles,

"Does anyone else want waffles? I suddenly want waffles. How about we all get waffles together, and Day and Italian can work through their problems over waffles? Nate, can you make me a waffle?"

Nate smiles. "Chocolate chip, like always?"
“...it's better to feel the ache inside me like demons scratching at my heart than it is to feel numb the way a dead body feels when you touch it."

-Brian James




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"Oh, this is nothing," Day said airily. "I'm pretty sure he's acting, because I am too."
Veni. Vidi. Vici.

People are made of places. They carry with them
hints of jungles or mountains, a tropic grace
or the cool eyes of sea-gazers. -EB

Love thy mangoes or die.




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Gender Female
Points 15440
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Rosie smiles. "Ah, good. It's much nicer when we're all friends. But I still want a waflle...Nate, don't forget the maple syrup. It's my favorite."

Nate walks up with a small white pitcher. "It's right here."

"Thanks, Nate. You're the best."
“...it's better to feel the ache inside me like demons scratching at my heart than it is to feel numb the way a dead body feels when you touch it."

-Brian James




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"HAHA, finally done with those push-ups,but i'm still hungry......" Crow says, then looks around. Slowly, hunger-induced hallucinations begin to turn everyone into french fries, greasy, steaming, fresh french fries. For a second, he starts to want to eat everyone, but shakes the hallucination off, then walks over to french-fry Nate.

"Nate, could you bring me a plate of fries, and send over some bacon to Rosie; it's just not right to eat waffles without bacon.
"If you were to die without anyone ever remembering you, then does that mean you never existed? If so, that is why I write, to be remembered; to exist.". -me




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Rosie smiles appreciatively at Crow, making sure each square of her waffles is filled with maple syrup.

"Strong and considerate. I think I could get used to having you around, Crow."
“...it's better to feel the ache inside me like demons scratching at my heart than it is to feel numb the way a dead body feels when you touch it."

-Brian James




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"No problem, Rosie, just helping out a fellow waffle-lover," crow said, nodding in Rosies direction, then taking a bite out of a ketchup-covered fry. After quenching his hunger, Crow decided to see how many people in the tavern liked waffles.

Standing up on a chair, Crow got everyone's attention, then yelled, "Nate, give everyone in here a pitcher of whatever they like, all payed for by me, if they raise their hand when I ask: Who likes waffles?" In response, Nate walks into his backroom to check how much he has in stock, knowing he'll need a lot.
"If you were to die without anyone ever remembering you, then does that mean you never existed? If so, that is why I write, to be remembered; to exist.". -me




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"Can I help you ask, Crow?" Rosie inquires after taking a bite of her waffle. She peers eagerly at him over her glasses.
“...it's better to feel the ache inside me like demons scratching at my heart than it is to feel numb the way a dead body feels when you touch it."

-Brian James




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"Sure you can, Rosie, You'll probably be able to draw more attention than I can," Crow says with a welcoming smile. Behind the counter, Nate walks back in with a smile stuck on his face, but Crow's to pre-occupied to ask why Nate's so happy.
"If you were to die without anyone ever remembering you, then does that mean you never existed? If so, that is why I write, to be remembered; to exist.". -me




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"Sweet. I'm going to try to stand up on a chair, too. It seems much more dramatic than just sitting down." Rosie pushes her stool back from the counter, walks to a table, pulls out a chair and wobbles as she attempts to climb onto it. "I hope I don't fall."

Suddenly, Rosie loses her balance. She instinctively raises her hands to her face to protect her glasses. Just as she's about to slam into the floor...
“...it's better to feel the ache inside me like demons scratching at my heart than it is to feel numb the way a dead body feels when you touch it."

-Brian James




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"Whoa, you gotta be more careful," Crow says while catching Rosie in his arms. He sets her down gently, then looks at the staring crowd and quietly tells her, "But good job making a scene, now everyone is paying attention."

Crow winks at Rosie, then asks if she'd like to do the honors of asking about waffles, of course, while not standing on a chair.
"If you were to die without anyone ever remembering you, then does that mean you never existed? If so, that is why I write, to be remembered; to exist.". -me




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Rosie smiles awkwardly. "I'd love to. Thanks for...you know. I'm sort of clumsy. When I normally fall, no one catches me, so I get bruised up. I guess I was lucky you were around this time. Otherwise, I might be pretty messed up."

She brushes herself off, runs a trembling hand through her messy hair, and asks loudly:

"So...Who likes waffles?"
“...it's better to feel the ache inside me like demons scratching at my heart than it is to feel numb the way a dead body feels when you touch it."

-Brian James



It had a perfectly round door like a porthole, painted green, with a shiny yellow brass knob in the exact middle. The door opened on to a tube-shaped hall like a tunnel: a very comfortable tunnel without smoke, with panelled walls, and floors tiled and carpeted, provided with polished chairs, and lots and lots of pegs for hats and coats—the hobbit was fond of visitors. The tunnel wound on and on, going fairly but not quite straight into the side of the hill —The Hill, as all the people for many miles round called it—and many little round doors opened out of it, first on one side and then on another.
— JRR Tolkien