An Indian Pesh-Kabz (25.5cm blade), ribbed horn hilt, leather scabbard with steel mount, two North African Dagger, three short stabbing spears, three wooden ceremonial axes, and various other native items, together with an Illustrated Catalogue of European Arms and Armour from the Wallace Collection, 1924.
“'I am very pleased with the atmospheric conditions we are experiencing today. The lack of clouds have allowed the sun to show through, thus making electrical lighting unnecessary. Uh-NESS-a-sarry. Uh-NESS-ussery. Also, the lack of precipitation has kept my artificial skin from becoming uncomfortably damp, which -’
‘Ax?’ I interrupted.
'Stop that. Please.’
'Come on, Marco,’ Tobias said. 'He’s just practicing his small talk. We spent hours on it last night.’
'Thank you again, Marco,’ Ax said, 'for inviting me to this primitive yet interesting ceremony.’
'My pleasure, Ax-man. Do not go near the buffet table.’
'How do you define “near”?’
'Ax, I’m telling you: No food.'”
- Book #35: The Proposal (Marco), pg. 144 (by K.A. Applegate)
To continue my b-day party, I thought I would self-indulgently post an original short story of mine! This one was a colab betweeen myself and @asparklethatisblue. The art is Val’s, the writing is mine, and we came up with the concept together. This is the story we got into the Buff Babes Zine, now finally available for all to read for free!
*posts story and ambles off to make cake*
veered away from the door to the little dressmaker’s shop and walked
past it for the second time, palms sweating, before she took herself
firmly by the scruff of the neck and marched herself right back to
it. Alfregg said this was the place to go, so go to it Sindri would.
She would not flee from this battle like an unseasoned stripling,
even if the beautiful dresses on display in the window were certainly
not intended for a dwarf of Sindri’s build. She took a deep gulping
breath to brace herself and pushed through the door into the shop.
was warm inside, cozy and homey in comparison to the larger tailor
shops Sindri had attempted in the past. Bolts of fabric in all shades
and materials lined the walls as both decoration and storage, joined
by swatches of fine needlework. The air smelled of spiced tea,
comforting and familiar, and Sindri had taken several bemused steps
deeper into the shop before she caught sight of the proprietress.
dressmaker was a dainty little thing, perched on the edge of a stool
as lightly as thistledown to be wafted away with a breath of air. She
hardly even had a beard, just fuzzy sideburns to either side of her
pointy chin matching the weightless poof of pale hair on top of her
head. She obviously had faery blood, and was the polar opposite of
everything Sindri was.