Phoebe
While the Flood was off to play, Frey’s little duckling grew increasingly livid. You see, Sunjata had never told his darling wife about his exact treatments. She didn’t know what all was involved. So while she sat home alone, assuming Jata was at his bar, the sudden overwhelming lust and desire that overcame her, emanating from her ring, could only mean one thing. He was cheating – the one thing he had promised he would not do. And oh, was she pissed. Especially when it happened not once, but twice, in very quick succession.
By the time Sunjata would return home to the clinic, he would find the front yard a mess. Everywhere he looked he would see things strewn about – his things no less – haphazardly thrown about with absolutely zero care. Were things broken? Probably. The door he would find locked tight, a small note written in Phoebe’s even, loopy hand reading:
“The Barkeep of the VlamVloed
Was a cocky, cheatin’ chap
So when he stuck his cock and dropped a load
His wife trashed the bar in a snap.”
By the time Sunjata would return home to the clinic, he would find the front yard a mess. Everywhere he looked he would see things strewn about – his things no less – haphazardly thrown about with absolutely zero care. Were things broken? Probably. The door he would find locked tight, a small note written in Phoebe’s even, loopy hand reading:
“The Barkeep of the VlamVloed
Was a cocky, cheatin’ chap
So when he stuck his cock and dropped a load
His wife trashed the bar in a snap.”
loving you was the most exquisite
form of self destruction
form of self destruction
