I’m not an artist I’m a fucking work of art
A dear friend? Of Frey? Things either got weirder, the hoax got more elaborate, or both. Luckily for Jack, he knew there was no hint of deceit in Phoebe’s thoughts - the Madame was serious, and fuck if that wasn’t interesting. Accepting the glass and raising it to her in a toast, he took a sip; it was good shit, the sort of shit that might have even been smuggled in from the Ark.
”Obviously,” he murmured about the price - it was a brothel, after all. ”What kinda prices you got on a place blessed by Frey?” he inquired, taking her arm and moving to stroll down the elaborate halls with her. ”If your people are anything like this place, I’m sure they’ll all strike a fancy.”
”Obviously,” he murmured about the price - it was a brothel, after all. ”What kinda prices you got on a place blessed by Frey?” he inquired, taking her arm and moving to stroll down the elaborate halls with her. ”If your people are anything like this place, I’m sure they’ll all strike a fancy.”
