Yeah, how about fuck you. There are things in life that are more important than money, and one of them is Not Having Zombie AIDS. Or whatever.
It tastes like pie crust and feet. Not so bad that you need to chase it down with a chocolate, though. You want to hang onto those in case you can sell them later.
There’s just the pants she bought for Gharug. Well, and her note reminding her to buy more clothes.
Excuse me, but there’s certain things you have set out to change in your new life.
Anyway, you’ve been down that road. You did alright back home. I mean, you weren’t technically a prostitute, but you certainly got around. Nabbing breakfast on your way out was enough to keep you fed, other people’s beds were a fine place to sleep, and if times ever got particularly tough you had a family you could mooch off of. It was an existence.
But it just wasn’t a satisfying life. You always wanted something more, like an occupation you didn’t have to be ashamed of, or a friend you didn’t have to turn tricks for. Maybe you just wanted dignity.
Like, look at you right now. The only other person in this house is Quill-Weave, who has already seen you naked and is also female. And you’re wearing pants anyway.
That’s because you have DIGNITY.
A little bit anyway.
Speaking of Quill-Weave…
Well, you guess the best you can do is apologize profusely, take the full blame for your miserable failure, not ask for a second chance, and get out of her life forever.
Or try to sneak out the door. You’d do the window but you’re kind of apprehensive to jump out the second-story window lined with broken glass.