Dear Wall..

[Silver]

A drunk Kalliste wobbled to the wall. Some post'its and pieces of paper already populated it alongside some scribbles, directly written at the wall.

A small post'it box and a couple of pens were easily at hand in the nearby table, like it was meant to.

The Wall was now a tradition of the drunk, the merry and of the dead.

She let her eyes navigate through the scribbles without order or reason.
Just.. look.

Some had reason, some were funny, some were true to her heart.

She then, grabbed something from her pocket and placed it at the wall, with several post'its around, holding it in place.
Kalliste then wrote something on the post'its, grabbed her bottle once again and went to crash on a nearby booth.

The 13th of Spades.
Some say a myth. Some say a legend.
I got this off a 'sair i killed,
even before i was a Reaver,
And he said, in his final moments, that he knew that death was coming.
The card was the sign of it.

The 13th is death becoming.

This card here reminds me everytime,
that we, assassins, terrorists, killers,
drunkards, friends, enemies, mercenaries,

Reavers,

have the gift of being the death throe,
the wailing to be, the harbinger of the void
but that even so..

Death will come to us.

All of us.

Will be consumed in this life unwanted.
But well flavored. Oh yes.
Very well tasted, licked, drank, smoked and whatever we want to.
Sweet short life.

So grab your bottles,
grab your gear.
Kill some more,
just to make clear.

Reavers come,
to take it all,
With no mercy,
just hear their bawls.

Let them squirm in rage,
scream in tasteful fear,
For we are gorramned drunk,

And they will be nothing but another bloody, messy, frackin' smear.

---

[8:32:45 PM] Dusty Lens: Oh no, let me get that. Hello? Oh it's my grandma. She says to be roleplay.
[12:12:00] Traxit: this is smut stop