@housealderscorn / housealderscorn.tumblr.com
It was very kind of Denis Villeneuve to cast Timothée Chalamet in the new Dune and give me the absolute best portrayal of a younger Raven that I could possibly ask for.
Seriously, put some snow in the background, swap a sandworm for a dragon and it’s there. Even the shots with his Father and training with his mentor are perfect.
The gif (if it decides to play) would be Raven getting chewed out, the cocky little jerk.
Master and apprentice faced each other in resolute silence. The student, young but talented for his age, furrowed his brow and opened his mind to the infinite possible moves. Which would his opponent be expecting? Which would allow for the greater defense against his older, wiser mentor? He cautioned a glance into his grandfather’s eyes who returned his gaze with a smirk that etched deeper the creases at their corners.
“Make your move, boy, before I die of old age,” said Gerart.
Raven huffed and set his jaw. Quite right, he thought. It was time to decide. His hand darted forward but he hesitated at the last moment, cursing himself for both his indecision and for giving away his train of thought. Maybe his grandfather hadn’t picked up on it though, maybe he-
“Bringing the bishop into the fray, huh?” Gerart said, dashing Raven’s hope. “ Bold move, little bird, bold move.” He nodded his approval, clearly impressed. “Here I thought you’d tip toe around the board with the knight,” he said pointing at the obsidian chess piece. “Seems more your style. Slow, predictable, timid…”
“I’m trying to concentrate,” Raven said. He was studying the board, drawing the paths with his mind for as many moves as he could manage, his hand still hovering over the bishop. He couldn’t see what was so dangerous about the move, though, and it worried him. “You’re trying to distract me because you know I’m winning,” he bluffed. Raven had never beaten his grandfather at chess. Not once. Where Raven studied the board, took his time, attempted to predict the course of the game, Gerart picked moves seemingly at random. No sooner will Raven finish his turn than his grandfather would spare a quick glance at the board and shift a piece. It was infuriating.
“I’m serious, the Roshenko gambit is a ballsy maneuver. Shows you been doing your reading, I’m impressed. But, hey, don’t let me sway you, boy. ”
Raven, who had never once picked up a book on chess strategies and hadn’t the single, foggiest idea who the fuck Roshenko was nor what his gambit involved, suddenly felt out of his depth. He looked to his knight and quickly traced its available paths. All but one was blocked but the remaining move showed promise. Perhaps victory would be his after all if he could wear his grandfather down through attrition. Defense being the best offense and all that.
He shifted to the knight and placed it safely out of reach and grinned at his grandfather. “I think I’ll wear you down instead, old m…”
Gerart’s hand was on his queen the very moment Raven had finished his move. “Check and mate,” he said, standing up with a groan and stretching his back.
“Wha….n-no,” said Raven staring at the board, his defeat laid bare. “That's…you shyster! You said the knight was the safe move!”
Gerart pulled the pipe from his waistcoat pocket and began to pack it with his thumb. “Yup. Lied. Shoulda moved the Bishop. You'da still lost but you’d have lasted longer.” He struck a match with his thumbnail and brought the pipe to life.
“But I don’t know the Roshenko gambit,” Raven said, still sitting at the table.
His grandfather shrugged as he blew out a voluminous plume of fragrant smoke. “Made that up too. Shouldn’t listen to the people trying to beat you Raven. Your enemy seldom has your best interest in mind.”
***** A few years back *****
The magistrate pinched the bridge of his nose and sagged backward in his seat as his Chamber hung in anticipatory silence. The two Serpents, the captain of the guard and the arresting officer, stood at regimental attention, in contrast to the drunken Ishgardian slumped in the seat before them in a heap. At the podium stood the witness, the unfortunate carriage driver who took pity on the sharp dressed, if disheveled, elezen who had stumbled into the street once the bars of the Lavender Beds had shut their doors for the night.
"Let us try this one more time WITHOUT INTERUPTION," The magistrate said in a slow, measured tone. "You," he pointed at the carriage driver who straightened immediately and wrung his hat, "picked up this…gentleman, who directed you to drive him to the Carline Canopy…."
"Well, that is, in a manner of speakin' your honor, if ye beg my pardon," said the driver. "See, he - that is, the gentleman here - didn't know of the Canopy by name, no sir. He gets in, see, and he goes 'hotel' and then I go 'which hotel?' but by that time he was sawin logs - that is, he's asleep, see…"
The magistrate sighed heavily, "Yes, fine…."
A private social and academic establishment catering to discerning gentlepersons of like mind and philosophy, The Grand Cross free company opens their doors at The Stellium in less than a fortnight to one and all for an evening of spoken poetry. Join us in performing, and encourage and cultivate the art of poetry in our very own club, gathering with unknown talents spanning Eorzea and beyond!
During your visit, feel free to explore the club, upstairs and down, inside and out. Various rooms are available for your enjoyment, including but not limited to Le Salon De The teahouse, The Stranger’s Room lounge, and a large reference library. Anyone wearing a “Looking To Meld” icon above their head belongs to The Grand Cross and can be queried for further information.
Refreshments, both alcoholic and otherwise, are provided free of charge this night by the owners of The Stellium. NPC bartenders will be available for your own personal brand of roleplaying enjoyment.
This is an adult event; however for the sake of propriety, please refrain from any excess, overtly gratuitous language or themes. R-rated is appropriate, X-rated is decidedly not. Remember to give your fellow performers the same level of respect and quiet you would require for yourself. Hecklers and rabble-rousers will be duly ejected.
Sign-ups for performances begin in-game 30 minutes prior to start time, just inside the club. Doors also open at this time. Earlier sign-ups can be done by contacting Charlemont Mercaiges, Raven Alderscorn, or Corwynn Grey in game, or by messaging Char#6733 on Discord.
Should you have any questions about the event, please reply to this post or get in touch using one of the above methods. Please tell all your friends, and we look forward to seeing you at The Grand Cross at The Stellium!
@crystal-rp-ffxiv @mateusrpcalendar @balmungrpcalendar @ffxiv-crystal-rp
Today!
There's a saying in Ishgard that all roads lead to Halone and, perhaps, there was some truth in that adage. For, on this late evening in particular, one of her flock stumbled from the tavern, into the streets of the city, and eventually found himself in Her house.
He entered the Cathedral and slumped onto one of the massive oak benches that sat sentinel on either side of another door. Beyond stood row upon row of empty pews, like soldiers in a wooden army. The sleep he so desperately needed eluded him, however, and he found himself lost in the river of his own thoughts.
Then stay and burn with the rest.
Raven pressed the heels of his palms against the sockets of his stinging eyes. "Stop," he said to himself. Against the tears that threatened to breech the tired lids of his eyes? Or the memory of his own words that echoed in the cavern of his mind. Words spoken on this night, some years ago. The last words his father would ever hear from his son.
Then stay and burn with the rest
"STOP, DAMMIT!" he hissed, shoving himself to his feet a little too quickly. He stumbled into a candle stand, knocking it to the marble floor with a violent clatter, sending half-spent candles rolling until stopped by their own melting wax. Like a ship at sea, he listed back and forth and watched their flames flicker and carve through the white wax, gathering it into pools against the cold floor. Raven sagged and finally sank to his knees before the mess of bent iron and untended flames.
Then stay
"Please…"
and burn with the rest
Unbidden, the tears finally came in great sobs. He sagged backwards against the unyielding wood of the bench and spread his arms along it's seat and peered upward through hazy eyes at the visage of the Fury that adorned the stained glass window above the door. A glow, warm at first, and then all consuming and furious, lit her from behind and shone down, lending a divine aura to the crumbled form of the knight.
He squinted in defiance against the light. "No," he growled. "It's not your sin to forgive." As if in answer, the sun moved upon its natural course and left the window dim with overcast, morning light. Raven closed his eyes against the sparks that dazzled his vision and fell into an uneasy sleep.
(The story this refers to can be read here.)
(This story is about my farm girl Ruthanne, who resides at @ruthanne-winter. For the ease of organization for @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast, however, I will be posting this here to my main blog and simply reblogging it to Ruth’s, where it belongs.)
Ruthanne darted inside the Winter family home just in time, only a handful of huge, inky-dark droplets of water having planted themselves heavy and hard onto her shirt. She shrieked and shoved the door closed behind her, breathless and smiling. “Gods, the sky’s about to rip open!” She’d run from the chocobo stables, knowing she was in a race with the rain.
“Told you to stable the ‘bo’s sooner rather than later,” replied Finneas from somewhere in the living room. A low rumble of thunder punctuated him, and a moment later a sheet of rain crashed into the roof of the house. Ruthanne gasped, wide eyed at the sound. “Land sakes alive!” She was grinning though, high on adrenaline from outrunning the storm. “Where’s dad?”
“Card night, dumbass. He’s at Royda’s”. Ruthie’s brother was sitting on the couch with their newest (and first) niece, Hattie, reading to her from a shiny cardboard picture book.
When Ruthie poked her head into the living room, she gasped. “Finn! Don’t say those words around her!”
“What, card night?” He grinned, knowing of course exactly what she meant.
Such a cute story, perfect!
Two by two and two by two
The Hocoleux go by;
Hands in pockets not their own,
noses to the sky.
They do not wait for little feet
Most ignore her plea
Except for one who hurries back
To gently kiss a knee.
—
Two by two and swinging between
Bhalnwyn is a shriek
The tiny girl kicks her legs
As Da’ swings her to kiss a cheek.
Through foam and wave they race about
with not a care in view.
And as sun sets they’ll splash together
two and two and two.
These are really sweet!
(This story is about my house knight Charlemont (Julien), who resides at @house-mercaiges. For the ease of organization for @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast, however, I will be posting this here to my main blog and simply reblogging it to Char’s, where it belongs.)
There is nothing to forgive, she whispered, petal-pale lips brushing ghostly and chill over my warm skin. Oh, if only it were true. Such a thing, such a lie, if there were only a sliver of truth inside it I would lose myself, cling to the shard of hope that somehow, some way, perhaps I was not guilty.
Lightning flashed outside, silent and blinding. For half a heartbeat the room went white and frozen. A sulfur and tin still life snapshot. Flowers wilted, dust gathered, and my voice died on my lips.
You could not have known, she insisted, and the world sank back into saturnine darkness. The lift of the light come crumbling into ash. I did know, you see, long had I overheard the secrets of the woods, hummed along to the warning hymn I knew from childhood.
Thunder bubbled up from malms away, low and hungry, and swelled into a devouring, starving thing. Yes, devour me, I thought, me and all around me. This house, its very foundation, the woods themselves. As if I could invoke such power. As if thunder had such strength. It is in silence, rather, the gentle quietude of the star-dark and glowing beams of the sun, that power lies. In the whisper of her voice.
I love you, Julien.
Oh, that voice. Reader, know that even in death, even in phantasm, her voice was honeyed wine, sweet and quickening to my very soul. It haunted and inflamed me; the ache in my bones, the ache in my blood, the ache in my heart and between my legs drew me all at once in a rush back to her face. Diaphanous and pale. Spectral. Beautiful.
No, I would not be forgiven for not saving her. Not in this life. Only in the bittersweet falling asleep.
A wonderful piece!
"Gods, Brynn," Gerart said with a bemused, doubtful laugh, "to hear you tell it, the boy's useless! If that's the case, pack 'em up, send 'em off to the Astrologicum!"
The two men, father and son, marched down the lane toward one of the Cathedral's many training squares. The chill of the early spring morning was just beginning to warm up and the pace that the older man was setting raised beads of sweat on his son's forehead. He dragged his fingers through his hair and shook his head. "He's not smart enough," Brynn said.
They reached the gates of the training grounds and the air was suddenly filled with the music of practice. Calls and cries and the percussion of wooden swords against shields. Gerart gave a stern look to his son. "I was joking. The boy is what? Ten?? If I'da given up on you as easily as you're set to give up on Raven, I warrant you'd be rollin' out maps and fetching tea for your betters."
"Dad…" Brynn began to protest again and reached for the latch on the gate.
Gerart's hand seized upon the gate and held it closed, straightening to his full height. "Yes, *Captain*?" His tone and posture left no room for further nonsense.
Brynn's mouth snapped shut and he stiffened to attention. It was one thing to have a discussion within the walls of the family manor but here, in uniform and within the shadow of the Cathedral beneath the appraising eye of Halone herself, there was no questioning his father.
"Nothing, General," Brynn said.
"Good," said Gerart. "I believe I will assess Raven on my own. You may go."
(This story picks up from where Prompt #3, Bargain, left off)
Raven and Artoirel left the Proving Grounds and walked uphill along the gilded path. The main throughways of The Pillars wound among the spired buildings and passed vast manors, sanctums, and academies. Both beautiful and formidable, the Holy See intimidates just as much as it inspires, though only outsiders would allow themselves to seem impressed. The denizens of the neighborhoods through which they passed glide along with noses in the air and eyes cast downward.
"Those were four of my finest that you trounced," Artoirel said with a grin. Raven had bested the knights after being coerced into an impromptu sparring match. Lord Fortemps knew of Raven's reputation and had learned much from his conversation with Ser Aymeric regarding his skill, though it was quite a thing to see it with his own eyes. "Younger by a decade, warmed up, and fresh. While you…"
"…are old, rusty, and hungover," finished Raven.
A private social and academic establishment catering to discerning gentlepersons of like mind and philosophy, The Grand Cross free company opens their doors at The Stellium in less than a fortnight to one and all for an evening of spoken poetry. Join us in performing, and encourage and cultivate the art of poetry in our very own club, gathering with unknown talents spanning Eorzea and beyond!
During your visit, feel free to explore the club, upstairs and down, inside and out. Various rooms are available for your enjoyment, including but not limited to Le Salon De The teahouse, The Stranger’s Room lounge, and a large reference library. Anyone wearing a “Looking To Meld” icon above their head belongs to The Grand Cross and can be queried for further information.
Refreshments, both alcoholic and otherwise, are provided free of charge this night by the owners of The Stellium. NPC bartenders will be available for your own personal brand of roleplaying enjoyment.
This is an adult event; however for the sake of propriety, please refrain from any excess, overtly gratuitous language or themes. R-rated is appropriate, X-rated is decidedly not. Remember to give your fellow performers the same level of respect and quiet you would require for yourself. Hecklers and rabble-rousers will be duly ejected.
Sign-ups for performances begin in-game 30 minutes prior to start time, just inside the club. Doors also open at this time. Earlier sign-ups can be done by contacting Charlemont Mercaiges, Raven Alderscorn, or Corwynn Grey in game, or by messaging Char#6733 on Discord.
Should you have any questions about the event, please reply to this post or get in touch using one of the above methods. Please tell all your friends, and we look forward to seeing you at The Grand Cross at The Stellium!
@crystal-rp-ffxiv @mateusrpcalendar @balmungrpcalendar @ffxiv-crystal-rp
Trying to decide which character to bring but I'll be there!
@sea-wolf-coast-to-coast
Lucien stood at the center of the Master bedroom as Raven paced hither and thither, preparing for an evening out. He was halfway into a three-piece suit, hastily applied one article at a time, looking instead like a man who was drunkenly undressing. The cuffs of his untucked shirt were protruding loose from the arm of his jacket like ruffles on a lace blouse. His collar was unfolded against his neck, scratching against his freshly shaven cheek. He paced and swore and sighed with each unsuccessful lap. The valet was unwavering and resolute like a lighthouse bashed upon by the unrelenting crashing of waves. A beacon in the darkness without whom all would be lost.
His lord was a formidable man, there is no doubt. Cunning, intelligent, and resourceful. A captain of men and successful in business. And yet…
"Fury's tits, the time…" Raven said as he fished through another drawer, shoving articles of clothing to one side and the next. "Lucien, where in hells are-"
Lucien's hand raised to produce a pair of mythrite cufflinks which Raven plucked on his way by, fixing them to his cuffs.
He crossed and opened the double doors of his armoire, and stared at a sea of black cloth. "Where are all my-"
"On the inside of the left door on the hook," Lucien said evenly.
"No…"
"Your *other* left."
"Ah," Raven said, pulling a black tie from the hook and looping it around his neck. He tied a hasty half-windsor as he continued to wear a beaten path in the rug toward his dressing cabinet. He opened and closed the tiny drawers, one after another, his search becoming frantic as the various pins, chains, and tie tacks clinked about. He growled and turned away from the drawers, leaving them in disarray. "Lucien, do you know wh-"
A fine, silver pocket watch, scratched and patinaed from age and use, dangled from a chain at the end of Lucien's fingers.
Raven took it from him and, for once, was still as he stood before his valet and attached the chain to his waistcoat and deposited the watch into a pocket. Lucien wordlessly adjusted Raven's tie and collar so that the knot was perfectly dimpled and sat straight. He tugged and shifted the fine cloth at Raven's shoulders and cuffs and, satisfied with the presentation, tucked his hands behind his back.
Raven nodded with a smirk at the man who'd been in his service all of his adult life. He began to leave the room when he stopped and turned, a question barely formed on his lips. "W-"
Lucien pointed to the sideboard in the hall at the invitation Raven was about to ask for. He snorted and shook his head in amusement, picking it up and tucking it into his breast pocket. "Where would I be without you, Lucien?" Raven called from the steps as he descended, leaving Lucien grinning in the bedroom.
"Where, indeed, my lord," Lucien said to himself.
Once upon a time sunlight shone warm and golden through Coerthas. It flickered and filtered through emerald leaves, played peek-a-boo with billowy, cotton clouds, and kissed everything it touched. Skin darkened and flowers bloomed, deer basked underneath it in the fields every summer. Cicadas droned. Frogs sang. Blades of grass rustled with the wind and soft, springing footfalls of hares, and the lazy ripples of the pond could lull one to sleep in minutes.
Those were the days Manon remembered most of all. Those were the days, when she thought back to her childhood, that she always let paddle through her mind unhurried. Blissful, innocent days, waxing full with the promise of happiness and forever. If she closed her eyes now and exhaled the world, the years began to slip backward. Slowly, at first, then with increasing speed. To before The Calamity, before Ul’dah, before she lost mother and father and Avoie. To before the days she’d trained so hard as a knight. The years slowed to months, then weeks, then wound to a gentle stop during the languid, luminous days of summer in Coerthas.
If she held her breath, she was certain that the memories would never end.
Wow, it's that amazing...brava, sweetheart!
@sea-wolf-coast-to-coast
The runner had found Raven, just as the Lord Commander promised, and he'd taken to the chilly streets of the city before the sun had gotten high enough to melt the frost from the cobbles. Raven had gone to Ser Aymeric for information regarding a missing child and, while he hadn't been able to help him directly, was good enough to set up a meeting with someone who could - Lord Fortemps.
He'd expected to wind his way to Fortemps Manor for his meeting but, somewhat mysteriously, the missive had said to meet at Lightfeather Provingrounds. So, donning his long, wool coat and dark glasses, Raven pulled up his lapels and found the place with nary a look upward.
The guard snapped his heels at his approach and Raven waved him at ease. A sense of pride and reverence swelled within him as he laid his hand on the massive ironwood door he'd not passed through in many years. It was much warmer within, thanks to the braziers, so he stowed his leather gloves in his pockets and released the buttons of his coat.
The heels of his fine shoes clacked on the stone as he passed through the Hall of Accolades, the walls lined with names of past tournament champions etched into platinum. His eyes found his own name without truly looking for it and he rubbed his thumb across the shining plate and smiled. So many names appeared between his and the most recent. Gods, has it been so long?
“Nine hundred ninety-nine gil?? Are you mad??” The glottal stop of the word “ninety” crashed into the well-groomed aetheryte attendant like a runaway train. He blinked at the scrappy blonde miqo’te in front of him, entirely unsure whether or not he was joking. “What, just to go to Doma?? Mate, you are off yer bleedin’ rocker.”
“Sir,” came the miraculously calm voice. “Aetherytes are a highly advanced piece of ancient technology that must be maintained regularly. Without charging a…”
“Yeh yeh, I’ve ‘eard all that a million times before. S’all right if it’s a couple hundred to pop over to Ul’dah or sommat, but you’re talkin’ nearly a fousand gil!”
The hyur cleared his throat. “Doma, sir, is not in Eorzea. It is considerably more difficult to send someone over a distance that great.”
Corwynn wasn’t normally the type to roll his eyes, but there are always exceptions to the rule. He socked his hand on his hip. “You fink I don’t know that? What, like imma expect to just hitch a free ride to another continent? Fing is, mate, they’s a boat nary a hop, skip, and a jump away what’ll take me for a fraction of what you want!”
By now, the long-suffering attendant was suffering a bit too much Gods be good, though, he managed to maintain a relatively pleasant if weary demeanor as he clasped his hands behind his back. “Sir, if I may… passage to the continent of Othard takes in excess of a sennight, whereas teleportation by aetheryte is near instantaneous.”
“Yeh, and I’m payin’ also for the chance of aefer sickness, innit?”
“…or seasickness, alternatively…” murmured the hyur.
“You wot, mate?”
He shook his head. “Also, if I may add, the aetheryte network is not one that is open to bartering, I’m afraid.”
Corwynn took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He knew, of course, that such a thing **technically** wasn’t a service you could get a discount on, but here and there, off and on, a favor done or claimed would work in Cor’s favor. Hell, more often than not he had some aetheryte tickets on him. Just not today. The one day Mr. Stick-In-The-Mud Play-By-The-Rules was on duty.
“Look. You know Rodney, right? Over in Gridania? Aeferyte attendant. Been there for years! Since I was a wee lad, really. Short hair, greyin’ now though, you know, more like salt and pepper than anything. Scar over his left eye, lil’ bit of a limp? Old lady’s named Gertrude.”
“Rodney.” The attendant was unimpressed.
“Yeh! Good ol’ Rodney. He’ll usually float me a free ride if I’m a bit light, yanno? Can’t see why you wouldn’t do me a solid as well, really.”
“Sir…”
Another rejection was just waiting to spill forth when an older, care-worn miqo’te wandered up. Downright grandfatherly. “Highway robbery is what it is, lad. Highway robbery.” He shook his head and clucked a bit as he reached his hand into his pocket. Drawing out his wallet, he gave Corwynn a gentle smile. “Anymore I don’t travel any further than Gridania, and that’s only now and then. My daughter, bless her, she keeps giving me these aetheryte tickets so I won’t have to fork over any gil when I go visit her.” The stack he pulled out of his aching leather wallet had strained it to its limit, and he chuckled at the mass of them. “Tell you what. You give me more gil than a trip to Gridania… say… five hundred a piece? And I’ll trade you a stack of these.”
Corwynn’s eyes widened, and a smile bloomed on his face full of satisfaction and justification. “Ya see?” He shook his head in a gentle reprimand toward the poor aetheryte attendant as he dug his own wallet from his pocket. He handed twenty five hundred gil over to the older gentleman for five aetheryte tickets. “A little bit of caring and compassion, mixed with a little bit of dealin’, and what do you have?” Both the older gentleman and Corwynn sorted their currencies. “You got a happy traveler, a richer old man, and…” He smirked at the hyur and handed over one aetheryte ticket. “…a paid aeferyte attendant.”
“Thank you kindly, lad. Thank you kindly.” The grandfather tipped his imaginary hat and regarded them both with a soft smile.
“Indeed,” sighed the attendant as he accepted Corwynn’s ticket. “What a bargain.”
Best khet. Cheapskate, but best khet!
It was no secret that Cam'nahl Zarasten loved books. Seeing him carrying around large, dusty tomes filled with magical or medical theory as dry as they were was not unusual. What the casual observer didn’t realize was that his very favorite sort of books, the ones that he would obsessively read cover-to-cover in a single sitting if he wasn’t physically dragged away, were romance novels.
Living now in Shirogane meant that Cam’s favorite bookstore in Limsa Lominsa was a little too far away for a casual jaunt. On one of his walks through the streets of Kugane, shopping basket tucked neatly beneath his arm, he stopped suddenly and clutched the basket’s handle. Tucked between two much larger, bustling shops, was a tiny little storefront with a single swinging signboard. The board was emblazoned with a book.
Cam was a Miqo'te of simple pleasures: he saw a bookstore, he went into it.
The shop was cramped, the already small space further reduced by the maze of shelves that weaved back and forth as well as lining every wall. Delighted and excited, he traversed each narrow aisle as his mismatched eyes scanned the spines. He pulled one down, then another. Another and another, until his arms were straining under the weight. There were too many volumes that sounded interesting, from slim novellas to long-winded tomes nearly as large as his textbooks. All of them promising stories of true love - among other, spicier things.
Nearly staggering to the front desk, Cam carefully dumped his finds for the amused clerk to ring up. While he waited, he continued looking around the store, only for his eyes to alight on a box beside the counter. The word “BARGAIN” was printed in large letters on one of the flaps. Curiosity got the best of him, causing Cam to take a peek at the contents while the total of his purchase continued to climb.
As Cam skimmed title after title, moving each layer to see the one beneath, his tail poofed all the way from base to tip. He hefted the box and hoisted it up onto the counter, giving the cashier a look of fiery determination. “I’ll take the lot!”
I mean, why wouldn’t you?
