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ID: LfzRDkDq/qst/6244669#6250468
5/30/2025, 3:34:50 PM
>>6250467
…
“Sorry ZZ’s not bringin’ ya along,” you say.
“It’s okay,” Martyn replies quickly.
“It’s just, ya know, I think she wants ya workin’ on the forge, so it’s good to go when we get back.”
Martyn hesitates a second, and you feel a spike of anxiety. Then, he nods.
“What?” you ask, worriedly. “What is it?”
You feel a pang of fear, and guilt, and some sort of knot of mixed emotion underneath and beside it. You approach Martyn, reaching out to him. He doesn’t flinch, but you feel him WANT to flinch. You, in turn, pull back.
“Did I, uh… Is somethin’ wrong, Marty?”
Martyn laughs, a brittle little sound, and starts to say: “No, it’s nothing!”
…But then, he thinks better of it. You feel the shift before it happens. You can’t make out his thoughts or anything, but you can see the turbulence, the raising and lowering of priorities popping up like ground-squirrels peeking out of the burrow that is his brain. You kind of <WANT> to reach out, to grab hold of those thoughts by the throat, and to rip them out of their hiding places to make them squeal their secrets…
But you resist the urge. You wait, instead, for him to finally speak.
“The forge is… I think it’s working.”
“It is??” You jump to your feet, wobbling slightly on your near Easterly lady-shoes. “Well that’s fuckin’ SWEET!”
Martyn frown.
“…A-ain’t it?”
Martyn looks away. He looks back at you, and then asks: “Are you sure that what we’re doing here is… Good?”
You’re speechless for a moment. Then, you laugh, because you’re just so flabbergasted.
“‘Course it is!” you say. “This is how I get myself all bee-yoo-tee-ful, ‘n, you know…”
You lower your voice as you slip into lewd giggles. You start to salivate a little at the thought.
“This’s how I get my snug l’il cunt fer you ta, you know, ~pound~
(And then, FINALLY, everything will be juuuust the way it’s s’posed to be!)
…
(But then why doesn’t Marty look, or FEEL, excited??)
“Marty?”
“It’s just… Cara—”
“Carazzi.”
“…Carrazzi, I don’t know if the forge is working the way it should.”
“Well shit, izzat all?” You laugh. “Fine tune the thingamajig while we’re gone, then! Shit, that’s prob’ly why ZZ wants you to stay here with Ayla ‘n the blueberries. Ta fix it up!”
“That’s the problem, though,” Martyn says, lowering is voice and drawing a little closer. “I can’t remember what went wrong with it. And the goblin… Ah, Mister Wheat… He came out fine. I can’t put my finger on it, and yet…”
(Oh… OH. Oh, shit!)
“Uh,” you ask, “didja talk ta anyone else about this?”
“I raised some of the concerns with Miss Ayla,” Martyn confesses with an embarrassed air, “and she addressed all my concerns more than adequately. But even so…”
…
“Sorry ZZ’s not bringin’ ya along,” you say.
“It’s okay,” Martyn replies quickly.
“It’s just, ya know, I think she wants ya workin’ on the forge, so it’s good to go when we get back.”
Martyn hesitates a second, and you feel a spike of anxiety. Then, he nods.
“What?” you ask, worriedly. “What is it?”
You feel a pang of fear, and guilt, and some sort of knot of mixed emotion underneath and beside it. You approach Martyn, reaching out to him. He doesn’t flinch, but you feel him WANT to flinch. You, in turn, pull back.
“Did I, uh… Is somethin’ wrong, Marty?”
Martyn laughs, a brittle little sound, and starts to say: “No, it’s nothing!”
…But then, he thinks better of it. You feel the shift before it happens. You can’t make out his thoughts or anything, but you can see the turbulence, the raising and lowering of priorities popping up like ground-squirrels peeking out of the burrow that is his brain. You kind of <WANT> to reach out, to grab hold of those thoughts by the throat, and to rip them out of their hiding places to make them squeal their secrets…
But you resist the urge. You wait, instead, for him to finally speak.
“The forge is… I think it’s working.”
“It is??” You jump to your feet, wobbling slightly on your near Easterly lady-shoes. “Well that’s fuckin’ SWEET!”
Martyn frown.
“…A-ain’t it?”
Martyn looks away. He looks back at you, and then asks: “Are you sure that what we’re doing here is… Good?”
You’re speechless for a moment. Then, you laugh, because you’re just so flabbergasted.
“‘Course it is!” you say. “This is how I get myself all bee-yoo-tee-ful, ‘n, you know…”
You lower your voice as you slip into lewd giggles. You start to salivate a little at the thought.
“This’s how I get my snug l’il cunt fer you ta, you know, ~pound~
(And then, FINALLY, everything will be juuuust the way it’s s’posed to be!)
…
(But then why doesn’t Marty look, or FEEL, excited??)
“Marty?”
“It’s just… Cara—”
“Carazzi.”
“…Carrazzi, I don’t know if the forge is working the way it should.”
“Well shit, izzat all?” You laugh. “Fine tune the thingamajig while we’re gone, then! Shit, that’s prob’ly why ZZ wants you to stay here with Ayla ‘n the blueberries. Ta fix it up!”
“That’s the problem, though,” Martyn says, lowering is voice and drawing a little closer. “I can’t remember what went wrong with it. And the goblin… Ah, Mister Wheat… He came out fine. I can’t put my finger on it, and yet…”
(Oh… OH. Oh, shit!)
“Uh,” you ask, “didja talk ta anyone else about this?”
“I raised some of the concerns with Miss Ayla,” Martyn confesses with an embarrassed air, “and she addressed all my concerns more than adequately. But even so…”
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