Glowpelt @myst@vulpine.club

E A R T H S P L E E N

atelier? nyatelier.

I forgot to take a picture! but I had breakfast sausages, some of them as a sandwich, and an apple, for a "breakfast" here
("breakfast" cuz it's morning time but we've been up all night)

in particular, this might actually explain (some) of our troubles with rythym games.
...still convinced that we have, like, other mental issues that make it difficult, most likely, but

Ben Eater: "...so unless you're using literally the cheapest keyboard available, it doesn't make a big difference for gaming."
looks down at literally cheapest USB keyboard available
...maybe we should get a new keyboard too, then

...well, this was going to be more of a ramble, but the words have stopped coming out of our brain, so
nvm?

so, like, we just watched https://youtu.be/BNpk_OGEGlA and it has us thinking some about, like, all the aspects of food in different settings and I feel like rambling a bit about it and I may as well do it here?

just, like, the relative lack of food logistics in a "medieval" style fantasy world, or what it might look like in more futuristic ones, whether magic or tech, or even just, like, different cuisine with the possibility of entirely new plants and foodstuffs

inspired by someone else, here's my dinner

very simple spamwich and my normal nuun

gosh though
there's a lot you could probably do with termux if yr motivated enough
just, like, the scope of actions allowed through termux-api and the networking ability

TIL Windows Git whatever ("Git Bash"?) includes vim, huh

"wait I know I haven't installed vim so where did it come from"

ah yes, com-mew-nication

We got a drasticish haircut
So take, like, our first publicly shared photo of ourselves in years probably?
(... still feel ugly but the hairstyle is interesting at least so)

foxes, like onions, have layers

hajime out there somehow making a railgun without any metal

In a well off looking mansion, in some city, the name unimportant, there is a storage room. A few rough bookshelves filled with boring records, crates that are heavier than they look due to their contents. And a surprising lack of dust.

For in one corner is where a foxgirl has to sleep. Treated even lower than the rest of the servants, her only possessions a couple tattered blankets, a few of threadbare outfits, consisting only of the simplest dresses and underwear, and a simple looking necklace, hardly more than a rock on a string.

If you look at night, you can see her, her hair messy, usually in her outfit from the previous day, with visible dirt and grime. Against the wall, one blanket around her, attempting to provide some cushioning and cover, the other folded up as a makeshift pillow. And if you were to see her before she falls asleep, you might notice her quietly letting out the tears she holds in, feeling sad and afraid and in pain.