SB INBOX.

[peasant]

WELCOME TO THE SALTBURNT NETWORK

USERNAME:
myshka

text ❖ audio ❖ video

Comments

[peasant]

His feet aren't weird. They're cute. Like little flippers.

( that's your brotherson :( alia please )

Oh.
Well, if you can't do it, I'll just ask Paul to make it. I'm sure he can follow simple directions.

[preborns]

Some of my favorite people have weird feet. Like Paul.

I didn't say I COULDN'T do it. I could!! I could make it so well!!

[You'd think eventually that would stop working and yet...]

[peasant]

Paul doesn't have weird feet. They're cute, too. Don't be mean to your brother.

( no bias detected here )

That's alright. I wouldn't want you to worry about burning anything down.
Paul will have it perfectly handled, I'm sure. But maybe you could help him stir.

[preborns]

He has weird stinky boy feet, Alina, you know it's true. And they're so cold in the middle of the night when he sticks them on your legs.

PAUL is going to stir!! Alina I'll come yell in your store if you don't promise he can only stir!

[peasant]

That just makes it cuter. I like that they're cold. I get too hot when I sleep.

( she's not even going to justify the boy stink part to a stinky muddy gremlin girl, so: )

He's going to stir for everything else. It's only fair you should give him a turn baking the cake while you stir.

Unless you want to bake your own, and see whose is better?

( hehe. two cakes for alina. jackpot. )

[preborns]

Personal icicles. He's going to give you pneumonia with his toes.

I want to bake my own, yes. It'll be the best cake in the entire world and it'll sear the memory of Paul's and it's descendants from the sphere of the known universe, banish it to the greatest depths of Shai-Hulud's cleansing maw, forgotten as the ancient stars on the farthest reaches of the galaxy!

[peasant]

I'm literally the sun. And you already try to stick your cold, slimy hands down my pants when I'm sleeping.

( how did this cake ploy work so well, more importantly ... alia ... )

Strange. That's what Paul said about his. ( he most certainly did not. ) He told me yours doesn't stand a chance.

[preborns]

They aren't slimy! I wash them as you've dictated I must, despite there being no dirt at all.
But they are so cold 😞 and your pants are so warm 😌

He has been wrong often before, there is little difference now.

[peasant]

They leave slime trails. Like a snail.
Can't you stick them down Paul's pants? It's only fair.

( equality, in love and war. )

I don't know ...
He's really clever when he puts his mind to something.

[preborns]

Because I'm making sure you know I was there. Snail trails to remember me by.
Well. I have two hands. But you two cuddle in your sleep, so it's hard to get in the middle.

NOT when it comes to CAKES. He's woeful and useless.

[peasant]

Scandalous.
Sorry, I claimed middle first. I like the middle. ( shocking no one, ever. ) But you have long arms. You can reach.

Really? And you've witnessed him make a woeful, useless cake?
Surely there's no such thing.

[preborns]

Hmph. Well, you have to roll over sometimes so I can be little spoon. I like the way your hair smells.

Oh yes. The tales of Muad'Dib's woeful cakes are sang in sietch and city. And you can tell him I said so.

[peasant]

I know. You get your drool in it. I have to brush it out in the morning.

Interesting.
He said your cakes are made from sand, and they taste of it, too.

[preborns]

I could brush it, if you'd like. Braid some nice things into it. [Like feathers or bones or a handful of grass she dug out from under the snow.]

And his taste like stinky boy cake.