Fuck Boats

As Vallus so helpfully shared, we've been on a boat in the middle of the ocean for a while now. I hate boats. They're floating vomit machines, and if it were up to me, I'd never step foot on one ever again. Not that I ever have the luxury of getting my way on such trivial things. No, the boat has been the safest place for us, since it's very hard for anyone to sneak up on us while we're the only thing not ocean in sight in every direction. I'll be honest, even I don't know where we are, beyond 'on a boat'.

Somehow, though, Writer found us. Found me. He covered the railings on the deck in flowers one night a couple days ago. I tried to set them on fire, which wasn't one of my best moves, but to be fucking honest, I'd had just about enough of this bullshit and just wanted to get rid of them in a hurry. He showed up and put the fire out, unfortunately. Smug as always with his stupid little bits of French and his fucking suits and his goddamn flowers.

I stabbed him on sight, but as usual  he just laughed it off, this time electing to dump a huge amount of flowers on my head. They came up to my waist and got in my clothes as they fell, which as you might guess, took me a minute to get out of. In the meantime he gave Vallus roses and tried to talk her into killing Sloth and I. I'm still not completely convinced she's not going to, but she insists that she doesn't plan on it.

She talked to him for a moment, then Sloth came out with a net that he then lit on fire and tried to toss over Writer. Instead, due to some fuckery on Writer's part, it hit me instead. I have fucking crosshatch burns on my face and arms from the net, but a bit of aloe and some time should fix them up. Not sure what we're going to do next, but it's clear that we're not safe even in the middle of the ocean.