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Don't cast aspersions on my asparagus.
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Okay. A positive reaction. A realistic account.

If only Clarice was here to take notes.

Kizi found herself smiling too. Just a morsel of hope was enough to get her excited beyond belief. A reminder that cooperation and decency and humanity and all that had survived. Despite the rules of the game. Despite the cowardly barbarity of a few of their classmates. Despite the many pressures to panic, or misunderstand, or fight and agitate. Despair was a pretty unhelpful thing, really. It was pessimism in the face of all evidence. For now, there was a reason to be happy. There was a reason to be optimistic. To have some hope. To believe in solidarity and kinship and empathy making a much-needed resurgence.

And there was no point in denying that evidence.

"Oh, yeah, it's good that we're armed." She had noticed that her shotgun had received some attention, Ben being the first to raise the possibility it'd be needed. And she was using the plural pronoun deliberately. Had to make some early commitments to building a rapport. Had to show she was serious. "Like, I'd be happy if we found a pistol or rifle or something too, just because a shotgun is a little bit too bulky for me. I fear if I fire it I'll..." She harrumphed, followed by some raspberry-blowing, in an attempt to emulate a shotgun blast. And then she leaned backwards, to imitate the recoil throwing her back.

She wasn't exactly super-capable of firing guns, she was willing to guess.

And then there was scepticism about the posters. Which was fine. Whatever. Probably smart. And it was constructive criticism. Again, Clarice should have taken notes. There were ways to be critical without being scornful. Still, though, no point in dwelling on the past.

"Posters could work. If we head to the Bell Tower, we could grab some art supplies from the asylum. Which'd be fun."
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Kiziah Saraki
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