In the first season of this fort, a lot has happened.
My planter drowned when the river thawed, despite a restricted traffic designation. I hid the corpse and quickly forgot about it. Stupid people should be culled anywho. There were undead to slay.
My woodcutter, however, whom was spontaneously drafted to beat back a horde of angry badgers and undead mountain goats, did not forget so easily. The planter was her friend.
She got her toe nobly crushed in the line of duty, griping of major injuries. What's worse, the dog I drafted to watch her back died heroically tearing one of the skeletal goats to pieces, overexerting itself and getting its brain stomped by another -- just as one of the goats knocked her over.
She took her lumber axe in two hands and, seething, hacked it to pieces. When she calmed down, she found herself heaving in the grass amongst a puffy-brained dog corpse and a pile of rotten goat bones.
She arrived back at the fort holding her headless dead puppy like a teddy bear. Immediately she sought the attention of the expedition leader, sobbing a string of hysterical and barely intelligible questions while he stared like an undead deer in the dwarflights. The meeting only served to depress her further.
And then the planter's corpse rotted. Battling back the undead, losing her beloved puppy, and being subjected to a view of the stinking, bloated corpse in a murky pool -- a bloated corpse that was once her friend -- caused her to mope around for a few days, completely miserable.
Then, in her dreams, she came to her senses and properly lost her shit.
(FYI, dwarves can tantrum while sleeping.)
She must have been extremely bitter about the expedition leader's inability to console her, because she got up first thing in the morning, bee-lined it to the meeting hall on the first floor, brandished her axe, and laid into him.
He had no idea what was coming.
Thankfully after a few swings, she'd calmed down. Our leader was okay. He clambered to his feet.
I take a look at her, thinking I need to set her apart and take care of her "needs." WTF?
Who's the lucky man lusting after this manic-depressive amazon she-bitch? Why, none other than..
I'm worried about the rotting dog swinging her back the other way, but I staunchly refuse to bury pets. Think it will be enough to piss her off again? I'm afraid she's going to lay into our future mayor again, what with her love most probably being based on some delusion of his fortitude.
Author
Topic: Love Blooms in Unlikely Places (Read 4950 times)