As far as Samson knows, I am on my farm, completing what has been my late morning routine for the past week or so. When I wake up, at a modestnine-thirtyas of late, I head to my farm to tend my crops. I harvest whatever’s ready, then I clean up a bit of land until I get bored.
Which happens quickly.
How much dirt and water and seeds can one girl really take, right?
Upon the arrival of boredom, I return to Samson around noon, and we have lunch before deciding what we’ll do together afterward. Usually the mines, occasionally foraging, which results in canning or drying.
It’s a beautiful schedule.
It’s sodomestic.
A perfect husband-and-wife schedule.
I really need to learn how to cook in this world. I also need to con more people into being my friends so I can get their recipes. Bribery may be a terrible foundation for a relationship, but Samson and I areactualfriends now. My bribery is out in the open. And ya girl knows his entire list of favorite foods by heart.
I’d be a fool not to start a habit of cooking for him and wifeying myself up.
After I get my sword and my puppies, making money and gathering resources will besomuch easier…which means I’ll be able to work toward my Ultimate Devious Plot.
Marriage.
InVale of Gems, when you attain the eight friendship hearts with someone, you can enter a relationship, which adds tworomantic hearteventsto the story arc. Once you’ve obtained the full ten heart events, you can make aspecial requestwith Mimet. The following week, she sells you a circlet that you fit with gems of your choosing, using the language of gems to craft the perfect, unique proposal offering.
Upon presentation, and assuming that all relationship requirements have been met, you get engaged.
Then you have to talk to Lazul, pick a wedding location, blah blah blah.
I’ve always wanted to get married on the lavish island that you unlock after building Laumon his dream boat.
Which, again, costs money and resources.
And would take me five million years to accomplish if I rely on quartz, produce, and my starter pick.
I’m sorry, Samson. My ambitions are quite extravagant, and a woman in love is entirely too formidable to die to a big pink slime.
Filled with determination, I lift my hand to knock on Slate’s front door, but it whips open before I get the chance.
Eyes wild, Slate beams at me. “Morning, Citrus.”
My thoughts stumble, because I am still not used to altering the code and prompting my own unique scripts. “M-morning.”
He plops his comparatively scrawny shoulder against the door jamb. “What can I help you with this fine Friday?”
An excellent question.
I take a deep breath, then I blurt, “There’s something I want to do that involves throwing a bomb at something, and you’re the only person in town crazy enough to maybe—” I stammer. “—I mean, notcrazy. I didn’t meancrazy. That came out wrong. C-can I start again? I—”
His gloved hand lands firmly on my shoulder, and he fixes me with an austere look. “Citrus, Citrus, Citrus…” He grins. “I am crazy. Who do you want to throw a bomb at? Austin?”
I gag. “Wh-what? N-no. Why would you think that?”
“He lets me use the forge sometimes. Lately, he’s been grumbling about you. I hear you called him an emotionally-immature chipmunk.”
Heat floods my face at the realization both Samson and I have very unique terms for insult. We’re basically an old married couple already.
“I applaud the creativity,” Slate notes. Pulling his hand from my shoulder, he adjusts his goggles in his brown hair. “So, what’s the plan?”
Feeling the solidarity, I allow myself a calming breath. “The plan is a bitchaotic.”
