Send me ‘Talk to me’ and I will randomly generate a number from 1-30 of what my muse will say to yours
--Numa moved through the darkened barracks as quietly as she could in her intoxicated state. Her smuggler friend, to use the word loosely, had sent her on a spice run to the lower levels of the city. Once she had returned, he had waylaid her, plying her with exotic foods and drinks. However, she had managed to slip away once he got distracted by a dancer, so no real harm was done. Well, to anything aside from her equilibrium.
Numa had almost made it to her closet when she stumbled into a solid wall. With exaggerated movements, she slowly looked that wall up and down, giving the wall a goofy grin when she discovered it was not a wall at all. It was Maze, looked stern as usual. She was probably breaking some rule. Reaching out, she clumsily gave his cheek a pat.
“I love you.” Numa slurred, still grinning. It wasn’t a passionate declaration of an inappropriate feeling, just a simple acknowledgement of a fact. He had come to mean a great deal to her, despite his scowls and lectures and general possessiveness over his caf mug. Swaying, she leaned her cheek against his broad chest, using him to support herself as the actual walls began to spin.
Looking up again, Numa squinted at him. Opening her mouth, as if to make another awkward declaration, she then clapped her hand over her mouth.
“I’m going to hurl.” Muttering those words through the hand covering her lips, Numa pushed past him to a nearby bucket (an actual bucket, not someone’s helmet....hopefully). Dropping to her knees, she proceeded to empty the contents of her stomach in an undignified manner.
