#kitchenmouse

[abbeykitchenmouse]

Finally back home after a week in a villain's oubliette. Here's a little tip, don't ever beat a villain in a festival baking contest. Even if they're an amateur who needs put in their place. They did enjoy my croissants though!

[abbeykitchenmouse]

Folk always ask me, Nutmeg, how do you maintain such a wonderful kitchen? It certainly doesn't hurt to have other abbey beasts to help, am I right?

And to that I say, no. You're wrong. There are no other abbey beasts helping me. They're all too busy chasing vermin and bandits around the wood for the wee little kitchen mouse! The only reason this kitchen stays functional is because I clean, and I sweep, and I scrub, and I terrorize. Then I'm ready to cook a delicious dinner, but wait, the kitchen is destroyed again before I can even start!

It's my own personal circle of hell. Someone get Dante down here to write about it! Who just put a dirty butter knife in this pot?! Aghhhhhhh!

[abbeykitchenmouse]

I am breathin', chitterin', skitterin', and scurrying. I am gnawin', clawin', chewin' at the World Tree's rotten, rancid roots in the midnight daydream's dark. In the dark, in the dark, oh see how my eyes shine in the torch light!

I'm such a fright! We're such a fright!

We bandit mouses, we bonnie does and frisky bucks! Ye rapscallion rats and scurrilous squirrels! Why's a bandit wit' buck teeth beheld so low by their vulpine kin? To wit, I'm in a fit, a tizzy that has me rattlin' my tin!

Haven't we ashen blackened our blades and our buckles? Haven't we earned our pay in the fray! Haven't we prayed midst our glades 'neath the light of our Night Father's moon? Prattlin', saddlin' some great distant nothin' with our grievin'?

You know what I believe in?

The sound of our scurryin' din! The bloodwrath and fire coursin' within! It ain't a sin! We are not demure abbey murine that at the slightest sight of a ferret douse our trousers in urine! Fearin' nah; I've got nothin' but fury'n and my folk here in this clearin'.

I swear here on the fire'n me that I'll not be cowed! Not by a fox that's proud or a council knight bellowing loud! I'm a bandit! I'm the salt of the Earth! The fire in the Hearth and the Oppressor's curse! If I must chew the World Tree to death then I'll aim to be so much worse!

@forestcrittervillains

[abbeykitchenmouse]

Alas for a bonnie Lass

I'll pass, alas, alas, I'll have to pass

Lovely though they are, oh for a Lass

Atop green grass, mirthful and beauteous

Their siren songs harmonious, perfumed by foreign sassafras

To know a maiden or a wife; it seems a tad crass

I'd sooner ask her what's her husband's name

And who's the betrothed of this lucky dame

If you've ever been held by a badger boar, you'd know a dame's not quite the same

Out of my way ye toothy jills, I'm dancing with your jacks

Pardon me, sweet chattering does, I'm here to sweep up your bucks

I've no time for hens; let your roosters show me your nests

Ever been flipped on your back by a gander knight and you'd understand

[abbeykitchenmouse]

Met the dumbest weasel in all of the wood today. Just an absolute buffoon who couldn't even perceive why he was such a mess. There were literally no thoughts betwixt this creature's ears, just violent big goon energy and a desire to eat raw ingredients from the larder. He couldn't understand why the guards kept throwing him in jail for commiting petty crimes, and when I suggested not committing crimes he just tilted his head and stared.

I'm sure someday he'll make a villainous vermin lord irrationally frustrated. But I honestly think he might be too daft to throw out a window. It just wouldn't be satisfying.

[abbeykitchenmouse]

Sometimes you just need to get kissed by a god and Know.

Midnight Noon, entropy scarcely creeps under your Ion Moon

A god! A god, says I as time stumbles to a fearful plod

Your crown wreathed in flame, oh now we play the Yuletide game

How odd, that I a crooked beast, a sullen sod

Should be what you caught in the woods; and be yours, understood

That I should exchange my mishaps? It seems so strange

Oh Midnight Noon what a kiss, though all I can know, 'tis but a curse

'Tis but a kiss, a kiss is a kiss, the trees pop and sizzle, lake waters hiss

How can I return this? This sword tap metaphor from a deific tryst?

This Yuletide game is a shame, and I'm to blame

For one year hence I'll have to formally dispense

And make the journey to your plane and return your entropic kiss profane

I was just a low kitchen beast and now I Know

That I Know that I Knew, across time's surging rivers I must row

Woodland Midnight is once again night, and now I'm doomed to set this right

Such is the name of the Yuletide game

[abbeykitchenmouse]

Cornered a bandit weasel of some sort in the corner of my kitchen! Keeping them at bay with my cast iron and scraps of uncooked chicken. Desperately trying to consult a field guide on what it is. It's making an awful racket, hissing and spitting like they do!

Can't really tell if it's a jill or a jack. Ah! A marbled polecat! Curious.

Poor thing looks half starved. I'll have to fold it up and hide it in the cupboards during daylight hours. Can I feed bandit rabble millet and oat cakes?

Can someone write @forestcrittervillains for me? I need rabble care advice.

[abbeykitchenmouse]

He was a tempest, roaming, dangerous and free. Only his loved ones and the beasts he chose to defend could remain in the eye of his storm. His foes were simply grains of sand for his waves to crash over and wash out to sea. When the wrath took him it was like staring into the eyes of a ghost.