6.12 Beds Are Burning

Well, here we are at last on July 12th! Happy Birthday Langurds and R.I.P. Sam’s sanity!

I can smell the light at the end of the tunnel (not a typo; caffeine does strange things to your senses) so I’m going to give it my all for these last 13.5 hours. Hopefully without having to cut things in half and without wasting the potential of these screenshots. You are all lovely and supportive and I’m sure it’s only me cracking the whip at this point, but there is no whip more terrifying than the one in my own hands. (Cripes, a few cups of coffee and I’ve turned into Omen?)

Things have been moving pretty fast. Our eldest heir candidate is a teen, our youngest a child, our heiress a middle-aged underachiever, and her ex-husband a corpse.

Only Rhapsody has yet to get a kick in the pants from Father Time. Of course she’s busking in the park when it hits.

Rhapsody: Thanks for coming to celebrate my birthday with me!

Corren: I didn’t. Where’d your guitar go?