Nicolo di Genova (
peace_inthe_violence) wrote2020-09-09 02:21 pm
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Malta

This is a fairy tale of blood and bullets
It is the story of three men and three women and a small island between Italy and Africa.
This is a story about tragedy and pain, about healing and hope, but mostly it is about
love.
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The voice came from the man in the doorway, bare chested and squinting in the bright lights of the kitchen. He reached up to rub the sleep from his eyes, then made his way into the room proper, his bare feet making little padding sounds on the tile.
"Are those beignets? Please tell me this is not what we are talking about." Because he was already reaching for one of the cinnamon sugar ones.
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She shook her head then, realizing that this time of morning probably wasn't the best time for jokes like that, "No rocks, promise, and this early in the morning because I couldn't sleep. Happens sometimes. I can be quieter next time."
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"You didn't wake me, sorellina. She did." He gestured at Andy with his half eaten beignet. "I'm pretty certain she danced on my bladder when she got up." He made a face at the older woman, though it was quickly gone in favor of shoving the last half of his treat into his mouth.
"I smelled the food, though, so I came to investigate. This is delicious. When did you start the dough? Did I miss it in the fridge yesterday?"
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A nod towards Andy in turn, "We were just talking about making sure I've got room for a mixing bowl in the fridge to do actual yeast ones sometime, though. I just don't usually have that kind of patience."