Today really sucks.
I woke up this morning with a headache the size of Jabba the Hut and this fuzzy, pink-winged thing flying in circles around my head, chittering “Rise and shine Master! Kupo!” in the most high-pitched, annoying voice I’ve ever heard. I also had the distinct impression that it took a huge dump in my mouth while I was passed out. I stumbled out of bed, and hoped that the little annoying pink-winged thing hadn’t taken a dump on that, too, because the floor was made of some dark stone, and I wouldn’t be able to see it if it did. It certainly wasn’t the luxuriously appointed carpet and marble tile floor of my suite in the Maison d’Recapiere, which came complete with my very own Eurotrash slave boy named Jacques. I was immediately bummed out. Instead of glorious foot rubs from Jacques, all I get is this little flying teddy bear who screams at me about something called Kupo Nuts all the time. If he doesn’t shut up, I’m going to kick him square in his kupo nuts and see how he likes it, the freak. Iâ€™ve come to the realization that wherever I am, the Maison d’Recapiere isnâ€™t it, unless I’d somehow stumbled into one of the servant’s bedrooms. I wonder what the servants do with those little flying fuzzy creatures? On second thought, perhaps it’s better that I don’t know.
And speaking of things Iâ€™d rather not know about, how the hell did I end up standing here in some pervertâ€™s idea of proper attire? Itâ€™s some kind of white and black crop-top and tap pants set that barely covers my bits and this stupid winged fucker is flying all around like heâ€™s getting a free peepshow! And what the hell is up with the garters? Itâ€™s not like thereâ€™s anywhere for me to find stockings.
I made up my mind to sneak outside this nasty, poky little room and try to beg some kind soul to loan me a nice gown, or failing that, a mostly-washed potato sack to cover myself when the little teddy bear thing squeaks â€śKupo! Donâ€™t forget your armor, kupo!â€ť and points to what looks like the losing contestant between a saddle and a threshing machine arm-wrestling contest. Also, armor? Where the hell have I been taken, and why on earth do I need armor just to go outside? Nevertheless, clothing is clothing. Anything to get over the feeling that I should be up on a stage with dollar bills sticking out of my waistband and a pole for company.