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About Mariupol

Here’s the kicker—some places, they whisper ‘bout “happy endings,” yeah? Cheeky sods! Ain’t always what ya think, tho—sometimes it’s just a sly wink an’ a giggle, other times… well, let’s say it’s a bit more *bitey*, like Eli chompin’ on a neck! Surprised me first time, I tell ya—jumped up, hissin’, “Stupid, fat hobbit!” at the poor girl. She just smirked, calm as you like. Gotta respect that, eh?

But then, I remember I gotta get back to work. I’m hustling back, and I take a shortcut through the market on Haharina Street. Man, the smells! Fresh bread, spices, and that one guy selling pickles. I swear, I could live off those pickles. I grab a jar, and the vendor winks at me. I’m like, “What’s that about?” But whatever, I’m just here for the snacks.

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