Teatime (for ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
shardofwinter )
Dec. 16th, 2017 09:20 amDearest Sir Reynard~
You are cordially invited to Pandora's most exclusive premium social event of the year. Hostess Tiny Tina is requesting your audience for afternoon tea and edibles at the her fabulous desert resort. Dress code is Wasteland-Formal so please plan accordingly.
Note the time and coordinates below. Respectfully yours,
Tina
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It's a wasteland.
Here and there patches of scrub cling to life as the wind howls over the dust and dirt. The acrid smell of the Eridium mines tinges the air even this far out. In the distance settlements can be seen down the cliffsides and sheer rock faces. The rumble of engines fades in and out, the silence perforated by the sounds of gunfire periodically. Even the life that eeks out an existence here is harsh. The creatures savage and monstrous looking.
Tina's home looks to be nothing more than a shipping crate turned onto it's side. There have been modifications to it, of course. Windows cut out of the metal on one corner where a simple army-style bed sits atop a scrap metal frame. The rest of the tiny space looks to usually be devoted to her rather explosive passion and job, though for the moment much of it is tucked away in crates and lockers to make room on the work table (singed in several spots) for the mismatched and heavily chipped tea set Tina has meticulously set at her table.
The hostess herself is in a pink sundress with a ribbon tied into her wild and uneven hair, humming while she boils water in a teapot that looks to have been welded together from lord even knows what. A menagerie of aged and beat up stuffed animals are seated at the table, though two spots remain open at either end. One for herself obviously and one for her guest of honor.
You are cordially invited to Pandora's most exclusive premium social event of the year. Hostess Tiny Tina is requesting your audience for afternoon tea and edibles at the her fabulous desert resort. Dress code is Wasteland-Formal so please plan accordingly.
Note the time and coordinates below. Respectfully yours,
Tina
--------------
It's a wasteland.
Here and there patches of scrub cling to life as the wind howls over the dust and dirt. The acrid smell of the Eridium mines tinges the air even this far out. In the distance settlements can be seen down the cliffsides and sheer rock faces. The rumble of engines fades in and out, the silence perforated by the sounds of gunfire periodically. Even the life that eeks out an existence here is harsh. The creatures savage and monstrous looking.
Tina's home looks to be nothing more than a shipping crate turned onto it's side. There have been modifications to it, of course. Windows cut out of the metal on one corner where a simple army-style bed sits atop a scrap metal frame. The rest of the tiny space looks to usually be devoted to her rather explosive passion and job, though for the moment much of it is tucked away in crates and lockers to make room on the work table (singed in several spots) for the mismatched and heavily chipped tea set Tina has meticulously set at her table.
The hostess herself is in a pink sundress with a ribbon tied into her wild and uneven hair, humming while she boils water in a teapot that looks to have been welded together from lord even knows what. A menagerie of aged and beat up stuffed animals are seated at the table, though two spots remain open at either end. One for herself obviously and one for her guest of honor.
