fiery-chicken

If the Turks wrote restaurant reviews: Reno: “I got stabbed here. The food was fresh and the drinks were tasty but I got stabbed here. Would consider going back. Four stars.” Tseng: “Floor to ceiling windows give an open ambiance but very little cover from sniper fire. Creative appetizers and a limited but well selected wine list. Excellent prices. Four stars.” Rude: “Production values at this theater are very high and the classic 1950s construction makes it very easy to contain hand to hand combat in a hallway.  They give back to the community and host amateur theater productions all winter long.  Five stars.

The bone Cid held up was huge, almost as long as the pilot and still dripping blood and unknown monster fluids although the merciless sun beating down on the landscape around the Desert Prison dried up the blood almost as soon as it hit the sand. A nightmare of fur and teeth and gore stained claws hovered over the pilot, demon yellow eyes glaring and tongue slobbering. It whined at the sight of fresh meat, but made no move to take the bone. Cid took one last drag on his cig and crushed it on the sole of his boot. He held out the fag to the demon who snuffled at it. “Ya know what ta do. Fetch.” Cid nodded and Galian Beast shot