According to my scrying pool, today’s agenda was to include “kicking butt and taking names” but all I’ve managed by nightfall is to collect 18 names.
18 of my neighbors now answer to no name, cut free from the bonds of nomenclature. They drift where instinct takes them, responding not at all to their former names, which I have in a sack at the foot of my bed. (Closet’s full.)
But I have not kicked a single butt. What a day. Time to confess my failure to the scrying pool and pay a penance of fresh tears, to maintain the pool’s volume.