Phoenix Maplewood home is what you make of it

he gives her a quick glimpse of appraisal, having to avoid narrowly choking on the next blackberry he plucks from the bush when she calls him sir. sir? nah. he wasn't really feeling that despite that he knows well enough that she's only used it to be polite. truth be told the blackshark wasn't really 'sir' material. maybe the witchdoctor could be considered a sir — but even that was questionable. eh, call me brisbane. hell, hekate'd be better than 'sir' which said a lot given brisbane's general disdain held towards the witchdoctor approved name. the conversation steers towards the blackberries and he plucks another, letting it's tart juice rush in his mouth as he pierces the berry's flesh. they're a little bitter. not quite ripe yet but i like 'em, he indicates to the bush he'd been plucking them from with an gesture of his scarred muzzle. try one.