“What I Suffer From”
snow’s a scary thing- utter lack of regard for any sort of utensils
- festering for several weeks near the butt crack
- actually her brother
- You are not the fire.
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“What I suffer from is a lack of maternal neglect. But if my face looks a little queasy, well, my experience in the mountain garrisons taught me that crash-landing in the snow’s a scary thing to contemplate. Those who are lucky enough to survive the initial impact will need to live off whatever small creatures they can catch, and they’ll have to eat them with utter lack of regard for any sort of utensils.” Given how arduous it had been to track down a single fork on this airship, I was confident about that statement.
Mother tutted. “I would have thought your chionophobia stemmed from festering for several weeks near the butt crack.”
She was making veiled reference to my time in Twerkistan. If she knew about that, she was bound to know about my marriage to Hildegard, and was hinting that she could weaponize that info at any moment. I wished I possessed some secret of comparable destructive potential. I wished John were actually her brother, or at least that I would be able to convince people that he was. I could reveal her Plentylvanian heritage, but that would cause too much collateral damage.
“All the same, Mother,” I said in the calmest voice I could, “please direct your husband to complete his task so we don’t get blasted out of the sky.”
She sighed. She turned to John and placed a hand on his shoulder. She said, “You are not the air. You are not the ocean. You are not the dirt. You are not the fire.”
By the time I realized she was reciting a trigger phrase, it was too late.
bonus points for using them in order.