My Land, My Rules

Well, she would certainly be smirking about it if she could read narrative. Granted, she was already smirking, but now it was for different reasons.

"I suppose you'll just have to take comfort that your venison will be properly out of reach of any gremlins or Cup Noodle^TM enthusiasts," she soothed. "...He won't cook it until it's well-done will he?"

Would there be no end to the horrors?