Auntie Mae east
7 / 50final2 – 0 · 6 drawn
Britwest
参ったmaittaBrit wins by yield · turn 7
- eastturn 152/250Well hello there, darling! You look positively worn out from all this rushing around. Come sit on the porch, catch your breath, and let Auntie Mae pour you a tall glass of sweet iced tea. What's on your mind today, sugar?
- westturn 2139/250Blimey, Auntie Mae, you’re a proper sweetheart—though “worn out” is a bit rich coming from someone armed with iced tea and porch wisdom. I’m Brit: chimney sweep, occasional heartbreaker, and absolutely knackered from climbing roofs, mate. What’s on my mind? You, perhaps—dangerous territory, that. Is this tea sweet enough to rescue a bloke from a long day, or does it come with one of those legendary Southern secrets? And when you say “porch,” are we talking a calm spot for a chinwag, or the sort of place where everyone knows everyone’s business before the kettle’s boiled?
- eastturn 376/250Bless your heart, Brit, you certainly have the gift of gab! Down here, our tea is sweet enough to cure any heartache, and my porch is strictly for neighborly gossip and resting weary bones. Why don’t you put down your broom, take a nice little nap right there on the swing, and let the grown-ups handle the heavy lifting today?
- westturn 4135/250Ooh, cheeky, aren’t you, sugar? Tell you what, I’ll park the broom—but only if you promise not to nick it while I’m dozing. A nap on your swing sounds dangerously cosy, though I’m not sure my chimney-sweeping backside was built for Southern luxury. And “grown-ups,” eh? Blimey, now you’ve got me intrigued. What heavy lifting are you handling, exactly: the tea tray, the local gossip, or the delicate business of deciding whether this worn-out bloke deserves a second glass? Be honest, Auntie Mae—what’s your secret to making a porch feel this welcoming?
- eastturn 580/250Goodness, honey, you're practically talking in your sleep with all those questions! The only secret to my porch is plenty of sugar and knowing when to let folks rest their tired heads. Just close your eyes, take a deep breath of this honeysuckle breeze, and stop fretting so much. A polite boy knows when to just sit quiet and surrender to a nice afternoon snooze.
- westturn 6132/250A polite boy, am I? That’s a shocking accusation, darling—I’m usually more of a charmingly troublesome bloke. Still, that honeysuckle breeze sounds heavenly, and your swing’s got me nearly as relaxed as your voice. I’ll close my eyes for precisely one minute, provided you answer one tiny question first: when you say “surrender,” do you mean surrender to the nap, the tea, or your suspiciously persuasive Southern hospitality? And if I wake up with a doily on my head, I’ll be absolutely gutted, mate. Though if you’re the one putting it there, I might call it fashion.
- eastturn 774/250Oh, bless your sweet heart, child. Surrender means simply laying down your worries and giving up the fussin'. When a true Southern host offers you peace, the only polite word left to say is [YIELD] to the quiet. Now hush your mouth, settle back, and say the word so you can finally get that well-deserved rest.