Hey, only the master can decide if you deserve to walk the road of torment, you know? I just check people off the list. It'd really be something if you kept putting bones in the fridge every so often, and you kept getting whole skeletons!
. . . I mean no offense when I say this - growing up in a community where the art of bone necromancy is traditionally practiced and a cult of skeleton worship is practiced, one tends to have heard every possible iteration of that particular double entendre.
Here. I don't have any bones--they aren't my thing--but I have one of these!
[they reach over the gate and baptize harrow with one of the poppy flowers in the hair.
when they do, harrow gets a glimpse of a vision almost as if she's fallen asleep.
Someone is shaking her little arm, and she drowsily opens her eyes. She's rocking along gently on a wooden boat, her head resting on her folded arms, and her body curled up on the edge with two other young beings. The river water is blood-red, and occasionally, ghostly hands reach out of it and paw at the air.
"Are you always going to fall asleep when we do something together?" asks a boy who looks exactly like you, except he absolutely has the short, 90s heartthrob middle-part lisa despises.
The other boy, whose legs are thrown over the edge of the boat, feet aflame, says, "He's fine, Than. Relax."
The identical her sighs in exasperation, but gives up. So she just turns her head over a bit on her arms, toward the dark, bottom folds of a robe. From above, a deep, ethereal voice says, "Haaaarrgghhhh," and she, along with the other two boys, glance up. Purple haze seeps out from under the wide-brimmed hat, and two purple, hollow eyes peer down at her from the glimpses of a skull. The obols on the creature's shoulders and chest jingle when he lifts the oar out of the water.
She gets a swift whack on the side with it, and her little, pitched voice yells, "ACK!"
The dark-haired boy with flaming feet bursts into laughter.]
[It's a sweet memory, and also a strange one, though somehow she finds this type of memory so much less alien to her than seeing Greed in his office. Still.]
. . . That's the brother you compare me to? The one going Haaaarrgghhh?
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harrow??]
Hey, only the master can decide if you deserve to walk the road of torment, you know? I just check people off the list. It'd really be something if you kept putting bones in the fridge every so often, and you kept getting whole skeletons!
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You approve, then? Of the bone generation? It did cease, after a while.
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Are you going to try again? I've never met a bone collector before.
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Bones!
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Um, what?
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[they sound like they have no idea why boning is so (derogatory).]
Just some bones, but no boning! Gotcha!
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[Neither of them are understanding this conversation at all.]
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Here. I don't have any bones--they aren't my thing--but I have one of these!
[they reach over the gate and baptize harrow with one of the poppy flowers in the hair.
when they do, harrow gets a glimpse of a vision almost as if she's fallen asleep.
Someone is shaking her little arm, and she drowsily opens her eyes. She's rocking along gently on a wooden boat, her head resting on her folded arms, and her body curled up on the edge with two other young beings. The river water is blood-red, and occasionally, ghostly hands reach out of it and paw at the air.
"Are you always going to fall asleep when we do something together?" asks a boy who looks exactly like you, except he absolutely has the short, 90s heartthrob middle-part lisa despises.
The other boy, whose legs are thrown over the edge of the boat, feet aflame, says, "He's fine, Than. Relax."
The identical her sighs in exasperation, but gives up. So she just turns her head over a bit on her arms, toward the dark, bottom folds of a robe. From above, a deep, ethereal voice says, "Haaaarrgghhhh," and she, along with the other two boys, glance up. Purple haze seeps out from under the wide-brimmed hat, and two purple, hollow eyes peer down at her from the glimpses of a skull. The obols on the creature's shoulders and chest jingle when he lifts the oar out of the water.
She gets a swift whack on the side with it, and her little, pitched voice yells, "ACK!"
The dark-haired boy with flaming feet bursts into laughter.]
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. . . That's the brother you compare me to? The one going Haaaarrgghhh?
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He's the boatman. He isn't too bad of a guy; hit me a few times with his oar! Just don't try to cheat him! He runs an honest business!