At the Brotherhood of Fine Furniture and Other Odds and Ends...
Niklas continues the haggling, as is traditional.
"If I upped the weight of the chairs to be 32.5 kilograms, then, would there be any tasks I could perform for you that would be worth 1 gold and three silvers?"
"Not really, no. We have no debtors nor suppliers, and require nothing that we cannot create ourselves aside from money, which we prefer to earn as honestly as possible. Better living through transmutation, I believe they call it. Very liberating."
Bummer. How is an honest murderous thug to make a living when there are people around that don't need anything aside from money?
In Undefined Space...
Timothy explains his purpose or lack thereof here in so many words.
"I is stuck here!" he announces cheerfully. He then recalls that they haven't been introduced yet, which seems quite unlike how he thinks a true gentleman should behave. He strives to rectify this dire error immediately.
"Oh, yeah- I be Timothy. What's youse name?"
"I am Og. And you speak what is not true - nobody stuck here. All who are here, choose to be here."
While considering the implications of such a phrase, Timothy tries to summon up some blocks for her. However, he only succeeds in slightly unbalancing the nearby nonsensical ether, causing odd geometric ripples to form. They gather around whatever blocks Timothy had already left lying around, assuming what Timothy can only guess is a protective orbit.
At the guard HQ of Shriekpot...
Scott stalls for time, hoping to get a better deal by persistently bringing up better ways to deal with him.
"O...kay. Do you happen to have a witness protection program? I am not comfortable about ratting out on the guy who has complete and utter control over my soul before I can be sure my continued existence."
The receptionist nods.
"We can help you with that. Would you like to sign up?"
In an altogether different room, Sigmund tries to take his impending amputation like a man.
"Well, I think that I'm going to need something that doesn't break my teeth even more. Wouldn't my lack of some teeth count as something?"
"Well, if you feel like biting down on the shrapnel of your own teeth is good enough, more power to you."
"Oh, well, couldn't you use something that could make this quicker? Like, I don't know, a big axe? It's not like I can bleed to death."
The man in charge of amputation scoffs at the very notion, scowling at Sigmund.
"Why, to entertain such a barbaric notion would be intolerable! An axe? What do I look like, some sort of savage?"
"The saw certainly makes for a neater separation, you have to admit. Now, let's get on with it, shall we?"
"Agreed, let's be quick about it."
The amputation expert places his saw slightly above where Sigmund supposes his bicep is and begins to furiously saw through his arm. It is a very long and very painful process, lasting a whole hour while the man experiments with various methods to get through the odd pseudo-bones running through the arm. Eventually he does manage it, much to the delight of Sigmund, who has stoically born his suffering throughout the entire hour. Fortunately, Carlson had already run out of terrible amputation puns within fifteen minutes, and the rest of the time was spent in solemn silence occasionally broken up by a bout of swearing from the amateur surgeon at work.
"Finally!"
"Right bastard of a limb that was."
The man picks up the severed arm, looking at it from several angles.
"Well, that's all, I guess."
"Yes. So, how does it feel to have one less arm, Sigmund?"
Sigmund has to say that it is an altogether familiar feeling, and it lacks a certain something the next time around.
On the deck of a strange ship...
Morton relates his magnificent adventures to the captain. Well, what he knows of them, at any rate.
~Much luck actually, me and my compatriots managed to locate a ship for few funds to take us to our destination. Well, few funds but some hard work, I suppose. I do thank you greatly for keeping the offer on the table for us however, very considerate of you.~
~Very few actually take the opportunity to travel with me. I am unsure why exactly, but I think that my method of relating puts people off. Still, carrying passengers is only a side goal - it's the cargo that matters, after all.~
~I must admit that speaking in this manner is a touch foreign to me, I'm afraid I'm more comfortable with speaking face to face, I suppose. Either way, it is grand to hear that things have been looking up for you, I always find joy in others being happy, it's how most people should be, I believe.~
~Sadly, this is as close to a face-to-face conversation as I can get. One could say it's slightly more intimate than that, though I find that very few use the opportunity to look outwards rather than retreat back. Is it some sort of instinct, I wonder? A sense of being invaded preventing exploration?~
In a shallow grave...
Kevin tries to figure a way out. He thinks and he thinks, and comes up with several plans of action.
Sadly, they all require him being about a meter higher than he is right now, which slightly obsoletes the entire need for a plan in that case. He has zero clue what he could possibly do aside from act like an expensive mummy and hope for enterprising grave robbers.
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Topic: Life Begins At Death - Epilogue: We Live And Live Again (Read 556328 times)