Hmmm, what is early? Birthday presents? Wrinkles? Worm-getting birds? Answers, we need answers Marc!
Early Hilda licked Scuffles’s nose, on the grounds that he was on the ground and it was in reach. There was a possibility – there always was with a Hellhound – that she was checking to see if he’d taste good when flame-roasted, but he was too relieved to be on something solid that wasn’t swaying around and threatening to throw him off at any moment that he didn’t care. “Are you going to lie there all day?” War’s impatience was legendary, and he was already folding his arms and drumming his fingers on his oversized triceps. “Only we’re supposed to finding out what’s going on with the Infanta. It would probably be nice to do it before she decides to find out why we’re down here at all, instead of waiting for her to incarnate properly and then paying her a social call.” “Do we do social calls, sis?” Pestilence yawned. “I do,” he said. “There are still people who like to live in squalor. Or maybe don’t like to but do regardless. So I pop round, see how they’re getting on, distribute a little pneumonia, scabies and ringworm. Sometimes I give out the tuberculosis tea as well, but there are some pretty good cures for that these days so I can’t be too early with it. It’s not like the good old days when I’d give thirty people TB and that guaranteed me a summer in a mountain spa resort.” Scuffles pushed himself up to a sitting position, looking somewhat green. “Why do we always sound like terrible people when we talk about our jobs?” he asked. “Not jobs, sis. Our lives.” “Because we never sound sorry,” said Pestilence. “But if we did, then people would worry even more in the end. It’s better to sound heartless now, than leave with people with hope that’s going nowhere.” “What?” Scuffles thought about throwing up, and then decided he didn’t need to. Hilda walked onto his lap, not being very careful with where she put her paws, and then jumped up to put her front paws on his shoulder so she could keep licking his face. “Imagine if the Boss was sympathetic,” said Pestilence. “He’d sit down next to you, apologise for turning up, ask you how you think your life went, etc. Then, right when you were thinking you were getting a second chance, POP! Nerf-gun to the nervous system and you over like a cow in a slaughterhouse. It’d just be making sure everyone gets a dose of torture before they die.” “Oh,” said Scuffles. “Hilda, why are you licking me?” “Salt lick,” said Famine immediately. “You’re sweating like a –“ “DON’T say it,” said War. “—fine. You’re sweating a river, and it’s salty. She thinks you’re a condiment dispenser.” “Enough feeding the dog,” said War. He unfolded his arms and looked around. “Let’s go find the Infanta, or what there if of her at the moment.”
Greg - no idea. Maybe one of the boys woke up too early?
Or maybe this was me attempting to go the gym before work, since going after wasn't happening. Turns out? Mornings aren't going much better.
More greatness. The back and forth between these four is so good it almost makes me forget Death isn't with them. Almost. Plus, you know, Hilda is such a delightful addition.
2 comments:
Hmmm, what is early? Birthday presents? Wrinkles? Worm-getting birds? Answers, we need answers Marc!
Early
Hilda licked Scuffles’s nose, on the grounds that he was on the ground and it was in reach. There was a possibility – there always was with a Hellhound – that she was checking to see if he’d taste good when flame-roasted, but he was too relieved to be on something solid that wasn’t swaying around and threatening to throw him off at any moment that he didn’t care.
“Are you going to lie there all day?” War’s impatience was legendary, and he was already folding his arms and drumming his fingers on his oversized triceps. “Only we’re supposed to finding out what’s going on with the Infanta. It would probably be nice to do it before she decides to find out why we’re down here at all, instead of waiting for her to incarnate properly and then paying her a social call.”
“Do we do social calls, sis?”
Pestilence yawned. “I do,” he said. “There are still people who like to live in squalor. Or maybe don’t like to but do regardless. So I pop round, see how they’re getting on, distribute a little pneumonia, scabies and ringworm. Sometimes I give out the tuberculosis tea as well, but there are some pretty good cures for that these days so I can’t be too early with it. It’s not like the good old days when I’d give thirty people TB and that guaranteed me a summer in a mountain spa resort.”
Scuffles pushed himself up to a sitting position, looking somewhat green. “Why do we always sound like terrible people when we talk about our jobs?” he asked.
“Not jobs, sis. Our lives.”
“Because we never sound sorry,” said Pestilence. “But if we did, then people would worry even more in the end. It’s better to sound heartless now, than leave with people with hope that’s going nowhere.”
“What?” Scuffles thought about throwing up, and then decided he didn’t need to. Hilda walked onto his lap, not being very careful with where she put her paws, and then jumped up to put her front paws on his shoulder so she could keep licking his face.
“Imagine if the Boss was sympathetic,” said Pestilence. “He’d sit down next to you, apologise for turning up, ask you how you think your life went, etc. Then, right when you were thinking you were getting a second chance, POP! Nerf-gun to the nervous system and you over like a cow in a slaughterhouse. It’d just be making sure everyone gets a dose of torture before they die.”
“Oh,” said Scuffles. “Hilda, why are you licking me?”
“Salt lick,” said Famine immediately. “You’re sweating like a –“
“DON’T say it,” said War.
“—fine. You’re sweating a river, and it’s salty. She thinks you’re a condiment dispenser.”
“Enough feeding the dog,” said War. He unfolded his arms and looked around. “Let’s go find the Infanta, or what there if of her at the moment.”
Greg - no idea. Maybe one of the boys woke up too early?
Or maybe this was me attempting to go the gym before work, since going after wasn't happening. Turns out? Mornings aren't going much better.
More greatness. The back and forth between these four is so good it almost makes me forget Death isn't with them. Almost. Plus, you know, Hilda is such a delightful addition.
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