Thread: FATE: Protonoia
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Default   #8   Suzerain of Sheol Suzerain of Sheol is offline
Desolation Denizen
Finally having mixed the reagents and prepared the space for the ritual, Emilie retrieves the last item from her overstuffed backpack, a heavy burlap sack, the contents of which clatter against each other as she hefts it up, upending it onto the bed. A cavalcade of bones tumbles out into a heap, the skull last, landing face-down atop the pile.

"Rupert, you useless bag of bones! Pull yourself together!" At her command, the remains begin to rattle among themselves, jittering and vibrating, quite a few of the smaller joints -- and a tibia -- escaping to the floor. Emilie observes the debacle with crossed arms.

"Come onnnnn! I'm the homeless addict here, and you still look like a shambles! Fine, I'll help you." With the bored precision of having done this far too many times, the necromancer begins organizing vertebrae until she has the spine constructed to attach to the skull. She goes so far as to give her familiar one constructed arm, and is so generous as to attach it by the shoulder.

"There. You can do the rest yourself. Miserable old schwinehund." She leaves the skeleton to construct itself, pouring herself a half-glass of vodka to wash down two more pills, which she imbibes in a single gulp. Rupert is now attaching his pelvis. Emilie unrolls the diagram for the summoning circle, turning it up and down in her hands while trying to figure out which way she's supposed to read it. It's awfully complicated, all those minute details. She wonders if the little curly bits on some of the runes are important. She tosses it away. "Fuck it, you can figure it out."

She looks up to her familiar, and laughs irrationally, only to be interrupted by an uncomfortable hiccup. Wiping her mouth, she points at the skeleton, still cracking up. "You are such a dummbatz. You put your feet on backwards!" Not terribly concerned with her familiar's ability to balance, she launches herself onto the bed behind him, getting comfortable on her side.

"Wake me up when you have it done, Rupes. I'm way too crunk for magic right now."

Cold silence has a tendency
to atrophy any sense of compassion
between supposed lovers.
Between supposed brothers.
Old Posted 01-18-2017, 03:47 PM Reply With Quote