If Oscar wanted the Necrolord Prime off-kilter, he's got it: John blinks at him. John marvels at the trainwreck of this moment, the earnest spectacle of it. There is a wreck of a soul mélange on his doorstep, holding brownies as a peace offering and taking a game stab at pronunciation. He knows Pyrrha is somewhere behind him, listening in.
"If you think I can be bought with pastries," he begins, low and solemn, "you are absolutely correct."
He's the man who became God and the God who has been shot in the face altogether too many times in the past month. He waves Oscar into his study; it's tidy enough now, but compared to the last time, the room is sparse and scarred— almost like a monster spent time cooped up in here.
"Come on in, grab a seat. I expect this to be suitably dire."
Across the house, a skeleton begins preparing tea.
no subject
If Oscar wanted the Necrolord Prime off-kilter, he's got it: John blinks at him. John marvels at the trainwreck of this moment, the earnest spectacle of it. There is a wreck of a soul mélange on his doorstep, holding brownies as a peace offering and taking a game stab at pronunciation. He knows Pyrrha is somewhere behind him, listening in.
"If you think I can be bought with pastries," he begins, low and solemn, "you are absolutely correct."
He's the man who became God and the God who has been shot in the face altogether too many times in the past month. He waves Oscar into his study; it's tidy enough now, but compared to the last time, the room is sparse and scarred— almost like a monster spent time cooped up in here.
"Come on in, grab a seat. I expect this to be suitably dire."
Across the house, a skeleton begins preparing tea.