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Snow Tart
270774
“I, uh. I brought another buddy for you guys.” I step to the side a little, and Sweat peels out over my shoulder. “This is Sweat. I thought you guys might get along.”
Sweat opens its mouth and scents the air, inquisitively. The homunculi shift their necks and fan their feathers in a way that makes me feel like they might be doing the same thing. There’s a little awkward shuffling.
“Nnnn, nnnn, nn-nnnot ssuPPOSed to, to, to, to let anGEls in hhhhhh, in hhhaaaa. In. In here,” Whisper mumbles uncertainly. “Thh. Thheey ccAn’t lie b-b-but, but, they, they c-cAn, cheat…”
“GONNA GET. IN TROULE,” says Shout.
“No cores,” comments Sweat, sounding unbothered. “Heart, liver, pancreas, intestines, stomach, kidney, lungs lungs lungs — none here! Like outlines. And no godly-ungodly will. Where, the will? Will the where will will it?”
“It’ll be fine,” I say slowly, kind of to all three of them. “When The Mortician gets back, if they ask me to leave, I will. Do you know where they are?”
“OuuUUuut,” says Whisper, and Shout nods. “Just, just, just, jUst, out… wh-when, aaaa, when, they g-g-go, they dON’t, nnn, they dddOn’t t-tell US, where… they just, just, hhh, they just goooOOooo…”
This might be one of the only chances I get. I don’t know why I’m even bothering, but I lean over the counter, dropping my voice conspiratorially. “I’m… uh, I’m kind of curious about thralls. Can you tell me about your contracts?”
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