"I wish I could help. I know you too, but the memory of a chak isn't always the most reliable in the best of circumstances." And Boyle's mind was one of the best for a dead man.
"I bet," Anita replies, nodding. "Think of it this way: at lest you're not showing up in your undies, ready to crack someone's skull with a pink-tassled lamp."
That gets a dry laugh out of Boyle and he nods. "I think that for the sake of everyone around, it's best that I not flash my underwear around. The lamp might be an improvement though."
“Yeah, lamp might add a touch of tacky to the gloom’n doom look,” Anita replies, chortling. “Would probably fit right into the nuthouse mindest, actually.”
"If it keeps the living from running in terror, I could probably stand a bit of 'tacky'." Boyle shrugs a shoulder, still amused.
"As far as nuthouses go though... this is certainly a change from the last place I was staying at. Full of the dead, and, despite my own abilities, the dead don't really make for very verbal company."
“Well, there are... different brand of dead. As in.... let me see. Animated dead, like you, and then, afterlife dead, who died back there and are here. And then there are the Mansion dead, who died here and came back.”
Anita smiles, and shrugs, and adds, “And then there are those lucky bastard who never died. Like me.”
"Lucky you. It's not something I would really recommend trying." Boyle smiles briefly again. "Based on the reactions to me though... I'd hazard I guess I'm the only chak walking around?"
So here she goes, wandering the halls, on her way to look up one of her pack members.
“... hey.”
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"Hello..." He steps to the side, assuming that she wants to pass him in the hall.
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“... You.”
Another beat.
“... You're Frank. The industrial zo-- er, undead person.”
Anita: sometimes not very smooth. We're sorry.
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"At least as long as you don't try to add the swing of a baseball bat to the word."
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A pause, and she tilts her head.
“I know you. Can’t remember from where, but I seriously do.”
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Anita frowns.
“D'you recall that conversation at all, or...?”
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Frank's seen what happens to the ones whose minds go and he doesn't want any part of that so he takes great care in remembering everything these days.
"I'm still a bit shell-shocked from coming here."
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"As far as nuthouses go though... this is certainly a change from the last place I was staying at. Full of the dead, and, despite my own abilities, the dead don't really make for very verbal company."
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Anita smiles, and shrugs, and adds, “And then there are those lucky bastard who never died. Like me.”
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It's hard to ignore someone missing part of their face and looking like they've just crawled out of a horror movie.
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