Strange dreams are strange...
Okay, so.
Last night I dreamt a murder mystery; one that wasn't all that mysterious, all things considered, but anyway.
Gabriel from Supernatural was a detective in this weird world that was sort of halfway between Noir and Agatha Christie, and he was dragging Gumshoe from Phoenix Wright around with him (I DON'T EVEN PLAY THOSE GAMES), investigating a death at this particular mansion.
Almost all the people there were curled-up lower half snail-people. Like in Uzumaki. Yeah.
And the husband of the snail-lady hosting a party at this mansion (they all had immaculately dressed upper torsos) was a very sweet old man who was part-flower, part-snail, part-corn on the cob.
The murder weapon was salt. Someone had laced the swimming pool with salt, shrivelling up the snail-person victim.
And I woke up before anything started to make even the slightest lick of sense. WHAT EVEN WAS THAT, I DREAMT BODY HORROR D:
Last night I dreamt a murder mystery; one that wasn't all that mysterious, all things considered, but anyway.
Gabriel from Supernatural was a detective in this weird world that was sort of halfway between Noir and Agatha Christie, and he was dragging Gumshoe from Phoenix Wright around with him (I DON'T EVEN PLAY THOSE GAMES), investigating a death at this particular mansion.
Almost all the people there were curled-up lower half snail-people. Like in Uzumaki. Yeah.
And the husband of the snail-lady hosting a party at this mansion (they all had immaculately dressed upper torsos) was a very sweet old man who was part-flower, part-snail, part-corn on the cob.
The murder weapon was salt. Someone had laced the swimming pool with salt, shrivelling up the snail-person victim.
And I woke up before anything started to make even the slightest lick of sense. WHAT EVEN WAS THAT, I DREAMT BODY HORROR D: