He gasps, and it sounds naive and hopeful, and it also echoes strangely like they're in a dark, dripping room, like it's particularly laboured.
Kittens? That's almost as exciting as magic. The only things Santi had were chickens, and those were occasionally killed and put in soup, so all you did to chickens was chase them sometimes.
"I have kittens. A white and a black one. They are Schrodinger and Einstein and they are for me to look after."
A kneels to put his face level with Santi's, and lowers his voice to a whisper. "And I'm dead. Or maybe I was and I'm not anymore. I'm not really sure," he confides.
The blood swirling around Santi disturbs A, but Santi himself, not so much. A raises his hands to press against Santi's, palms flat; they end up overlapping somewhat.
"And you... did you study very hard?"
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The blood makes him shudder, but Santi is so small.
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"My name is Santi, what's yours?"
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His smile widens. "Even kittens."
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Kittens? That's almost as exciting as magic. The only things Santi had were chickens, and those were occasionally killed and put in soup, so all you did to chickens was chase them sometimes.
"Really?"
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A kneels to put his face level with Santi's, and lowers his voice to a whisper. "And I'm dead. Or maybe I was and I'm not anymore. I'm not really sure," he confides.
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He shuffles shyly closer to A and nods.
"I'll keep it a secret. Because you look okay."
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He bites his lip.
"But it still bothers me sometimes."
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He reaches out clammy, translucent, drowned hands to A. It's meant to be comforting... it probably misses.
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It's still a bit funny, to be able to walk through things.
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He couldn't even play marbles well any more, if there were even anyone who wanted to play with him.
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He's not going to get any more specific, of course.
"But maybe, maybe not all the time."
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And that'd be bad. That'd be very unfortunate.
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