seattle ; friday ft
A few weeks later, Sam was back in Olympic Park, hiking with new escorts. Ramon was spending some much-needed time with his family. He’d been easing into visits with them since his accident. When Sam told him he felt bad that Ramon had to miss out on family time because of him, Ramon had shrugged and reminded Sam that it could have been much worse. A few misplaced punches in the basement brawl could have resulted in him not seeing his family again ever, unless you counted his funeral.
Sam didn’t really want to know what Pello was up to. With him, less information tends to be better. So Sam found himself hiking with Ariana and Ione from the Council. Ione was there for very practical reasons. She was going to be helping with the rune work and whatnot for the charms Murray requested. The ones the Bigfoot needed were a little complicated, or so Sam was told, since the illusion had to fool the eye and the nose. Not everyone could bang these kinds of charms out-they were fairly labor-intensive, and you needed someone skilled to produce a charm that was anywhere near decent.
Ione was skilled, or she wouldn’t have been on the Council. The witch was so quiet during the meetings that Sam had a hard time getting to know her. But out in her element, she was markedly different. Her hair was pulled back so you could see her face, and she was smiling. Though by no means a chatterbox, she was actually talking.
Ariana still scared me, but Sam thought that was healthy and normal, since she was one of those people who could kill you eighteen different ways with a relish fork.
“You are sad?” Ione said. They had taken a break to enjoy the view and drink some water. At least that’s what they were doing. Sam was trying to look less sweaty than he was and sitting on a rock. Ione only glanced my way when she spoke, still shy of me. Sam thought it had taken her some courage to ask him the question in the first place.
"Yeah, I am." There was the Brid thing, the fact that, despite everything, she still seemed to be keeping his distance and Sam missed his friend. But that wasn’t the only reason he was sad. He’d had to kill someone. Again. He didn’t really want that to become routine. Killing people in general, not Douglas specifically. Now that he’d seen Ed take him off, Sam knew he was dead for good. Still, he didn’t want to make murder a habit. They don’t make a patch for it, like they do for smoking.
Ione drank from her canteen and stared out over the vista. The sun was out, birds were chirping-all in all, it was beautiful. Nature kept banging on my head, trying to remind him that the world was still a stunning, wonderful, mystical place, but Sam was having a hard time understanding the language anymore.
Ariana gave him an awkward pat on the shoulder. Sam thought she was only used to touching people when she was assaulting them. “It’ll work out,” she said.
Sam cocked my head at her. “What will work out?”
She twisted the cap shut on her water bottle and gave a little one-shouldered shrug. “I don’t know. That’s just what people always say when something is bothering someone. Then the other person accepts it and says thank you.”
She eyed Sam. “That’s what polite people do, anyway.”
“Thank you, Ariana.”
Ione smiled at Sam and winked when Ariana wasn’t looking. A kind of she-means-well expression.
They started walking again, and Sam tried to not get mired down in soul-sucking depression. Ione walked with me in companionable silence. Sam found myself liking the quiet witch. There was something soothing about her presence.
“It will get better,” she said. “Ariana might not know that, but I do.”
“I hope it does,” Sam said.
They started talking a little then, Ione asking after Sam's family-she was very interested in his sister and mother, and Sam promised to introduce her to them. She was laughing and telling him about some spell she’d tried that had backfired when we met up with Murray.
He greeted them warmly and escorted them back to the same glade they’d eaten in before. Sam thought it was one of his favorite spots. During lunch, Sam told Murray that they were going to do their best to support his people. They were bringing only a few charms this time-Ione needed more time and supplies to get going-but it was a start. Sam was providing a lot of the money myself, but he didn’t tell Murray that.
Grants take time, even with their little local government, and Sam desperately needed to see some good happening.
Murray kept hugging Sam, he was so overjoyed. Let me tell you, you haven’t been hugged until you’ve been hugged by a Bigfoot.
“You’ve made my people very happy,” he said, setting me back down on my feet.
“Just keep up the good work,” Sam said, taking a few deep breaths to expand his aching ribs back out to their normal place. They cut the meeting short after that. Murray was eager to get the charms back to his people, so they said their good-byes and headed out. Sam was thinking the day through, happy that things had gone well, when Ione tapped his shoulder and cleared her throat.
“That plant seems to know you,” Ariana said. She looked pretty unfazed by the whole scene, which involved Sam's shocked face, Ione’s interested one, and a friendly but huge devil’s club plant.
The plant was dipping and swaying happily in a nonexistent breeze and looking a bit like a puppy. Sam put his hand out, palm up, a little hesitantly. One of the bigger leaves arched down and slid softly along his palm so that none of the barbs pierced his skin. Which was a tricky maneuver to do and not entirely successful, but Sam pretended it was. “Nice to see you again, boy.”
Ione studied the plant and me. “This happen to you a lot?”
Sam shook his head, still staring at the devil’s club. “As far as I know, it’s just this one. I sort of bled on it.” Sam gave her a quick sketch of what had happened before.
Ione listened, thoughtful. Ariana quickly grew bored and started playing with her knives. She has a lot of them hidden in strange places all over her body.
“Have you trained with a witch at all?”
“Nope.” Sam didn’t remind her that he’d just recently started training as a necromancer. His ignorance didn’t really need to be bandied about any more than necessary. “Never really occurred to me.”
“Well, you should,” she said. “You’ve got a little talent in that area, I think.”
Sam said good-bye to the jaunty plant, earning himself a few more barbs in the process, and they headed out. “I’ll make a note to do so,” Sam told her. It would be nice to do something that didn’t involve death once in a while. He might end up having only a spark of what his sister or his mother had, but Sam didn’t think any talent should be wasted.
***
That night Haley joined them for a little party. When she arrived, Sam was standing next to the half-pipe, winded from only a few passes, his ribs hurting like all get-out. She pulled up dressed to the nines and started unloading a few grocery bags from her car, things the caterers weren’t bringing. Sam went to help her, taking the bigger sacks so she only had to manage a smaller one. Which of course made my rib cage scream, but Sam ignored it.
“You look beautiful,” Sam said.
“Thank you,” she said, eyeing me carefully. “Everything okay, big bro?”
“Remember a few months ago when I was kidnapped and beaten and almost died?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“After the last few weeks, I officially feel worse.”
“Well, then, let’s go set up for this party, and you can tell me all about it while I try and hide the cutlery from you.”
“What cutlery? You still won’t tell us where the steak knives are.”
She snorted. “You’re a vegetarian-what the hell do you need steak knives for anyway?” She adjusted the small bag in her arms. “I told you. I’ll give them back when you’ve earned it.”
Sam nudged her with my elbow. “I love you.”
“I know.”
“I take that back. You’re a jerk.”
“Too late, you already admitted it,” she said with a wink.
James appeared and took the bag from Haley. “Children, don’t make me separate you two.”
Haley stuck out her tongue at him.
“C’mon,” Sam said. “I think it’s time we got our wake on.”
***
The wake they held that night was for Douglas. Sam knew that sounded weird. Who holds a wake for an enemy, right? Sam did, that’s who. Okay, maybe it seems a little unorthodox, but it wasn’t always so. Sam had to read The Iliad in high school, and there’s this big hubbub at the end when Achilles kills Hector and then drags his body around behind his chariot. Everyone is really upset because that’s just not what you did-no matter what beef you held in life, you treated the body of a fallen warrior with respect. Mistreating the corpse of Hector didn’t make Achilles look powerful and mighty. It made him look like an asshole.
Sam didn’t want to be like Achilles. He’d already taken Douglas’s life; no need to prance around about it. During that short span in Douglas’s basement when he’d tried to train Sam, Sam had seen how Douglas treated the dead, and it sickened him. It had also formed some ideas in his head and showed him that there were lines he didn’t want to cross.
Besides, Sam wanted to do it for James. He deserved some closure and a chance to say good-bye. Sam had given him a few weeks to pull his act together and give the rest of then a break, and then they held a ceremony for Sam's fallen enemy, and we did it Irish-wake style.
So it was a summer-warm Friday when they found themselves in their Sunday best seated around several rented tables. Lanterns were strung and lit, food was laid out, and flowers were everywhere. Sam sat at the head of the gathering, which was a motley crew of friends and creatures, with James to my right. He was still a little quiet and withdrawn, but Sam thought he was pleased to be there.
Sam topped off his wineglass with whatever he’d picked out-Sam was somewhat amazed by the fact that he’d let us buy actual wine for once-and raised my glass for a toast.
“Some of you have wondered why we are here tonight and why I, of all people, am throwing a wake for Douglas.” There was a murmur of assent. “And I get it, it’s weird. But wakes aren’t really for the dead-they’re for grievers, the loved ones. Family. And I look out at this table, and I understand that even though Douglas may not have been the best person in the world, he most certainly left some great people behind.” Sam looked out at the crowd, at the gnomes already singing merrily over their cups, at the nymph adjusting the crooked flower in the Minotaur’s lapel, and at James, who couldn’t quite look up from his wine.
“So I’m raising my glass to the person who brought all of us together.” Sam lifted his wineglass and the others followed suit. “To Douglas! A bad man with good friends. May we all be as lucky.”
There were a lot of hear-hears and general revelry, and Sam thought everyone finally grasped they'd gathered. They weren’t celebrating Douglas’s life, not really. They were celebrating the beginning of their family.
Dinner was served, food was eaten, and a lot of wine was drunk. James and the others told a few of the less disturbing stories they’d collected featuring Douglas, and they laughed and talked until several of them couldn’t stand very well.
At the end of it, when cleanup had begun and a few people were sleeping on the grass, James came up to Sam. He looked like he was trying to say something, but couldn’t quite figure it out. Finally he gave up and picked Sam up in a giant bear hug instead. Sam thought he would have been less surprised if James had hit him over the head with a wine bottle.
“Thank you,” he said, and then he was gone before Sam could reply.
Sam stood there, surprised and a little bewildered in the midst of all the drunken revelry, and wondered at how interesting my life had become.
***
Sam stayed up long after everyone else had gone to bed. The night was clear, and the stars were shining as best they could with all those city lights running interference. Sam sat in the grass trying to sort out his warring emotions. He felt lonely and sad, because he missed Brid something fierce, but he also felt full and happy and loved from the evening’s festivities. Sometimes life offers you up that kind of dichotomy, that soul-shearing rift of two very different things happening at once. His mom refers to them as life’s growing pains, a phrase Brannoc had unknowingly echoed the last time Sam saw him, and they aren’t pleasant.
Sam whistled and Stanley came tromping out of the woods. He needed a little company. Sam patted his velvet nose, and Stanley told Sam how happy he was to see Sam. Then he chewed on some grass, out of habit more than anything.
Sam felt something land on my shoulder.
How you holding up, Meat?
“Okay, I guess. I don’t know. I think I’m still trying to decide how I feel about things.”
Humans. What does it matter how you feel about something? Is that going to change what happened? If you decide you don’t like it, will history do some song and dance and change around to make you feel better?
“I guess not.”
Then why bother? You’re not a hatchling anymore. You know the world isn’t always sunshine and roses.
“Maybe not,” Sam said. “But it’s human nature to try and understand our part in it.”
No wonder you guys never get anything done.
***
A week later, Sam got his first tattoo. He wasn't much of an artist, so he didn’t bother trying to sketch anything out. He was a little nervous, but committed, and grateful that the tattooist didn’t blink when Sam told her what he wanted. He guessed they hear all kinds of strange requests in their line of work.
“How big you want it?” she asked, pulling out some sketch paper. They figured out the details, and Sam came back later to get it done. And yes, it hurts. Tiny needles are jabbing into your skin-that’s not a pleasant feeling, people.
She smiled when she was finished and sat back, satisfied with her handiwork. “I’ve done a lot of good-and-evil chest pieces,” she said. “You know, an angel on one side, a devil on the other. Sometimes it’s swallows, or some other animal, but this is the first time I’ve done one with pandas.”
Sam got up and looked in the mirror. On the right side of his chest, a happy bust-style portrait of Ling Tsu the panda with a background of bamboo. On the left side, the same image, but zombified. Of course Sam knew it was exaggerated-Ling Tsu hadn’t been rotting, his eyes red, his mouth snarling, and his ear falling off.
“I like pandas,” Sam said, poking at the tattoo with my finger.
She slapped his hand. “Don’t do that.” She rattled off the aftercare, smearing ointment on his chest before wrapping me in Saran Wrap. After she was done, she cocked her head. “Usually, people want the good side over their heart, you know.”
It was kind of hard to explain why he’d chosen to place it where he had. Sam guessed because the zombie Ling Tsu wasn’t a representation of evil in my mind. He was a reminder to do good, of what was right and what was wrong and how fuzzy that line might become if Sam let it.
Sam shrugged at her and put on his shirt. “I’ve got a thing for zombies.”
She snapped off her gloves. “Who doesn’t?” she said, and grinned.
[NFB but open for calls/texts. Taken from Necromancing the Stone. Nothing objectionable in this post. AND I AM DOOOOOOOOONE WITH THIS CANON CATCHUP. Thank you to anyone who might have been reading along!]
Sam didn’t really want to know what Pello was up to. With him, less information tends to be better. So Sam found himself hiking with Ariana and Ione from the Council. Ione was there for very practical reasons. She was going to be helping with the rune work and whatnot for the charms Murray requested. The ones the Bigfoot needed were a little complicated, or so Sam was told, since the illusion had to fool the eye and the nose. Not everyone could bang these kinds of charms out-they were fairly labor-intensive, and you needed someone skilled to produce a charm that was anywhere near decent.
Ione was skilled, or she wouldn’t have been on the Council. The witch was so quiet during the meetings that Sam had a hard time getting to know her. But out in her element, she was markedly different. Her hair was pulled back so you could see her face, and she was smiling. Though by no means a chatterbox, she was actually talking.
Ariana still scared me, but Sam thought that was healthy and normal, since she was one of those people who could kill you eighteen different ways with a relish fork.
“You are sad?” Ione said. They had taken a break to enjoy the view and drink some water. At least that’s what they were doing. Sam was trying to look less sweaty than he was and sitting on a rock. Ione only glanced my way when she spoke, still shy of me. Sam thought it had taken her some courage to ask him the question in the first place.
"Yeah, I am." There was the Brid thing, the fact that, despite everything, she still seemed to be keeping his distance and Sam missed his friend. But that wasn’t the only reason he was sad. He’d had to kill someone. Again. He didn’t really want that to become routine. Killing people in general, not Douglas specifically. Now that he’d seen Ed take him off, Sam knew he was dead for good. Still, he didn’t want to make murder a habit. They don’t make a patch for it, like they do for smoking.
Ione drank from her canteen and stared out over the vista. The sun was out, birds were chirping-all in all, it was beautiful. Nature kept banging on my head, trying to remind him that the world was still a stunning, wonderful, mystical place, but Sam was having a hard time understanding the language anymore.
Ariana gave him an awkward pat on the shoulder. Sam thought she was only used to touching people when she was assaulting them. “It’ll work out,” she said.
Sam cocked my head at her. “What will work out?”
She twisted the cap shut on her water bottle and gave a little one-shouldered shrug. “I don’t know. That’s just what people always say when something is bothering someone. Then the other person accepts it and says thank you.”
She eyed Sam. “That’s what polite people do, anyway.”
“Thank you, Ariana.”
Ione smiled at Sam and winked when Ariana wasn’t looking. A kind of she-means-well expression.
They started walking again, and Sam tried to not get mired down in soul-sucking depression. Ione walked with me in companionable silence. Sam found myself liking the quiet witch. There was something soothing about her presence.
“It will get better,” she said. “Ariana might not know that, but I do.”
“I hope it does,” Sam said.
They started talking a little then, Ione asking after Sam's family-she was very interested in his sister and mother, and Sam promised to introduce her to them. She was laughing and telling him about some spell she’d tried that had backfired when we met up with Murray.
He greeted them warmly and escorted them back to the same glade they’d eaten in before. Sam thought it was one of his favorite spots. During lunch, Sam told Murray that they were going to do their best to support his people. They were bringing only a few charms this time-Ione needed more time and supplies to get going-but it was a start. Sam was providing a lot of the money myself, but he didn’t tell Murray that.
Grants take time, even with their little local government, and Sam desperately needed to see some good happening.
Murray kept hugging Sam, he was so overjoyed. Let me tell you, you haven’t been hugged until you’ve been hugged by a Bigfoot.
“You’ve made my people very happy,” he said, setting me back down on my feet.
“Just keep up the good work,” Sam said, taking a few deep breaths to expand his aching ribs back out to their normal place. They cut the meeting short after that. Murray was eager to get the charms back to his people, so they said their good-byes and headed out. Sam was thinking the day through, happy that things had gone well, when Ione tapped his shoulder and cleared her throat.
“That plant seems to know you,” Ariana said. She looked pretty unfazed by the whole scene, which involved Sam's shocked face, Ione’s interested one, and a friendly but huge devil’s club plant.
The plant was dipping and swaying happily in a nonexistent breeze and looking a bit like a puppy. Sam put his hand out, palm up, a little hesitantly. One of the bigger leaves arched down and slid softly along his palm so that none of the barbs pierced his skin. Which was a tricky maneuver to do and not entirely successful, but Sam pretended it was. “Nice to see you again, boy.”
Ione studied the plant and me. “This happen to you a lot?”
Sam shook his head, still staring at the devil’s club. “As far as I know, it’s just this one. I sort of bled on it.” Sam gave her a quick sketch of what had happened before.
Ione listened, thoughtful. Ariana quickly grew bored and started playing with her knives. She has a lot of them hidden in strange places all over her body.
“Have you trained with a witch at all?”
“Nope.” Sam didn’t remind her that he’d just recently started training as a necromancer. His ignorance didn’t really need to be bandied about any more than necessary. “Never really occurred to me.”
“Well, you should,” she said. “You’ve got a little talent in that area, I think.”
Sam said good-bye to the jaunty plant, earning himself a few more barbs in the process, and they headed out. “I’ll make a note to do so,” Sam told her. It would be nice to do something that didn’t involve death once in a while. He might end up having only a spark of what his sister or his mother had, but Sam didn’t think any talent should be wasted.
***
That night Haley joined them for a little party. When she arrived, Sam was standing next to the half-pipe, winded from only a few passes, his ribs hurting like all get-out. She pulled up dressed to the nines and started unloading a few grocery bags from her car, things the caterers weren’t bringing. Sam went to help her, taking the bigger sacks so she only had to manage a smaller one. Which of course made my rib cage scream, but Sam ignored it.
“You look beautiful,” Sam said.
“Thank you,” she said, eyeing me carefully. “Everything okay, big bro?”
“Remember a few months ago when I was kidnapped and beaten and almost died?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“After the last few weeks, I officially feel worse.”
“Well, then, let’s go set up for this party, and you can tell me all about it while I try and hide the cutlery from you.”
“What cutlery? You still won’t tell us where the steak knives are.”
She snorted. “You’re a vegetarian-what the hell do you need steak knives for anyway?” She adjusted the small bag in her arms. “I told you. I’ll give them back when you’ve earned it.”
Sam nudged her with my elbow. “I love you.”
“I know.”
“I take that back. You’re a jerk.”
“Too late, you already admitted it,” she said with a wink.
James appeared and took the bag from Haley. “Children, don’t make me separate you two.”
Haley stuck out her tongue at him.
“C’mon,” Sam said. “I think it’s time we got our wake on.”
***
The wake they held that night was for Douglas. Sam knew that sounded weird. Who holds a wake for an enemy, right? Sam did, that’s who. Okay, maybe it seems a little unorthodox, but it wasn’t always so. Sam had to read The Iliad in high school, and there’s this big hubbub at the end when Achilles kills Hector and then drags his body around behind his chariot. Everyone is really upset because that’s just not what you did-no matter what beef you held in life, you treated the body of a fallen warrior with respect. Mistreating the corpse of Hector didn’t make Achilles look powerful and mighty. It made him look like an asshole.
Sam didn’t want to be like Achilles. He’d already taken Douglas’s life; no need to prance around about it. During that short span in Douglas’s basement when he’d tried to train Sam, Sam had seen how Douglas treated the dead, and it sickened him. It had also formed some ideas in his head and showed him that there were lines he didn’t want to cross.
Besides, Sam wanted to do it for James. He deserved some closure and a chance to say good-bye. Sam had given him a few weeks to pull his act together and give the rest of then a break, and then they held a ceremony for Sam's fallen enemy, and we did it Irish-wake style.
So it was a summer-warm Friday when they found themselves in their Sunday best seated around several rented tables. Lanterns were strung and lit, food was laid out, and flowers were everywhere. Sam sat at the head of the gathering, which was a motley crew of friends and creatures, with James to my right. He was still a little quiet and withdrawn, but Sam thought he was pleased to be there.
Sam topped off his wineglass with whatever he’d picked out-Sam was somewhat amazed by the fact that he’d let us buy actual wine for once-and raised my glass for a toast.
“Some of you have wondered why we are here tonight and why I, of all people, am throwing a wake for Douglas.” There was a murmur of assent. “And I get it, it’s weird. But wakes aren’t really for the dead-they’re for grievers, the loved ones. Family. And I look out at this table, and I understand that even though Douglas may not have been the best person in the world, he most certainly left some great people behind.” Sam looked out at the crowd, at the gnomes already singing merrily over their cups, at the nymph adjusting the crooked flower in the Minotaur’s lapel, and at James, who couldn’t quite look up from his wine.
“So I’m raising my glass to the person who brought all of us together.” Sam lifted his wineglass and the others followed suit. “To Douglas! A bad man with good friends. May we all be as lucky.”
There were a lot of hear-hears and general revelry, and Sam thought everyone finally grasped they'd gathered. They weren’t celebrating Douglas’s life, not really. They were celebrating the beginning of their family.
Dinner was served, food was eaten, and a lot of wine was drunk. James and the others told a few of the less disturbing stories they’d collected featuring Douglas, and they laughed and talked until several of them couldn’t stand very well.
At the end of it, when cleanup had begun and a few people were sleeping on the grass, James came up to Sam. He looked like he was trying to say something, but couldn’t quite figure it out. Finally he gave up and picked Sam up in a giant bear hug instead. Sam thought he would have been less surprised if James had hit him over the head with a wine bottle.
“Thank you,” he said, and then he was gone before Sam could reply.
Sam stood there, surprised and a little bewildered in the midst of all the drunken revelry, and wondered at how interesting my life had become.
***
Sam stayed up long after everyone else had gone to bed. The night was clear, and the stars were shining as best they could with all those city lights running interference. Sam sat in the grass trying to sort out his warring emotions. He felt lonely and sad, because he missed Brid something fierce, but he also felt full and happy and loved from the evening’s festivities. Sometimes life offers you up that kind of dichotomy, that soul-shearing rift of two very different things happening at once. His mom refers to them as life’s growing pains, a phrase Brannoc had unknowingly echoed the last time Sam saw him, and they aren’t pleasant.
Sam whistled and Stanley came tromping out of the woods. He needed a little company. Sam patted his velvet nose, and Stanley told Sam how happy he was to see Sam. Then he chewed on some grass, out of habit more than anything.
Sam felt something land on my shoulder.
How you holding up, Meat?
“Okay, I guess. I don’t know. I think I’m still trying to decide how I feel about things.”
Humans. What does it matter how you feel about something? Is that going to change what happened? If you decide you don’t like it, will history do some song and dance and change around to make you feel better?
“I guess not.”
Then why bother? You’re not a hatchling anymore. You know the world isn’t always sunshine and roses.
“Maybe not,” Sam said. “But it’s human nature to try and understand our part in it.”
No wonder you guys never get anything done.
***
A week later, Sam got his first tattoo. He wasn't much of an artist, so he didn’t bother trying to sketch anything out. He was a little nervous, but committed, and grateful that the tattooist didn’t blink when Sam told her what he wanted. He guessed they hear all kinds of strange requests in their line of work.
“How big you want it?” she asked, pulling out some sketch paper. They figured out the details, and Sam came back later to get it done. And yes, it hurts. Tiny needles are jabbing into your skin-that’s not a pleasant feeling, people.
She smiled when she was finished and sat back, satisfied with her handiwork. “I’ve done a lot of good-and-evil chest pieces,” she said. “You know, an angel on one side, a devil on the other. Sometimes it’s swallows, or some other animal, but this is the first time I’ve done one with pandas.”
Sam got up and looked in the mirror. On the right side of his chest, a happy bust-style portrait of Ling Tsu the panda with a background of bamboo. On the left side, the same image, but zombified. Of course Sam knew it was exaggerated-Ling Tsu hadn’t been rotting, his eyes red, his mouth snarling, and his ear falling off.
“I like pandas,” Sam said, poking at the tattoo with my finger.
She slapped his hand. “Don’t do that.” She rattled off the aftercare, smearing ointment on his chest before wrapping me in Saran Wrap. After she was done, she cocked her head. “Usually, people want the good side over their heart, you know.”
It was kind of hard to explain why he’d chosen to place it where he had. Sam guessed because the zombie Ling Tsu wasn’t a representation of evil in my mind. He was a reminder to do good, of what was right and what was wrong and how fuzzy that line might become if Sam let it.
Sam shrugged at her and put on his shirt. “I’ve got a thing for zombies.”
She snapped off her gloves. “Who doesn’t?” she said, and grinned.
[NFB but open for calls/texts. Taken from Necromancing the Stone. Nothing objectionable in this post. AND I AM DOOOOOOOOONE WITH THIS CANON CATCHUP. Thank you to anyone who might have been reading along!]