(Untitled)

[raihu]

NECROFEELYA NECROFEELYA NECROFEELYA NECROFEELYA NECROFEELYA NECROFEELYA NECROFEELYA NECROFEELYA NECROFEELYA NECROFEELYA NECROFEELYA NECROFEELYA NECROFEELYA NECROFEELYA NECROFEELYA NECROFEELYA NECROFEELYA NECROFEELYA NECROFEELYA NECROFEELYA NECROFEELYA NECROFEELYA NECROFEELYA NECROFEELYA.

I'm surrounded by humansssss. It's dreadful!

Comments

[blizzardseason]

-strokes soothingly.-

[raihu]

*shares the best toys wif you*

[blizzardseason]

='T'=

[raihu]

Iiii have misplaced the book I wanted to send along with your treats! 8| So I shall have to send you the gift of literature well after the foodstuffs and shiny things have arrived, guuuuu.

[kalliel]

I'm not sure what this was spawned by but UNF UNF UNF.

[raihu]

I don't know if I'm sure either, hahaha. I said "necrophilia" in conversation BUT I heard "necro-feel-ya" so I tacked on the word "baby!" and ...... no one else in the vicinity was amused. 8|

These mortals have no sense of humour! *pouts at your feet*

[kalliel]

Bah. As mere mortals their opinionsssss are worth NOTHING. NOTHING, I SAY.

[empath_eia]

I would have laughed~

[pridefall]

You rang?

[raihu]

O formless one, I have summoned you to this place with the intention of requesting your guidance and support in this, my time of need. WILL YOU ACCEPT MY OFFERING OF DONUTS?

[pridefall]

Are they of the Bavarian persuasion, my childe?

[raihu]

They. Are MONSTROUS pastries, DEFORMED by the madness of their baker! I made them for this silly party thing, which I am now fully ignoring, haha. They do not currently contain jam, my lord, but they could.

They could ..........

[empath_eia]

HALLOOOO (OOO) (ooo) (ooo)

CAN YOU HEEAAAR MEEEE (EEE) (eee) (eee)

[raihu]

And so began my epic journey to find the keeper of that sweet voice calling to me from across the whispering reaches of Canada the forbidden lands........

[lucule]

Actual unending love.

[raihu]

Heeeeere's an excerpt of a thing tentatively titled "sleeping dogs lie", which I am writing for you! 8D

“Dominus permits you a moment’s rest,” Barca informs him. He grinds the words between his molars like a bone. That’s how it is. Barca carries Spartacus from the kettle of onlookers like a wolf dragging the best quarter of flesh away from vultures landing in sequence of hunger, greatest to least. They make terrible sounds. In the arena and in war, Spartacus has heard enough calls for death but this is something else, this sound of people; a poisonous keening caught in the throat of the earth; the wretched cries of carrion eaters, buried alive, speaking no human words.

From behind, the sound of a cell door opening. Barca throws him. Fat dogs in the corner lift their heads lazily from whole arms and legs, still freshly bleeding, to regard their new companion. Then they lose interest in him. Severed limbs, they seem to say, are more palatable than you. Spartacus only sleeps where he falls.

[lucule]

I would just like to live in your brain so I can expierence your fantastical imagery first hand and devour their greatness!

Oh yes, I have a piece for you as well. Something I promised a long time ago.

Also: Moar.