It's a horrendous, melodous noise. Three small malcontents joyiously sing a rendition of "The Ballad of Mad Henry", written by, in fact, Mad Henry himself.
"Nope." Lock sneers again, laughing a little. "Does your mommy know you're ugly?"
To that, Shock pops her head up to take a look for herself- fleshies come in all different shapes and colors, so the definition of ugly is a matter of taste, really.
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"And what are you three supposed to be?"
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To that, Shock pops her head up to take a look for herself- fleshies come in all different shapes and colors, so the definition of ugly is a matter of taste, really.
Yup. Ugly.
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