whatever you're thinking, i don't want to know it. / turner maaaybe
his irritation came in tender waves. there was no point in the expression of it in the grand scheme of things, when kenneth had a rather poor impression of the company beside him and even less of the currents they dealt with on a regular basis. ghosts and crypts, imaginary whimsy. it wasn't like there was any method left to the madness of yale's secret underbelly, when the institution itself was unaware of what was happening on its own turf, if they weren't intentionally involved in it in the first place. if you asked him, he didn't see the point in involving regular humans into this supernatural trash heap to begin with.
weren't they busy locking up deprived youngsters for petty theft and robbing hospitals of funding to finance holidays in hawaii? then there's this fucking asshole.
‘‘ the fuck would i say to a pig? ’’ dead guy, third story jump. it was a normal game-over except for the splatter of blood that had gone grape-juice purple. dispatched on the assumption that manuscript's potions were involved, here he was, digging his fifth cigarette out from a ash-black coat. on his last nerve two minutes in. ‘‘ stern's busy. stay out of my way and you might get to go home without purple puke on your nice shoes. ’’
