#postmortiem

The doctor gasps. A hint of intrigue present within his widened eyes.

Blink. Blink, blink. They remember sitting on the ramshackle operating table somw undetermined amount of time earlier, but not much after that.

"I thought y ou said I jus needed a few stitches..." They squint through bleary eyes at the properly sewn up injury. "On my arm... I don't think tha's where my spleen is.... was......"

Another groggy blink, blink.

"'S not that important, is it? I dont need need a spleen, ya?" Scrunching up their face in anesthesia-bogged concentration as if the historian could recall any of a basic anatomy class that they just barely scraped the passing grade for.

　　　ah, miss kiki. so vile. so cheeky.

" Why are daddy and daddy fighting ? :/ "

𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐠 。。。

             latest grave robbed: unprompted interactions 。

@witchsabre ⸻ ❝ "ha ha all the ladies loooove me and my beautiful soft skin. sorry, Crust- I mean, Puck- I stole alllll the ladies. yeah. all of 'em. every last one. Sad!" Faust takes to showing off their tattooed (and well-moisturized!) arms with a dramatic sigh. ❞

@witchsabre ⸻ ❝ "puck greasington.. no, no, that's nothing, end bit-" ❞

         ❝ Yeah, but you don't even have voices in your head. Or pick up rotten gore-sludge with your bare hands, so who's really the ladies' man between us ？ ❞

He is checking out their very impressive, tattooed ( & well-moisturized ！) arms, however. Though one himself, Puck Greasington Darlington is not immune to other ladies' men. 

He splits open an eye, yanking back just before she can set it down. Something blankets over the craquelure of his face: exasperation. Loose leaf patience.

“Kirrily—! Must I have this discussion with you?” he stresses out, breathily and taut and terse. Emmrich lets go of something like a weary sigh, straightening his back. “While it’s true that you and I share a common... devotion for those dead and distant shores, I assure you that one hardly considers a rodent a gift.”

He can’t see her eyes through the charcoal lens, but he can imagine a sort of abstract sparkle in them. Like the cat that caught the canary. Bad news. Red sky in the morning, shepherd’s warning. Then, because he’s compelled and equally ruffled—

❝ Do you still have two functional kidneys, sir ? Mind if you donate one for a good cause ? ❞ The good cause being letting her put it in a jar.

He frowns at her incredulously.

"... If you're looking to sell my organs, it's common practice not to ask first."

"He is."

Not really. Friendly jabs, or something like that. But Lucanis wanted to see Kiki unload a ton of frogs into Davrin's room. He wondered how she kept them, where, how she would unleash them upon the Warden. So he did his best to knit his brows and frown - for dramatic effect, but not to oversell it.

He wanted the frog apocalypse.