[Henry's never seen woods like these before, and he's seen a lot of weird things! Neat.
If the impulse to continue on the path is strange, he doesn't seem to notice. Or, well, he does, but it's simply no concern to him. If he's wading into certain danger, then... 1) sounds fun, 2) he's gotta give whatever monster's at the end of the trail major points for creativity. Who is he to mess up a perfectly laid trap like this?
His ambling down the path is downright cheerful. What's up with the lack of color, anyway? Heck if he knows, but it doesn't seem like it's hurting anything, does it?]
[ 2 | a new friend ]
[Aww, look who's gotten lost! Poor thing, sitting all alone and forgotten by her owner. Henry knows that feel.
Well, he's not one to repeat past mistakes! So rather than actually explore the house, he elects to sit beside the lonely little doll and keep it company, heedless of the riddle she's holding. After all, if he's not taking anything, what's the problem?
And there's no point in just sitting here waiting for nothing to happen, either. So instead he... picks up the doll and moves its little limbs to make it dance.]
[ 3 | who's a good boy ]
[It's a monster chicken. But it is still an animal, and Henry likes animals. And he's no stranger to blood loss and fowl-related trauma. This shouldn't be too difficult, right?
Wrong, apparently. The chicken guards its hoard like its eggs are solid gold. To be expected from a new mother, really.
After the second time he gets bit--this time it draws blood--Henry actually pouts like he's five years old.]
Aw, come on, be nice! You won't miss one or two eggs, will you?
[ 4 | hey baby what's your sign ]
[Okay, this will be easy.
He doesn't know what laptops are, but he sure can read! And those are clear instructions as he's ever seen! This will be simple.
By which he figures the best way to accomplish this is to stand on a street corner and call out to random passersby.]
Hey! Tell me something about your childhood!
[ 3 you're a good boy! yes you are! yes you are! ]
[Eggs don't matter one blip when you're a mostly immortal queen of darkness. The only thing present on the scene looking like a snack to Marceline is the sweet, sweet ruby elixir dripping out of Henry's finger.
She levitates in a cruise around the human-vs-chicken battleground, snacking on her metaphorical popcorn. It makes for a better meal deal if he bleeds just a little bit more.]
Hey! Brainlord! I think this chicken only lives for the thrill of combat. Know what I'm sayin'?
[ She gets in close. Like realclose. Furry paws tipped with sharp claws settle in nice and comfortable over his shoulders. They’re pals, right? She’s so clearly trustworthy.]
Oh man... you don’t know about these? You’ve like, broken its code of honor. That chicken won’t rest until you or it are taking the long bus ride home.
[Like yeah, they are definitely on the same flying carpet of understanding. Except for the twisting peoples heads off? She’s totally left that life behind (except when she’s hungry).]
Is everyone into blood where you’re from or is it just you?
[A cultural difference from the humans she knows, obviously. Or he’s just a freak.]
[ He manages to make eye contact with the girl at Hey, but once the question is laid out, she looks. A little perplexed. Looking at him. Looks behind her to see if there's literally anybody else he could be talking to (please). Looks back.
Uncertain, she gestures to herself. ]
Um... are you talking to me?
shotguns all of it while never breaking eye contact
[If Henry actually has any reaction to this, he doesn't show it. Instead he just prattles on cheerfully like they're talking shop about hobbies.]
You woke up in a well? That must have been rough. Mildew and everything? Nya ha! Anyway, if you give me a bit I bet I could whip up the best cure for amnesia you've ever seen. I'll even make it taste nice, just for you. No maggots or anything.
[He does not appear to be kidding.]
Or I can help you make up new ones instead, that's always fun.
So I'll need something from you to get started, though. Got any fingernail clippings? Dead skin? Organs will work too, if there are any you're not using.
[A strand of hair is also fine, but where's the fun in that?]
[ She frowns, brow furrowing. She's pretty sure she's using them all (though it's not like she'd know if she wasn't), but the first two didn't seem so impossible.
With only that brief moment of pause, she withdraws a dagger from a sheath at her hip. She flips it into an easy forward grip in one hand, the other lifted with palm up, fingers stiffly folded. The blade is quick, and — oh, okay. She doesn't have any fingernail clippings handy, so she's just whittling shards of nail from her fingers and letting the pieces fall into her waiting palm.
Hope they didn't need to be in perfect half-moons, guy. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[ 2 | a new friend ]
[ 3 | who's a good boy ]
[ 4 | hey baby what's your sign ]
[ 3 you're a good boy! yes you are! yes you are! ]
She levitates in a cruise around the human-vs-chicken battleground, snacking on her metaphorical popcorn. It makes for a better meal deal if he bleeds just a little bit more.]
Hey! Brainlord! I think this chicken only lives for the thrill of combat. Know what I'm sayin'?
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Aw, I don't have to kill it, do I? Though I bet all the feathers would make for a pretty good explosion.
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Oh man... you don’t know about these? You’ve like, broken its code of honor. That chicken won’t rest until you or it are taking the long bus ride home.
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[Sucks. Sorry, dude.
And, with a quick mutter under his breath, the chicken summarily explodes in a spectacular fashion. Feathers do indeed go everywhere, as do entrails.]
There you go. Eggs for days!
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Marceline circles around to face him, careful to float just high enough that she doesn't touch the cutlets all strewn and sticky. It's still gross. ]
You won't get any eggs now, genius, you turned that chicken into hot soup.
[And more importantly, he's not bleeding any more than he was to start.]
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[Wasn't that the point? He sucks on his bleeding finger, contemplative, apparently unaware of Marceline's own fixation on it.
Did the chicken die for nothing? Oh well.]
And we got a good show.
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Listen. I don't care about the chicken. Or the eggs.
[Her voice rasps, sharpens, and echoes from somewhere else that is not quite her mouth.]
I'm only hungering for what's in your veins.
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[He's happy to share. He extracts his bleeding finger from his own mouth and extends it to her, as an offering.]
You want some?
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What, just like that? Are you used to vampires or something?
[Humans never react like that. Like never. It totally kills her usual angle.]
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[This is normal.]
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Marceline grins, shiny white sharp teeth all shown off.]
You might not be totally lame. You're not a vampire, or a demon, or a cannibal [she can tell] so... why blood?
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[SO. NORMAL.]
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[Like yeah, they are definitely on the same flying carpet of understanding. Except for the twisting peoples heads off? She’s totally left that life behind (except when she’s hungry).]
Is everyone into blood where you’re from or is it just you?
[A cultural difference from the humans she knows, obviously. Or he’s just a freak.]
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[He doesn't seem bothered by this idea at all, however.]
Their loss, though! Nya ha!
ten years later with starbucks (4)
Uncertain, she gestures to herself. ]
Um... are you talking to me?
shotguns all of it while never breaking eye contact
[He just keeps grinning. Grinning forever.]
Here, I'll start. When I was a kid, all my friends were animals!
nice
[ Processing... ]
All your friends... were birds and dogs?
[ Maybe if she just asks about him it won't... get weird... ]
What was that like?
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[Too late, it's gonna get weird at record speed.]
They were the best friends I ever had! Too bad they all died. Anyway, your turn.
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The redirect has her instead looking a little flustered, her attention dropping elsewhere. ]
... I don't remember.
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[His brow actually furrows, like he's concerned.]
Like you got hit with an amnesia curse, or what? I bet I could reverse it. They're not that complicated.
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I don't know what's wrong with me. Anything before waking up in the well is a total blank.
You can get my memories back?
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You woke up in a well? That must have been rough. Mildew and everything? Nya ha! Anyway, if you give me a bit I bet I could whip up the best cure for amnesia you've ever seen. I'll even make it taste nice, just for you. No maggots or anything.
[He does not appear to be kidding.]
Or I can help you make up new ones instead, that's always fun.
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I'd like to get my old memories back first, even if there are maggots. How long does it take?
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[ She wants it noooowwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww ]
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[Patience Terra gosh!!!]
So I'll need something from you to get started, though. Got any fingernail clippings? Dead skin? Organs will work too, if there are any you're not using.
[A strand of hair is also fine, but where's the fun in that?]
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With only that brief moment of pause, she withdraws a dagger from a sheath at her hip. She flips it into an easy forward grip in one hand, the other lifted with palm up, fingers stiffly folded. The blade is quick, and — oh, okay. She doesn't have any fingernail clippings handy, so she's just whittling shards of nail from her fingers and letting the pieces fall into her waiting palm.
Hope they didn't need to be in perfect half-moons, guy. ]
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Wow, thanks! People usually don't want to cooperate for some reason. It's like they think hexes just happen for free!
[4... ish. ONCE AGAIN WITH FEELING]
When I was a kid, I had this teddy bear named Hambo
[Still have. As in her room, here, now.]
He was my best friend.
[Is.]