“How did it go today, sister of mine?”
“She is *definitely* one of us,” Daisy Mae Flowers replied to Lou Ferrig No, not seen in this blog for a while. Not heavily since photo-novel 4, when she interacted with The Musician in her own, similar realm of Bermingham and took care of his pet dingo for a while, if memory serves — maybe still does.
“That’s great, yes. Can’t wait to meet her. Staying in Shauna’s room I assume?”
“Yes. The snow monsters have her now.”
“Nice — I suppose. I mean, the snow monsters aren’t *that* bad, I’ve heard.”
“They’ve killed 3 million people!” exclaimed Daisy Mae, pushing a popular myth about the actually quite decent blizzard creatures.
“Nah, not what I’ve heard. Do you still get your news from FOX?”
“Lets not go into all that sister.”
“I’m just saying, *dingo* is better — all small letters in that case. Small is for humble; truthful.”
Daisy Mae looked away from her sister, not wanting to start an argument that had no end and would most definitely spiral into the Abyss. She’d seen enough of the Abyss. Instead: “She’s met David A.B. here, the normal one. What I mean…”
“What you *mean*…” continued the sister, “is that he’s not the Devil.”
“No, he’s the God,” agreed Daisy now with her sibling. “At least he *thinks* he’s one.” Both titter with this. They act in unison again.
It was a long time ago and it happened in the theatre below the castle. It was a round concavity full of something but not popcorn this time. Instead: brains, specifically the diamond like brains of David/Dave, who had not chosen a moral direction yet. The victim slumped opposite him. Keith B. most likely, who subsequently acquired his own new brain from… well, let’s just keep some things private for now. The man they called The Barber sings a tuneful song of familiar design while he works.