† RYSLIG- IC INBOX †

[goodolfashionedvillain]

 

 

 

 

INBOX text | audio | action & overflow

 

 

 

 

code by transilience

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[goodolfashionedvillain]

[S q u i n t.]

Horses don't have hands. Centaurs have hands. Satyrs, perhaps, if they're horses, but not horses.

[humblecowboy]

[Spike points at Vicious.]

Kelpies. They can be horses.

And they can have hands.

Worst thing I've ever seen.

[goodolfashionedvillain]

[Slow blink, followed by an equally slow nod.]

Right. And... did you see one of these before or after you nodded off on a public bench?

[Is this another giant crab situation?]

[humblecowboy]

Oh, she was real.

[Spike takes the time to inspect that pot, and the sink. There's something suspicious here...]

Turned into a teenage girl.

Can't figure out why they're the only ones who ever wanna fight me.

[goodolfashionedvillain]

[SNORT]

You're really getting too old for that, you know.

[Passing a super casual glance back to see if he's looking. And ugh, he is.]

"Can't figure it out"? Teenage girls have all sorts of pent up rage. Surely you remember that much.

[humblecowboy]

[jiggling Vicious's stupid-little-pot-thing in his hand as he asks;]

Why'd'they all gotta take it out on me?

[goodolfashionedvillain]

You have been punching-bag-shaped for about as long as I've known you.

[Trying so hard not to react to what he's found... let's just turn back towards the window again. Nothing to see here. So not bothered.]

And I mean, this time you did technically ask for it.

[humblecowboy]

Yeah, guess that much is true.

[Don't mind him sauntering over with that little cauldron to put it on the smoking table in front of Vicious.]

You usually make toast in a pot?