Post by bloodiedfox on Dec 2, 2020 17:47:22 GMT -5
The ruined church possessed no gargoyles. It is doubtful that it had ever done so; that was simply not the architectural style of Christian places of worship in North America. Yet if you had to compare Necrophage to anything as he perched on a brick pile near the entrance to the building, a gargoyle would be it. His eyes are closed, his body unmoving...
Um, hello?
...until they snap open at a tremulous voice. He looks and beholds a pale deliveryman, and his name that sat on his badge said Bob, and a box followed with him.
This is...
Bob looked at the details on his scanner.
The Church of Oblivion, yes?
Necrophage said nothing. Bob nervously tried to fill the nothing.
Because I have a delivery for a Mr Nemo of The Church of Oblivion, and it wasn't on the GPS, and I asked around in town and like five people made warding signs and then the sixth screamed something about Satan and then the seventh directed me here and I really need to make this delivery so I can go home and this place is freaking me out and...
Shut up.
Necrophage didn't raise his voice. When you look like he does, you don't have to. Bob extended the scanner towards him, extending as far as he could to maintain distance. Necrophage gave him the middle finger then lowered it the scanner and doodled it about the touchscreen to make what constitutes a signature on those machines.
Okaythankyoubye!
Bob departed at speed, Necrophage watching him go dispassionately. His eyes closed again.
The box barked.
His eyes opened again.
The box barked again.
Necrophage hopped down from his perch, crouching in front of the box and examining it. It had air holes. It also had a card attached to the top. He picked the card off and read it.
Necrophage tosses the card away and tears open the box, before reaching in and retrieving by the scruff of its neck an adorable little corgi. It wears a hapless canine grin as Necrophage tilts his head this way and that, studying it. Then he too starts to grin; a truly disconcerting sight. The dog agrees, as it starts to whimper and squirm, trying to get free. The camera pans away as the whimpers get louder, crescendoing into a sharp yelp and a bone-rending ~SNAP!!!~
Then silence.
Then the sound of teeth on flesh.
Um, hello?
...until they snap open at a tremulous voice. He looks and beholds a pale deliveryman, and his name that sat on his badge said Bob, and a box followed with him.
This is...
Bob looked at the details on his scanner.
The Church of Oblivion, yes?
Necrophage said nothing. Bob nervously tried to fill the nothing.
Because I have a delivery for a Mr Nemo of The Church of Oblivion, and it wasn't on the GPS, and I asked around in town and like five people made warding signs and then the sixth screamed something about Satan and then the seventh directed me here and I really need to make this delivery so I can go home and this place is freaking me out and...
Shut up.
Necrophage didn't raise his voice. When you look like he does, you don't have to. Bob extended the scanner towards him, extending as far as he could to maintain distance. Necrophage gave him the middle finger then lowered it the scanner and doodled it about the touchscreen to make what constitutes a signature on those machines.
Okaythankyoubye!
Bob departed at speed, Necrophage watching him go dispassionately. His eyes closed again.
The box barked.
His eyes opened again.
The box barked again.
Necrophage hopped down from his perch, crouching in front of the box and examining it. It had air holes. It also had a card attached to the top. He picked the card off and read it.
Nemo,
Behold this generous gift that is most definitely not a fluffy cog in the well oiled machine of my diabolical machinations!
Happy Holidays,
Lord Dominicus, ONLY singles champion in NPW
Behold this generous gift that is most definitely not a fluffy cog in the well oiled machine of my diabolical machinations!
Happy Holidays,
Lord Dominicus, ONLY singles champion in NPW
Necrophage tosses the card away and tears open the box, before reaching in and retrieving by the scruff of its neck an adorable little corgi. It wears a hapless canine grin as Necrophage tilts his head this way and that, studying it. Then he too starts to grin; a truly disconcerting sight. The dog agrees, as it starts to whimper and squirm, trying to get free. The camera pans away as the whimpers get louder, crescendoing into a sharp yelp and a bone-rending ~SNAP!!!~
Then silence.
Then the sound of teeth on flesh.
