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rupert "miles" glass (clowning) wrote in bellumlogs,

"He was born in an oil drum." He'd sighed adoringly, the way a proud father might the departure of his so brave son to the privateering services of a king. "Lived in a basket mostly. Never bothered anyone much. He'll be sorely missed!" With fingers wriggling swift and descending, his spidery grasp reached down and plucked up the box from its seat. He gathered it in both arms, noting the weight was now minimal, but would feel a burden eventually, and raised both his brows to Theo. "I'm so glad you're coming with us. I think I Ra is, too. He must've liked you... otherwise you'd uhh..."

He made a ghastly, crooked face. Eyes crossing and floating upward into the back of his eyelids and added: "Be dead." And straightening out his messy expression nicely, he grinned. "Whenever you're ready. I don't wanna get a jacket from my place, there's a heat wave outside, so I hear!"