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[threnodeity]

rose lalonde

Rose Strider. Grimoire expert and future emissary to the old gods. Say what you wish.

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[parodeity]

Rose, I promise if you die I will throw you the fanciest fuckin' funeral in the universe. Immediately before losing it in the most acrobatic way possible, of course. I'll even fling myself on your casket. All fancy funerals need that one dude or dudette flinging themselves dramatically on a casket.

[ dave will up the ante and drop his head to her shoulder. wow. cooking with fire NOW. ]

So, what's your professional take on our weird-ass hallucinations, havin' had one of your very own?

[threnodeity]

[Okay, his stupid sense of humor is helping a little. She manages an amused scoff.]

I'd say we're going crazy but I'm certain we've already embraced that.

[She doesn't like it when she doesn't know things. Therefore--]

Any good psychologist would keep record of their patient's history. I suggest we begin one for ourselves -- a diary, of sorts.

[Clean, logical, understandable. It provides some comfort.]

[parodeity]

Like, one diary? Are we doin' a crazy dream exchange diary. I hallucinate and lovingly write down the deets in pink glitter gel pen and sign the damn thing with twenty hearts and smiley faces and slide it under your pillow and you write all over my hallucinations with meticulous breakdowns of my psyche and notes on the logical structure of my write ups and then there's forty pages on one hallucination from you, sporadically sprinkled with wizardfic, boiling down to "fancy cat funeral"?

[ rose is comforted by a clearcut logical plan.

dave is comforted by absurdity. ]

[threnodeity]

[It makes sense. He prefers to say 'fuck this shit i'm out,' Rose prefers to say 'fuck off.']

I'll be providing fifty pages for your sass. My wizardfic is solely for my enjoyment. You don't deserve that privilege just yet.

[parodeity]

You say that like I would seriously mind fifty pages of nonsense.

[ but. ]

So now you know what I meant by it felt real.