For the love of—” Lou sighed and pinched his brow. “Both of you! Stop fucking screaming.”
“Sorry!” Seymour hissed. “Fuckin’ some of us aren’t used to fucked-up talkin’ heads!”
Sariel rubbed Seymour’s shoulder soothingly.
“Technically, I’m a talkin’ skull,” the skull whispered loudly, his accent thick.
Scottish? Irish? Something-ish.
“What is all the fussing about?” Myrna asked as she walked in, her forehead wrinkled. She gasped when she looked in the closet. “Oh! A talking skull!”
The skull blinked.
Well, the glow of his eyes flickered, so that it appeared to be blinking anyway.
“Of course I’m a talking skull,” the skull said. “Do we have to keep repeatin’ ourselves?”
“It should be very obvious,” Sariel whispered. “There is no hair.”
“A talking skull who can see Myrna…” Lou made a face. “Sure. Why the fuck not?”
“How very interesting!” Myrna peered over at the skull. “Magicians once employed talking skulls in their acts who were said to have the ability to see all! Those of course were fakes, puppetry with strings and the like. This fellow is the genuine article! Oh, what a delight!”
Seymour grimaced. “And what was he doin’ locked up in my dad’s closet?”
“Hey! You can ask me yourself!” The skull rolled his eyes.
“Okay. Fine.” Seymour huffed. “What are you doing in my dad’s closet, Mr. Skull?”
“King.”
“Huh?”
“Me name’s King.”
“Okay,King. What are you doin’ in there?”
King blinked. “Sure, I haven’t the faintest idea.”
Seymour sighed.
Sariel gave Seymour’s shoulder a firmer rub.
Day hopped down, padding over to sniff curiously at King.
King eyed her suspiciously. “I haven’t got any fish.”
“That is all right!” Day smiled. “I’m not hungry right now anyway.”
God help them all if she was.
“Ah, so the cat’s mute.” King sighed. “It’s hard bein’ a superior magical creature.”
“She can talk,” Seymour corrected, “but only a few people can understand her.”
“Right. So, I am still superior, like.”
Day narrowed her eyes and growled. “I am going to eat him.”
