“Let's save the chit
chat,” Raven replies, “I'm in no mood for having my time wasted,
so get on with it.”
“Get on with what?”
the crippled creature inquires, “What are you expecting?”
“I expect nothing,”
Raven says, “That would be foolish with you. But you'll
have....something, tucked up your sleeve. You always do.”
“I think you
overestimate my power,” the creature hobbles forward.
“I doubt that,”
Raven replies, stepping back to maintain their distance. “You'll
call upon your mockeries, or the dead ideas, or....well, I don't know
what. Just get on with it.”
“The mockeries are
all but retired,” the figure tells him, “Their power long gone.
As for the dead ideas, they....well....shall we say they found new
life?” The figure pauses, coughs, a dry heaving hack that lasts
for some moments. “You'll have to excuse me,” it spits when the
fit abates, “My health isn't what it once was. You talked to the
children?”
