10-13-2019, 07:27 PM
[align=center][div style="width: 450px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9pt;"]Marco also doesn’t know what he’s doing for this task! Cool, they’re on the same page.
He still doesn’t understand why he’s doing what he’s doing. What’s so special about Halloween? It used to be some corporate American holiday, but now that there’s no markets or money, what’s the point of participating anymore? He supposes people just like the thrill of haunted houses and spooky costumes and being scared shitless, but every day is scary for Marco, so the fun of spooky season is lost on him. He just can’t wrap his mind around it.
(Then again, to be fair, he can’t wrap his mind around much of anything anymore.)
Marco shoves his hand into the basket and takes a bite out of an apple. He wishes he hadn’t taken up this task. It’s boring and confusing and his legs hurt too much.
“Why?” he asks. “What’s so special?” Not only that, people seem a little disappointed, if not downright angry, that all he has to offer them is real food and not candy … not that he was able to find any of it in the first place (or at least nothing 20 years past the expiration date.) He supposes he could make his own candy, but that’s time-consuming and requires a certain set of skills he just doesn’t have.
Marco misses his violin. He’d rather be fussing with that, trying to will his arms to move well enough to play, rather than trying to hand out snacks to the general population.
“... here,” he offers, outstretching his basket of food for Salem to take and grab whatever the hell he wants.
He still doesn’t understand why he’s doing what he’s doing. What’s so special about Halloween? It used to be some corporate American holiday, but now that there’s no markets or money, what’s the point of participating anymore? He supposes people just like the thrill of haunted houses and spooky costumes and being scared shitless, but every day is scary for Marco, so the fun of spooky season is lost on him. He just can’t wrap his mind around it.
(Then again, to be fair, he can’t wrap his mind around much of anything anymore.)
Marco shoves his hand into the basket and takes a bite out of an apple. He wishes he hadn’t taken up this task. It’s boring and confusing and his legs hurt too much.
“Why?” he asks. “What’s so special?” Not only that, people seem a little disappointed, if not downright angry, that all he has to offer them is real food and not candy … not that he was able to find any of it in the first place (or at least nothing 20 years past the expiration date.) He supposes he could make his own candy, but that’s time-consuming and requires a certain set of skills he just doesn’t have.
Marco misses his violin. He’d rather be fussing with that, trying to will his arms to move well enough to play, rather than trying to hand out snacks to the general population.
“... here,” he offers, outstretching his basket of food for Salem to take and grab whatever the hell he wants.
[sub]the artist formerly known as hal[/sub]
Hoot gives Hal’s body a hug