If you're to pretend at intelligence, you might parrot something of value, Schiele had once insisted. He'd worked it into a mnemonic on that first ruins job: MAD-EGS-JF.
The elvhen Creators. Mad eggs, the lot of them.
"Never heard a Corellon," Lazar swallows at last, taps the sun tattooed on his neck. "This one's for the Maker. Don't reckon he's an elf, but someone's bound to argue."
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Date: 2024-03-13 03:38 am (UTC)The elvhen Creators. Mad eggs, the lot of them.
"Never heard a Corellon," Lazar swallows at last, taps the sun tattooed on his neck. "This one's for the Maker. Don't reckon he's an elf, but someone's bound to argue."