i met another interesting customer today. said her name was clara, that she was being groomed to become a puppet. the princess of puppets. the host-to-be of the wooden girl's twisted consciousness. fucking splendid.
she said she needed food. this was pretty obvious; she looked half-starved. i asked her, privately, if she needed any weaponry or anything like that. she said the wooden girl and the puppets—including, apparently, her own mother, though her father is absentee, from the sounds of it—didn't let her keep weapons on her. smart, but a bit of a shame, in my eyes.
not that i'm implying anything as to my stance on woody's kind here. no, no, of course not.
i pitied clara enough to help her out for free. also, it doesn't hurt that she closely resembled a lost kitten, and was younger than me by a good deal, going by appearances. i might be a bastard, but i'm a bastard with paternal instincts.
i'm as surprised as you are.
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