You follow "Maggie" into the sticky, dripping hut. Protruding from the center of the mucky floor is some sort of humongous...face? Is that a face? Whatever it's connected to, the rest is buried under the slime. You can faintly hear a soft, slow, repetitive sound from somewhere deep below, like somebody laboriously shoveling their way through mud. Every now and then, a sloppy gurgling erupts from the thing's single orifice. It smells like rot. Your rot.
You bury the thought quickly...there's no sense in just suddenly freaking out just because you're surrounded by oppressive walls of rancid juices from your own festering carcass. That would be plain rude in a total stranger's house.
You bury the thought quickly...there's no sense in just suddenly freaking out just because you're surrounded by oppressive walls of rancid juices from your own festering carcass. That would be plain rude in a total stranger's house.
STAPH:
My goodness, Magatha...you're positively glowing!
My goodness, Magatha...you're positively glowing!
MAGATHA:
You're too sweet, Staphy...but who have we here? Is that the whole little world I smell? It's about time! I was beginning to worry you'd get too sidetracked in the catacombs. You sure did a number on that baby-heads ruffian!
But oh, look at me, prattling on before you can even get a word in...you must have so many questions, child!
You're too sweet, Staphy...but who have we here? Is that the whole little world I smell? It's about time! I was beginning to worry you'd get too sidetracked in the catacombs. You sure did a number on that baby-heads ruffian!
But oh, look at me, prattling on before you can even get a word in...you must have so many questions, child!
