Trying to finish this up today, so I can go do movie (I want to see what my wife thinks of BARBIE), beers, and game.
“Yeah, well, it’s not my first time dealing with a possession,” I said while trying not to look at the runes. They were written in the kind of alphabet that looks back at you. “The body language is all wrong, you’ve got a different accent now, and Bigwave doesn’t have enough magic to command skeleton squads. You a spirit?”
“Nay. Nor am I what the heathen call a ‘soul.’ Liken me to one of the fabled deveeds of the Before Times; memories, written in stone and poured out into this vessel. I am this Bigwave of yours, and yet not.”
Great. He’s a talker. That was mixed news: talkers take forever to get to the plan, and they tell you everything before they do — but they take forever, tell you everything, etc. etc. etc. I was also trying not to judge the mind-parasite or whatever for the mixed metaphors. From his accent, Old American wasn’t his birth-speech any more than it was mine.