LIAB Epilogue 19

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Book (LIAB)
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Turn Number:75 AW
Side's Turn:Night

Panel 1

LIAB Epilogue 19:1/Description[19:1/Description&action=edit edit]

Because they had so many units that could drain life, Transylvito's dungeons had a reputation. If you ended up down here, your side'd better fork over the Schmuckers. Otherwise, somebody was gonna be drinkin' yer blood in place of rations. Very intimidating.

Transylvito didn't keep nobody in the dungeon these days, though. These days, it was their units that stayed in other people's pokeys. Every turn, Metroland and Carpool both sent ransom demands. They could keep asking. Can't suck blood from a stone.

So the place was empty. It was just the wine cellar and the doll factory down here now. Caesar figured he could put up with the one to get at the other. He floated past the heads and naked torsos, past Don's personal casks, and into the musty corner where they kept the cheap stuff. No use tickin' the King off any worse today.

There are times when a guy wants to be drunk with his friends, and other times when he needs to sit in a damp, dark pit and drink alone. Tonight, Caesar Borgata would be Transylvito's only prisoner. It fit superbly.

Three hours into a barrel of grappa and out of smokes, the Chief Warlord ventured out into the darkness to find some bladder relief. Maybe a drink of water. A couple of the doll-heads looked at him as he floated by.

Flying drunk was better than walking. You bumped into more things, but they hurt less.

Shadows, doors, ceilings and floors. Where the flip was he? He went from room to room until he found one with a big pit in the center of it.
[19:1/Text&action=edit edit]

Panel 2

LIAB Epilogue 19:2/Description[19:2/Description&action=edit edit]

What was that, a well? Yeah there was a bucket and rope by it. He might get a drink, but he couldn't be whizzin' down here. He floated over the hole and looked down.

"Oh Ti- What the flip is that!"

There was a pale white shape at the bottom of the pit. Moving. Writhing. He had no idea what it was.

"It's personal," said a soft voice in the dark. Caesar spun in the air but couldn't quite keep his body stable on all three axes at once. He put a hand to the ceiling to steady himself.

"I haven't used anything but spare resources," said the Dollamancer, standing there in shadow. He had something on his fat face with a tiny dot of light on it. Goggles. "My spare juice only."

"Bill, what the flip?" demanded Caesar angrily. The thing in the pit was made of doll parts. Arms, legs. Faces. Lots and lots of breasts.

"Every time I try to explain myself," sighed the Dollamancer softly, "I only make things worse. Do you want me to try again, Chief Warlord?"

Caesar shook his head, queasily. "No. Just point me to a latrine."

The little light swiveled as the caster turned his head. "Through that door, down the corridor. Last door you see."

"Arright," said Caesar, moving off quickly in that direction. As he passed, Bill stepped toward the hole and picket up the bucket.

The Chief looked back only once, to see the Dollamancer lowering the rope into the pit.

"It puts lotion on its skin."
[19:2/Text&action=edit edit]
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