We finally got to meet with the Fat Man. Nice enough fellow, for a guy who liquefies people’s organs and drinks them while they’re alive and aware, and replaces people’s brains with spiders. The weird part is that he’s religious. I’m guessing it’s a South American thing. I can picture a jungle-dwellers in a hut worshiping a guy like that. Of course, I can picture the same folks worshiping a wind-up cymbal-playing money. Whatever he really is, he doesn’t seem to be a threat to us unless we attack him first. And just like with the cats, a couple of my fellow Vassals jumped straight to the “let’s blow up the building” nonsense. Seems like they get their panties all bunched up every time some new critter proves that we aren’t the only murderous predator in the room. That kind of thinking is going to cause us trouble.
So, we managed to work out a pretty sweet deal. In exchange for not attempting to destroy him, we get money, invitations to his monthly gambling den, and one live human of our choice gets turned into a fleshy husk. And I get to keep it! They’re odd, these husk-bodies, but way more interesting-looking that I would have ever thought possible. It’s fascinating how the skin reacts when you remove almost all of its contents, like a grape with the pulp sucked out. I love playing with the folds of flesh, feeling the partially dissolved dermis squishing and sliding between my fingers, and feeling that cool empty skin draped against mine. I’m up to three guests now, an older Italian man like me, and the two husks. I let the full-sized corpse sit on the couch, holding a glass, while the husks lay together next to him. He stares forward, seemingly unable to bring himself to look at his couch-mates. I talk to him. I try to be reassuring, but it brings him no comfort. He just doesn’t appreciate the husks like I do.