It would be nice, Teddy thinks, to be that sure of what the afterlife is like. Maybe that's exactly how it is in his own world, too -- though that might be a real disappointment, or at least, a shock to a lot of people in his life.
Because they're inclined toward debate when they think it'll be taken as it's meant -- in this case, as teasing -- they tip their head a little and ask, eyebrow lifting, "and the shades in the Underworld, how often do they hang out with their loved ones? ...Excluding any epic sneaking in plans. We've got those stories. Don't usually end well."
Teddy can't help but laugh at that, a wide flash of teeth that surprises itself to her face and crinkles her eyes. "Oh, never," she deadpans, and grins, shoulders shrugging in a huff, putting her hands in her lap and sitting very tall (which isn't very tall) and faux-proper. "Mortals all have two-point-five children and happy round-the-table dinners every night where we discuss how everyone did at school, and it's always good. I'll have you know."
They can barely satirize it without laughing. "Yeah, yeah, okay. The scale's a little different, though. Or. Well. The effect." Even that's a little rich coming from someone who grew up throwing distance from the Hatfield-McCoy stomping grounds. "Though," they add, mulling for a moment. "I do have a big family --well, ish, not as big as some I know, but big enough -- and we all get on. ...Got..." It's odd to try and figure out how to talk about them; are they ever going to see them again? What's even happening back home?
"I did always wonder, growing up, if my parents wished they had more than just me, both having brothers and sisters and me with so many cousins. But." Teddy shrugs.
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Because they're inclined toward debate when they think it'll be taken as it's meant -- in this case, as teasing -- they tip their head a little and ask, eyebrow lifting, "and the shades in the Underworld, how often do they hang out with their loved ones? ...Excluding any epic sneaking in plans. We've got those stories. Don't usually end well."
Teddy can't help but laugh at that, a wide flash of teeth that surprises itself to her face and crinkles her eyes. "Oh, never," she deadpans, and grins, shoulders shrugging in a huff, putting her hands in her lap and sitting very tall (which isn't very tall) and faux-proper. "Mortals all have two-point-five children and happy round-the-table dinners every night where we discuss how everyone did at school, and it's always good. I'll have you know."
They can barely satirize it without laughing. "Yeah, yeah, okay. The scale's a little different, though. Or. Well. The effect." Even that's a little rich coming from someone who grew up throwing distance from the Hatfield-McCoy stomping grounds. "Though," they add, mulling for a moment. "I do have a big family --well, ish, not as big as some I know, but big enough -- and we all get on. ...Got..." It's odd to try and figure out how to talk about them; are they ever going to see them again? What's even happening back home?
"I did always wonder, growing up, if my parents wished they had more than just me, both having brothers and sisters and me with so many cousins. But." Teddy shrugs.