D: My apologies to Mary Shelly.
A: I think that’s my line.
D: No, you were too busy giggling about the Theme from Young Frankenstein piping through the house as you posted this ridiculous piece.
A: It was kismet, D. I forgot I put it on this playlist (it’s a Halloween song, after all!) It was obviously Meant To Be!
D: I’ll tell you what’s meant to be. . .
A: Yes, D? I’m waiting.
D: . . . okay, I have nothing. I was trying to link your destiny to writing my book, but I can see by the glazed look in your eye that it’s just not going to happen.
A: Wise Druid.
D: She’s complimenting me, people – run. Run far.
A: Cheers, D.
“Master! Master, where are you!”
“Igs? Igs, I’m over here – wait, no, stay there. I’ll come to you. And stop calling me Master. ”
Dr. Viviane Frank stumbled past the operating table and stubbed her toe on something on the floor. She and Igs were going to have to have a chat about working conditions and the need for a sterile laboratory.
Of course, when the laboratory was in a dilapidated, turn-of-the century monstrosity, she supposed sterile was probably out of the question. Seeing as her funding dollars only went so far. . .
“Igs, did you hook up the back-up generators like I asked you to?”
There was no response from the queer little man that came with the antiquated equipment.
“Yes, Mas—I mean, Dr. Frank. I hooked it up just before the experiment began.”
“Hm. Must be a full-blown power…
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