"It's probably a good thing you can't hear me through the wall." He's got a small smile on his face. "I'm working on a new song and it's not there yet, and they always sound terrible until they're further along than this."
As they get to the door, they make the turn into the bar and then straight out the other door leading to the lake. He hasn't got his jacket, but it doesn't matter: he's dead. He's not going to catch a cold and die. He's not going to get sick. None of that stuff even happens to him any more. He knows he's got a weak, weak pulse and he knows he sleeps and eats, but those last two are out of habit more than necessity.
He also knows he's really warm all the time. Maybe it's a counterbalance to Julia's coldness or to the climate on Callisto or maybe it isn't: maybe it's just what death is to him.
What it has to be. Gren stuffs his hands in the front pockets of his pants and they start walking through the dry snow, the full moon up above lighting the path for them.
And then he turns to Faye. "How come you're so angry all the time, Faye?"
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As they get to the door, they make the turn into the bar and then straight out the other door leading to the lake. He hasn't got his jacket, but it doesn't matter: he's dead. He's not going to catch a cold and die. He's not going to get sick. None of that stuff even happens to him any more. He knows he's got a weak, weak pulse and he knows he sleeps and eats, but those last two are out of habit more than necessity.
He also knows he's really warm all the time. Maybe it's a counterbalance to Julia's coldness or to the climate on Callisto or maybe it isn't: maybe it's just what death is to him.
What it has to be. Gren stuffs his hands in the front pockets of his pants and they start walking through the dry snow, the full moon up above lighting the path for them.
And then he turns to Faye. "How come you're so angry all the time, Faye?"