One last hurrah...

'Twas Hallows' Eve, when folk get tricked
And prance around dressed up in cloaks.
My friend researched some mythic blokes
And nagged and begged me to depict:
"This daunting Death of darkest hue.
Escorts the souls of sick and old.
His manner's haughty and controlled.
Tetrameter. He's very you.
The speeches in pentameter are his -
That's Red, the Death of violence and wars.
A cheerful chap when people give him cause:
I'd like to play him, with your help, that is."
And thus we planned an evening's romp -
My friend the psycho, I the pomp.

*squeal of recognition*

The Weaver quoted hims... umm, hersel... umm... Weft, why must you make people's lives so difficult with pronouns? Anyway, squee <3

Sorry. About the pronouns. Believe me, I'm just as foxed by this whole business.

Um, theoretically speaking, of course, what do you do when an avatar disagrees with his predecessor?

I don't see that being a problem in principle. They're different people. Of course they will disagree on some things. I don't believe avatars are necessarily inful- infallible. They're superhuman but still limited, whereas the gods themselves are above that.

For example, you only have one set of eyes and ears, right? However superhumanly sharp they are, it's not like Lady Weaver because she can see and hear everything. It's... with an incarnation, I imagine, it's sort of like, you have to leave parts out when you're squeezing into a lithe little human body.

Hmmmmm... what was the question? Oh, yes. You don't agree with Palisande about love. I don't think that'll be a problem.

Shame though...

That's my favourite speech...

A warlike weaver goddess had a single inclination
To go and cause some havoc in a sleek new incarnation
But sadly in her haste to put some bandits through the blender
Her mortal vector ended up askew in terms of GENDER
We're not surprised that Jillis finds her idol hard to figure
For quality control in heaven lacked its normal rigour
No wonder that his fellow god appears extremely dubious
Psychosis isn't sexy if you lack a pair of boobious

HAHAHAHA--

gack

[Wyldsong was perforated by Helmine!]

Weft: If I find that you helped with that little ditty, stupid Iceheart (you and I know perfectly well Baskerville's vocabulary would not stretch to "vector"), you will die.

Suitov: Yes, my formulaic friend, a mere glimpse of you and I develop an almost unbearable impulse to break into poetry.

Weft: What? You'd better be lying.

Suitov: Well, all right, yes. Being sharply ironic, actually.

Weft: Sarcasm's the lowest form of wit.

Suitov: Don't tell Baskerville that. He's been proceeding on the assumption that smut, slapstick and spontaneous combustions are.