I have a desire for toothpicks.
I also have a desire for eyeballs. I like to put the two together, sometimes, see what turns up. The screaming, it don't bother me. There's always someone who wanna scream. They are nothing. Below us.
I care nothing for them.
But I like to keep a collection of something. Most people collect stamps, or baseball cards. Yeah, if they made collectible cards with everyone's favorite demons on them, I'd collect those instead.
But they don't.
So, I've got the bodyparts. And they're locked up in jars. And, it's not like I take them out and play with them.
Much.
But they've got so many uses, you know! I beat the Slayer with one in a dream, last night. I think, when I kill her, I'm going to grab that monkey arm and stick it under her shirt, grabbing her tit. I like monkeys.
They come from Africa. Like me.
The mama's boy that collects and preserves them all for me, he's not worth the cost of his upkeep. A few measly bags of dust a week, and he's happy as a clam.
I've got a few of those, down in cold storage, too.
When I worked the kitchen, we had a problem with rats. I started to recognise the life signs in animals, in people. Poison, we'd set it down to try and stop them from shitting in the food, but now I understand -- it was their message to us. It was their legacy.
We all shit in the places that we want to mark our territory. Just look at all the crazy motherfuckers -- that Nazi will, forever, be tasting shit in his mouth. He's marked, baby.
And this warehouse that we've got has banks and banks of butcher's freezers in the basement. Three of them, they've got gazelle meat in them. The zoo's missing a few antelope, but me -- I'm full of the blood of Africa.
It runs in my veins like it used to run through the plains.
This, being a vampire. I could get used to this. Comfortable. Easy. Free.
And the fingers and toes, wrapped in little baggies, they all come from kills. If I could go back in time, I would cut off Nino Schibetta's pinkie and hide it in my mouth, just so I could have a souvenir.
We collect pieces of ourselves, too.
And the heads down there, they don't talk to me. I'm not off the deep end anymore, I'm not hearing drums, unless I order someone to play. Which I do. A lot. One day, that whole freezer gonna have the heads of podmates in it. I'm gonna have me a little zoo, and then I'm gonna have me a little party. And everyone gonna be invited.
The arms and legs are harder to wrap up. They don't fit as well as the heads. Blood always seeps out of their packaging, and the freezer gotta be cleaned.
Time to hit the zoo, again. I feel a definite collector's urge coming on. Try out my new teeth on some of those Siberian tigers, and then a nice little blond bitch for dessert.
There's nothing different about here than anywhere else. I just have a new hobby. Like, breaking little fingers. Just like-- toothpicks. I enjoy toothpicks.
And it's not that I don't like all the rest of your bodyparts, either.