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Posted: Sun Nov 30, 2014 6:56 pm
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"I see," he said, committing it to memory. "The modulating of the skellyvision sound was that way." Thezil's pumpkin voice was hoarse and gravelly, like smoke caught in the air. When he was quiet, it was like a whisper in the wind, a breeze that barely moved.
"I do not think I have a sense of smell." He concentrated, trying to identify his senses. Sight and hearing and speech were always built in, guided by the nature of the head. Touch, too, was easy: he still had fingers and skin and somehow could feel when others touched his "face", whatever his face might be at the time.
But taste? Smell? They were untested. Thezil breathed in deep, and physically startled, his flame glowing bright. "Oh," he said, perhaps a speech pattern picked up by a friend, "I do. It is spice and pumpkin and smoke. That is me. My room smells of cleaning product. Then there is you, like laundered clothing and...ghostliness."
He scratched at the chin of his pumpkinhead, baffled but pleased. "I did not know. I never thought to try."
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