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They stood on the Helm, arms crossed over their chests, staring at the jars as if they’d come alive if they’d look away. The sound of frames working and machinery tuned out.
“I somehow hate this more than touching literal hive guts.” Murdoc spoke up.
“I know right, it just… bad vibes.” Hawk shivered beside her.
Both Hunters did not like whatever rested in the vessels, especially so whenever Drifter had explained they were parts of Nezarec, even if they were sealed the two felt greatly off put.
“I bet it smells worse than hive guts..” Murdoc added.
“No cap, at least hive guts can wash out, that… get new armor then actually blow up ya old armor.” Hawk agreed.
“I wouldn’t want to be put into a jar- probably pickled- and then paraded around.”
“Only select things deserve to be pickled; cucumbers, okra, sauerkraut, and maybe some other veggies if ya doin’ it right.”
“Can you pickle a mummy? Was he like a mummy? Do cultures still make mummies or have I been watching too many Pre-Golden Age films?”
“You can pickle anythin’ with a little will power.”
“We need to stop staring before we start thinking more into the contents, we’ve only peaked the iceberg and I’d rather not think more into it.”
“You’re right ‘Doc, though I will say all this talk of picklin’ got me hungry.”
“Gross.” She crinkled her nose, turning and flicking out her hand for her ghost.
“What, you weren’t thinking of food?”
“No, I was thinking of a gross pickled mummy and how it’s evil.”
“Fair, where we headed next anyway?”
“Ether Tank, talk to Spider, you could get a drink or something to sate your appetite.”
“Or it could make me a pickle.” The Celestial Nighthawk wearer spoke, grinning under his helm.
“I’m never going to hear the word pickle and not think of the nasty bad vibe jars now.”