A Bone to Pick

Lone Writer was still in shock. “You’re alive?”
“Apparently so,” G2 said, carrying her head under arm. “But Lawver forgot to mention that his amazing pen brings characters back from the form in which they died. So I gotta lug this thing around.” She’d thrown her arms in the air out of excitement, sending her noggin rolling to Fantasy’s feet. “Dang. You get that for me?” Fantasy picked it up gingerly and handed it back to the kung fu master. “I have got to get Doc T. to put that back on.”
“Talk about losing your head,” Lil’ Krully muttered.
“I’m decapitated, I’m not deaf,” she said bitterly. “Besides, that was an awful pun.”
“Back to the point,” the Lone Writer interrupted, “you have a plan?”
“I might,” G2 mused, gazing at a wooden support beam.
“Well?” Fantasy wasn’t used to G2’s methods of thinking.
“We’d weave webs of words, and if they strike back, we could find a way to make them eat their words. The pen’s mightier than the sword, you know! Besides, I’ve a bone to pick with an assassin.”

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