Snippet #2701852

The group of misfits would listen to the lady's intoxicated rambling with a few smirks. Although they couldn't piece together what she was talking about, words like "void" and "mirror fragments" fleeted across their minds. It was evident that whatever this, this thing was, it-she-whatever belonged to somewhere within the edge of the Imagiverse, where emotions and incoherent dreams were more strong, the cortex if you know the brain well. In fact, the Imagiverse is like a brain put back-to-front, with the conscious neo-cortex section of the Imagiverse located in the middle, where the known worlds reside, and the emotional, illogical cortex around the edge.
This, any psycho-astrophysicist knew very well. But the Chosen Ones, who were enjoying themselves as the woman fell backwards on the floor, had no truck with it.
Another enigma, evident when Adam Skelecoot took a jolly swill of his ale, was how skeletons could drink without the necessary equipment, i.e organs. Anima-kinesiologists around the Imagiverse have determined that the said drink, when "consumed" by the corpse, transfers to the spiritual realm, where the undead's soul has all the equipment to actually consume and, and this is the Skelecoots didn't know until too late, get drunk.
So the observers in the pub would see the swig of ale pass down the bottom of the skull, reach the top of the ribcage and vanish, as if going through an invisible pipe. It didn't bother his now-slightly-pissed comrades, who were too busy laughing at the immobilised woman.