Making Up Monsters prompt — Monster who ate something funny
In the Castro Sanctum infirmary, Nurse Practitioner Frankenstein attempts to examine a writhing centipede-thing, and the mildly concerning bulge midway along its length.
“Stay still,” she says sternly, and the centipede-thing responds by momentarily holding position, but giggling madly, which is almost as unhelpful. “What have I told you about eating random things?”
“That — that—” the monster attempts to sound serious for a couple of seconds, then flails around laughing again. “That I am what I eat!”
“No,” Frankenstein scolds. “This isn’t funny—”
“It is, because I ate a clown!” the centipede-thing crows delightedly.
(Probably not really. Not eating people, as much as possible, is one of the things that keeps the castle safe from pitchfork mobs — everyone sheltering here is keenly aware. It probably just inadvisably gorged itself on a dead sheep, again.)
“You’ve probably just given yourself indigestion,” Frankenstein says severely, “but if you’re not going to stay still for me to take a look at you, this is pointless—”
“But Nurse—!” the centipede thing says, in a voice that’s cracked and high-pitched from desperately (and unconvincingly) pretending solemnity, and Frankenstein sighs and plays along as if she doesn’t know she’s being set up.
“What?” she says.
”…I ate Pagliacci!”
“Get out of my sickbay,” Frankenstein tells it, closes the door firmly after its scurrying, chortling bulk, and counts all the way to twenty before there’s a knock on the door.
“Yes?” she says, aiming a lethally raised eyebrow down at it.
“My tummy hurts,” the centipede-thing concedes sheepishly.
“Oh, really,” Frankenstein says.
“Yeah,” the centipede-thing says, cutely contrite. “Maybe you could—”
Frankenstein folds her arms, lets her best Mad Science smile slither onto her face, and watches it falter uncertainly. “Treatment is simple—” she sing-songs menacingly, reaching for the Pepto-Bismol.
