“I don’t need to change my image with every single album. I don’t want to throw my wigs away. I don’t want to throw my outfits away. I want to celebrate them because these are the inventions that got me to where I am.”
The skull hadn’t blinked or reacted during Thomas’s explanation of the problem. He’d expected regular interruptions, but he’d miraculously managed to get the whole story out unimpeded, and that actually had him somewhat troubled. It wasn’t a no, but it was also much too far from a yes. He sighed and went on.
“Look, I know you have no reason to trust me,” he said. “But you must be able to see that this is a big deal. And it has nothing to do with Harry! He can’t possibly get hurt.” He frowned. Right, Bob probably wasn’t concerned about Harry’s wellbeing any longer. “Or, uh, Butters, I guess? Well, whatever. He’s out of the picture, too. This is just you and me. And you can see how important it is! Nobody else can help me with this. It has to be you!”
Pleading with a skull felt absolutely ridiculous. It felt like a new low, but Thomas was desperate. This was of utmost importance. He hadn’t discussed the situation with Butters, but if Butters knew, surely he wouldn’t object. After all, in a situation like this, who would?
“So what do you say?” he asked hopefully, flashing the skull his most charming smile. Because surely even an extremely straight spirit of intellect lacking a physical body couldn’t resist the charms of an incubus. Right. Did I mention I was desperate? “Will you help me?”