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In the last chapter of Scribble, I claimed that a book can't make any noises. I've thought a bit about that. How can he be a talking book if he doesn't make any sounds? He's rather quiet, though I can still hear him talk... How, Scribble, how?
Easy. Telepathic powers. What? You mean you can read my mind? You read me, I read you. Square and fair. I feel at a disadvantage. Why is that? The only stuff I can read, is what I'm writing. You can read anything you want! AND I have bat powers! Too bad YOU don't have any super powers, eh? I don't get this "bat power"-stuff. What exactly ARE those powers? Mind control, screech and being able to see without eyes. And flapping my pages to fly. You can fly? No, but I like to think I can. Can't really move at all. You're the lucky one. Never thought of it like that. Never knew you could think. Never knew you were so mean. Never knew you cared. Ok, enough of the "never knew" stuff. There wasn't really much more I wanted to say today... enough randomness for you now, Scribble? Feeeed meee. What? FEEEEED MEEEE. Ok, fine, you can go now.
I don't feel like I've got much I should have said. Damn right. Piss off.