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Peace and quiet.

That's what Morton had been looking for, such a long time ago. He couldn't really remember why, and he didn't really care to do so; something deep inside told him it'd hurt him to remember, and thus, even while slumbering, he built a barricade to hold his memories at bay. He'd seal them away and he'd sleep until it stopped hurting.

Maybe he'd have slept forever, had he not felt, through the coating of stone that covered his bones... heat. There was something outside; there was something there and for the first time in forever, the skeletal gargoyle felt the will to move, to find out what was going out outside of his own mind.

Cracks started to appear on the surface of the statue's bones, which slowly grew larger until the outer coating began to fall. Green light sprang to life withing the sunken hollow of the statue's skull, and soon, it became quite clear that this was not to much a statue was it was a living (unliving?), breathing creature. After a few beats, the creature moved from it's pose; the pose he'd held for oh-so-long and the outer coating of rock began to fall, crumbling at his feet. He moved again, his mouth opening to let out something between what looked like it might be a roar... and ended up as a yawn.

Then, all threatening air seemed to melt away from the creature as it stared lazily, dreamily, obviously still half asleep, up at the gimble wolf, "Dude," a pause as he lifted a bony claw, where there was no longer any trace of the scorch marks of the cigarette, "Dude," he repeated as he narrowed his eyes in a still semi-dazed way, "Did you just put out a cigarette on me, man? What gives?" another pause, and his head turned to look up at the sky, and then around him, where plants had obviously begun to crawl up around him and into his rib cage.

Morton grimaced, "Ugh... what day is it," he started to try to pull free, but the vines were clinging to his ribs, and it was a mildly unpleasant feeling, "********, what year is it?" he attempted to scratch at the vines, failing miserable, "And where can I get Halloween's largest mug of coffee?"

Morton's large jaws gaped open and closed several times, giving him the looks of an undead fish out of water as the other boil spoke, "I'm not-" he squawked, "B-but-!" and then he snapped his jaws closed, as if to avoid the word vomit he'd been letting out from escaping against his will. He almost raised a clawed hand to press against said jaws, had he not been dedicating half his brain power to trying to untangle himself from the vines and thorns that crept up his rib cage and around him.

It was very clear he was still half asleep, because it took the gargoyle several silent beats to realize Neil was full of s**t.

A beat, and then the luminescent glow within his eye hollows seemed to narrow down, "Ha ha," he said, his tone flat, "Funny," the way he said it, monotone like, seemed to indicate he felt the other boil was anything but funny, and yet... something in his eyes seemed to indicate the gargoyle was nowhere near as upset or offended that the joke was on him as he was letting on. After all, he'd never had a real problem with others having a laugh at his expense; he could dish 'em as good as he could take 'em, "Too bad. 'Cause if the war was lost it only just means imma have to sneak somewhere and steal it," he tugged at the thorns once more before letting out out a sigh of frustration, "How about you lend me a hand, here, pal? I'll make it up to you. Bet that'll be a blast, what with the fact you're a real joker."