>>694
You contemplate your newly crafted agricultural tool and/or weapon. The quality of badassness is difficult to assess at the best of times, you lament, but this specimen is especially open to debate. Firstly, the use of a bloodstained knife is quite dramatic (especially what with it being the blood of your childhood sweetheart, whom you murdered in cold blood), but alas the knife is too straight to form the epitomic scythe shape. Similarly, the use of human hair to tie it together is symbolically quite compelling, but in practice renders the head liable to come detached. Finally, the use of a simple branch that happened to be at hand for the handle is, ultimately, neither here nor there in terms of badassery.
You conclude that, in all honesty, it's actually not that badass - if anything, it's just slightly creepy and morbid.
>>695
You are not in possession of anything that can easily be used as a strap. Instead, you make do by slipping the stone knife down your blouse's collar and clamping it in place with your chin. It's quite precarious, but just about stays so long as you don't make any sudden movements. With your hands now free, you hold the scythe in the natural grip. (It'd be much more natural if you weren't missing two fingers, you grumble to yourself, but there's nothing to be done about that now).
Having had your previous interpretive dance so rudely interrupted, you decide to perform a dance in honour of your new scythe. You make sweeping motions to represent reaping grains, or possibly the souls of medieval peasants. You leap from one foot to the other, symbolising the leap of logic from the literal to the figurative. For the grand finale, you raise your scythe in both hands up to the sky (representing, of course, the bourgeoisie) then, while jumping in the air, bring it down through an arc, brushing against the cold earth beneath (to represent the dregs of society; human detritus) and holding it out at arm's reach, pirouetting with all your might, spinning once, twice, three times (the inevitability and twisted equality of death) - scythe whistling through the air - before coming to a beautifully composed stop.
This entire profound, unlikely orchestration is lit by the exquisitely sympathetic background of the forest behind you slowly burning, as the blaze from earlier has spread at an alarming rate - burning, just like that one unspent skill point burning a hole in your metaphorical pocket - and, of course, the ongoing battle between Continue-chan, Stove Stove and the mysterious girl in pink.
>>696
You feel strangely invigorated by your earlier dancing. You are consumed by the need to imbue your new tool with a name, one befitting a weapon of such calibre. "Asses of Badassness," you call out, "I summon thee!"
Continue-chan - and possibly Stove Stove as well, though it's hard to tell - are distracted by your declaration, and the girl in pink takes advantage with a single needle shot almost straight down towards Continue-chan. It impales her left foot, pinning it to the ground. Continue-chan grits her teeth, clearly in great pain but unable to relinquish her cool, stoic façade. She is, however, quite clearly immobilised and pinned in place, leaving her quite vulnerable.