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Handles are easy: discarded footrests from a saddle, with twine wound down the straight bit at the bottom for a handle.
You have a few options for the chokey bit of your garrote: barbed wire from around an empty goat pen (too bloody), bit of chain from a smithy bucket (too clinky), straw rope (too thick; their hands might be able to grab it), or binding wire (good, but you've only got short bits of these)...
In the end you pick a patch of chicken wire you've got among your stuffs. It's got multiple strands already built in, pliable enough to work with, stiff enough to hold up hooped.
You measure out what the length would be like if you turned the patch into a strip, compared to a large Humie head that you'll be looping it over. Yehh, looks bout just enough.
You bend the patch of chickenwire into a single long zigzag by painstakingly bending parts of it forth and back, then you put a twig in one end for your foot to hold down, and a twig in the other hand to twist with.
You twist until the zigs turn into themselves, then you start twisting it by segments, to make the chokey thinner so that it digs into the meat and your victims can't pull at it against you. When it's as thin as you can get it you put it against a stone and start bashing the chokey flatter, taking extra care to work the pokey bits especially so they don't stick out. Then it's a simple dubble-dedd knot on each end tying the chokey to the handles, and it's good n killy.
Your garrote takes a long bit to kludge; it's good. On the down side, you have no time to do the Ceremony today, but whatever: you've been doing one extra a day for a few days anyway, just in case of things like this. You're not worried.
Seafood watches you work with an idle eye. You are performing above his expectations. He'd half expected that you fuck up by now, to the point that he has invented several amusing punishments lined up for you.
But to date you have disappointed him: at no point did you oblige him to deal with an angry mob of torches and pitchforks, or the attention of powerful busybodies, or complications to do with the Esoteric Elemental Laws (Magic) if this world. For a creature more usually used on the battlefield in Mobz as arrow-eaters, you, Toady Gobbs, have done spiffing working solo.
The best that Seafood could justifiably inflict on you was Gui Li, and even there you came up spades. She was supposed to haunt you until you turned the complexion of turnip or sumn. But nope! You showed er n im both: you wear the pants in <span class="mu-i">this</span> dollhouse!
"Sweetfoods, mm goin."
"Mm. Bring wine."
"Yaz Sweetfoods. I'll see ifz any." You'll fish out a half a small bottle of Drain Scour from the liquor hoard today, to look like you tried.
You feel Seafood's half gaze on your back nearly the whole way to Plague Town.
In spite of himself, in a heartless way, you amuse him. The Absolute™ lives to be served by all lesser beings, of course; but YOU <span class="mu-i">entertain</span>.
