It wasn't exactly often that Solomon spoke without thinking. In this case, he was simply in a state of needing to not think too hard on certain things. He'd broken down once, and he wouldn't break down again, but there was still a measure of things he didn't want to think too deeply about.

So the words were out before Solomon realised just what he'd said. And when he had, he froze, his face blanking. He stared down at the frame in his hands, at its gentle glow. It wasn't red. It didn't really have a colour. It still made him think of that vibrating red Scream, the sight of it wreathing around an armoured skeleton seen only in a memory.

Wreathing around the skeleton, and then coming for him like the jaws of Hell.

Solomon swallowed and took a deep breath, slow enough to be discreet. He set the frame down on a piece of desk, fumbling to find clear space. "Agreed. Lynott proves it's possible, at least. We may not even have to buy old statues, simply order a great many statues of famous soldiers sculpted. The fame might be enough despite their newness."

"It's certainly better than golems," Kenspeckle said thoughtfully but rather scathingly. There was a roll in his clouds which indicated he knew something had just happened, he didn't know what, and he didn't want to know. "Wax figures would be cheap, but not exactly durable. And it would need to be able to move. I, however, have no idea how he was made. I'm in biology, not waxworks. Ms Sorrows?"