snowblindrpg | @Mnemosyne; night 280, late; ONE! ONE FLESH MOUND! HA HA HA! [cw: blood, violence, distress]

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@Mnemosyne; night 280, late; ONE! ONE FLESH MOUND! HA HA HA! [cw: blood, violence, distress]

[Picture if you will:

The camera lens is bloody. It is the Fleshmound House. In fact, the fleshmound is right there. In the background, bruised, cut, and bleeding. In the foreground is Beckett, covered in blood, holding a steak knife that is similarly covered in blood. In the background, chaos is beating on the fleshmound with a rock. He is dressed in a bearskin rug, complete with the head as a hood, Viking-style. Enoch is sitting in a corner twitching and mumbling in a nanite-induced haze. Kid is also sitting in a corner and may be crying. Actually both are crying. In the third corner Brian is filming everything, as you do. They are all spattered liberally with blood.

Also, someone in screaming.]

The screaming started after I've cut to a certain depth. [Beckett speaks over said screaming. He sounds highly clinical.] There may be something inside it, but we couldn't cut away enough to find out. I'm tried and the blood tastes terrible. If someone else wants to try, I recommend a bomb.

[Fleshmound Out.]

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[ Well.

Well.

By this point, Angel has very few words left in her vocabulary. Fortunately, the selection she has left work perfectly well for this particular situation. ]

What, fuck?

[ FOR REALS ]

[Oh, it's Angel. Beckett brightens up considerably. He even tries to wipe a bit of blood off the lens.]

We're all fine, not to worry - well, the flesh mound isn't, but I'm not too concerned about that.

Not - no! Not. Nnnh.

[ Now her words are failing her. She'd really like to point out that Enoch doesn't look fine, and Kid doesn't seem to be either, and that while she appreciates the dedication to science this video is kinda needlessly graphic. Also Chaos is a furry now?

Her distress at being unable to communicate any of that is way higher than anything caused by the poor abused fleshmound. OH WELL. ]

Hello.

[He doesn't initially make the connection - he knows that the word makes the bottom drop from his stomach, but there's a lot going on right now. Fleshmound. Nanites. People crying. Beckett stares at her with more unnerved confusion than anything else.]

Angel?

Hello.

[ The word comes out so mournfully that it's almost comical. Almost. But okay, she needs to try and explain this as coherently as possible -- ]

Words fuck.

[ yeah ]

Words, hello, hello, hello. Uhmmmm... ffface, in? In face? No, no... um. Head! In head! No hello in head.

[ Meaning that while her language skills have degraded drastically, her brain's doing just fine. ]

[Almost comical is not enough. Beckett is torn between being relieved when he hears her say anything but hello, and abrupt cold panicking when at last the connection slips into place. Hello. No.

Which means he totally misunderstands her meaning. Gets the total opposite. No words in her head. Which merits a slight freakout.]

No, no - the words - stop saying that, Angel. You'll get them back. Don't say it.

No! No, words-- no. Hello!!

[ Her attempts to explain are only going to make things worse, aren't they? She's freaking herself out, here. Time to try something different.

After a very frustrated GUHHHHH and a moment of scribbling, she holds a sheet of paper scrawled with sharpie up to the video feed. ]

Words, fuck. Words.

[If it weren't for the drawing, he'd probably be too alarmed to follow the explanation. Thankfully, there is the drawing, and it's far too cute - far too Angel to be made by anyone other than Angel in her right mind. Beckett lets out a shuddering breath as his panic recedes, and a moment later, is chuckling in wobbly relief.]

Ah. I see. I see. You can't - can't write any other words, either. But you can still think. Can you? Think words? We'll have to work with yes or no...

[ Whew, he gets it. Everything feels much better already. There's a lot you can get done with yeses and nos, anyway. Like answering the question he just asked. The question whose answer is "yes." Time to get on that. Right now. By saying "yes." Out loud. ]

Hello!

[ FOR FRICK'S SAKE ]

Fuck.

[ She offers a thumbs up, instead. A particularly grumpy one. EVEN THE FLESHMOUND IS BETTER AT COMMUNICATING RIGHT NOW ]

[Now that he's no longer panicking, this is maybe just a tiny bit hilarious. Or more likely he's just giddy with relief so everything is funny Angel isn't purged thank the lord thank the fuck.]

You can say "hello" for yes and "fuck" for no if you prefer.

[This is a perfectly straight suggestion he is totally not trying to turn this into a joke but also consider J O K E S]

[ Before Angel can even open her mouth to respond, the Dumpy-Jack Collective™ floats into view of the feed, hisses 'language,' and soars majestically away again.

Jack is, to quote Zae, having a digital stroke. And just in case this wasn't already wonderful enough, Rhys also appears briefly onscreen as he follows the babybot via a series of elaborate tripping manoeuvres.

Angel just. Shrugs. Because what else can you even do. ]

Uh. Hello.

[ what is her life ]

[Okay yes definitely hilarious by which he means he's definitely a tiny bit hysterical and the whole thing just tipped over from unspeakably awful to what you gonna do.]

Good girl. [He is now in full on snark-at-the-pain mode. Such smooth snark. The morality loss might be helping.]

I take it that Rhys is encountering motor difficulties? Greater motor difficulties than normal?

[ Angel is now doing the pursed-lips-raised-eyebrows thing. You know, the one that means "I'm glad you find this amusing" and is usually employed to disguise her own amusement when it feels immature or undignified.

Like, moreso than usual. ]

Hello. Friend lot... lot fuck. Ow.

[ YEAH HE'S FUCKED UP. To demonstrate she walks a couple of her fingers around as if they're legs, tripping and twitching around each other to the point where it looks like breakdancing. Which. Isn't that far off Rhys' current state, to be honest. ]

[Rest your eyebrows, sweet childe, you're loving this. In a way. It'll be one of those funny stories to tell later at least.

Yeah.]

Oh, hriend would love to "lot fuck", I'm sure, but in the meantime possibly get him to sit down. Sit on him if need be. Dumpy won't escape, I promise.

Ew.

[ Translation: "Holy shit never reference Rhys doing the do ever again that's the grossest thing I ever heard." TODAY IS TERRIBLE.

Still, she leans away and looks off-screen in the direction Rhys pootled off in, and says: ]

Hey! Buh... um. Red-face words friend no leg. Words me leg friend. Hello.

[ Which makes no sense whatsoever, but apparently Rhys understands if Angel's reaction is any indication. She returns her attention to the tablet, beaming. ]

Friend brain me words. No 'what?'

[Beckett is... struggling. Is "leg-fiend" Rhys? He has a lot of leg. Does she mean Rhys has a leg problem the same way she has a words problem? How does his face figure into this? (How does his face figure into anything?)]

I... thought I had you until the brain part. Can you...

[She cannot explain, clearly, but he's still on a roll with stellar ideas so.]

Can you illustrate?

Fuck no.

[ Which doesn't mean she won't try. One scribblefest later: ]

...no good.

... ah, art. I especially like the rendition of Rhys's fashion sense. With so few brush strokes, you capture the spirit of the thing.

[As in she got the tucked in tie part and that's what matters.]

I'm shocked yet relieved to report that I'm not encountering any difficulties in either department - wouldn't be working with a knife otherwise, of course - a nice change of pace.

[ God. She wants so badly to be able to say "what fashion sense." So. Fucking. Badly. This is the worst moment of her short, shitty life. Why, world. Why.

Okay no she's over it. And very curious as to why Beckett has no symptoms. Huh. ]

No brain bad no bad leg? What bad? Red bad? Nom nom nom, eurgh.

[ Read: Beckett have you just lost your sense of taste or something what the fucko ]

None of the above. [He may be just the tiniest bit smug. Look he's used to feeling like he's specially targeted for suffering ~~and it's not like he's all wrong~~]

As far as I can tell, everything is normal. That is, the normal level of absolutely terrible. The blood tasting foul isn't that surprising. And look! Not even a little bit sick!

[ Well, that's. That's a thing. A surprising thing. A thing that Angel may be just a touch jealous about.

And there's only one thing to say to that. ]

Fuck.

[ FOR REAL THO ]

I know!

[Look at this blood-covered old creep's childlike delight. It's so pure.]

[ WHY IS BECKETT THE WORST. Not that Angel can actually be mad or anything with him looking so fucking pleased with himself. He's lucky she's not in his vicinity, or he'd be getting his cheeks pinched in the most indulgent manner possible.

As it is, she just twists her face into an expression of mock offense and raises both middle fingers. EFF U OLD MAN ]

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@Mnemosyne; night 280, late; ONE! ONE FLESH MOUND! HA HA HA! [cw: blood, violence, distress]

@guardian; audio;

video

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I swear I'm not doing this just to get you to scribble BUT IT'LL BE FUNNY

I BELIEVE YOU, HONEST

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