hadriel | TEXT

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[Anyone who's talked to Krieg at any length might have a fairly good idea as to why the message comes out the way it does. For anyone else, it has the look of someone who more or less bashed their head against a keyboard, an assessment that would not be far from the truth.]

;ld

d

fl;azz@@ @
=!

h oOW Do o we ma;ke the FROWN FACES frown face frWON FACE/ /???
WHO PUT tH FACES S IN OUR TINY SCREEN?????/%s??

[Someone's apparently forgotten how to make emojis, much to his chagrin.]

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[He mutters to himself. Put it inside? Put it inside what? The communi...

Ah. He turns the paper in front of the camera.]

You mean like this! I see now. There are buttons for that somewhere on this thing.

Yes! So who cut off all those pretty faces and slid them under the door?

[He mimes tearing a face off, apparently unable to grasp that the emoticons are not actual faces.]

[Carlisle cringes at the mere thought of what Krieg is miming.]

I... don't think that's how they get them in there. Someone who knows how to manipulate this technology must've put them in there. I don't think that someone literally took the face off a person and put it into these things...

[At least he hopes not.]

[Krieg makes a low, disappointed noise and slumps back, looking disgruntled. That's much less exciting than what he was imagining.]

BORING.

You would rather they rip the face off a poor soul and cram it into one of these things?

YESyesyesyesyesyessssssssss!

[That sounds about ten times more exciting and bloody. And those are two things that are Relevant To His Interests!]

Aaaaaallright. You're, er... the violent sort, I take it?

We live for meaaaaaat.

[He thinks he can hear the little brain-voice in his head groaning, but he's not sure. He ignores it, in any case.]

... Animal meat, right?

[RIGHT?]

Why bother discriminate?

[A joyous statement that almost immediately segues into peals of raucous laughter.]

[CRIIIIIINGING. He's just going to keep cringing through all that laughter.

And still cringing.

Are you going to stop laughing, Krieg? THIS ISN'T FUNNY.]

[You're scaring him.

Krieg's head twitches oddly, like trying to dislodge something from his neck, and he gives it a little shake as the laughter peters off, warping, fading.

Then it's like a switch gets flipped. One meaty hand grips his head in frustration.]

We're WRONG!

[More cringing, but now with additional terror!]

We're wrong? What am I wrong about?

Not you! Us!

[Followed by an emphatic thump of his fist over his chest, indicating himself. "We." We. Two voices in one stupid little brrrrrrrain.]

There's only one of you!

[YOU AREN'T MAKING ANY SENSE.]

[Krieg makes a pained, angry sound, giving his head another rough shake. The whine resolves into a frustrated snarl.]

Stop judging me!

[He slams a fist onto whatever surface is nearest, causing the feed to jiggle a little with the impact.]

[Carlisle jumps at the slamming of the fist, looking so panicked that it's clear he thinks Krieg might come through the phone right this minute and strangle him.]

I'm not judging you! Stop yelling at me!

Make sure to rustle your bouquets before you leave for the cleansing!

[And we've lapsed back into nonsensical rambling. Ah, well. It was nice while it lasted.]

[Somewhere, someone on the network is watching this exchange go down and wondering why anyone would give phones to these two.]

What does bouquet-rustling have to do with cleansing? What cleansing?! No one told me about this!

Don't play games with me, you little sausage stump!

[Complete with an accusatory finger stabbing at the screen. Look, Krieg's hardly coherent on his best days, and it's just escalating from here.]

[Yep. Krieg is definitely going to come through his phone and strangle him. Put those meaty hands around his scrawny neck and squeeze until his head pops off. Break his glasses while he's at it, just for fun.]

I'm not! No games! I don't even know very many games!

Goooooood!

[And now...Krieg sits back. Contemplates. He's kind of forgotten why he got so riled up.

Apologize. You just terrified the poor guy.

He addresses the thin air to the left of him:]

Thank you for playing a round of Psycho roulette ball! Can I take your order?

I...

[About a dozen thoughts run through his head. What does that mean? Why is he asking? What order? What is he talking about? Should I know? Is he going to start yelling again? Does he know where I live? Why isn't he wearing a shirt?

But only one thought makes it to his lips.]

I'm not hungry!

[And now he's hanging up by shoving the phone into his couch, because that's how you do it when you're too panicked to find the right button. Enjoy that close-up view of the cushion.]

Why'd your blood stop singing?

[He taps on the video screen, but to no avail. Where'd his friend go??? Why'd he leave???

Krieg persists, but only for so long. Eventually he gives up and abandons the effort, switching his video feed off.]

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