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"For once in my lifetime I concur with Mr. Graves." Lucky folds his arms. "What value is the worm intended to add?"
"What <span class="mu-i">value?</span> She's a critical team member! She's our moral support, basically, our— our conscience, our beating heart—"
"The worm."
"And our mascot! She's our mascot! She—" Nobody's convinced. "It just really sucks to see her shrink-dried, alright? She's probably really embarrassed—"
"The <span class="mu-i">worm.</span>"
They don't get it. Neither of them get it. And of course they don't: <span class="mu-i">they</span> don't have the boundless noble spirit necessary to tap into the true feelings of worms. "I'd make sure she didn't eat anybody...?"
"We should get going," Lucky says, and Arledge nods. They look at you. You look back.
This continues until you lose: it's two to one, after all. You kick the dirt. "Fine. I can revive her <span class="mu-i">later.</span>"
"Later and somewhere else," Arledge says. "This place will be fouled for a long time. But yes, we should go."
So you go. Or, well, they go— you trail behind, growing increasingly petulant. They don't get it. That's the long and short of the matter. They don't get it, and they don't get you, and they're treating you like you're some kind of <span class="mu-i">peer</span> with some kind of stupid-ass equal vote instead of the rightful leader of this expedition. If you want to revive Annie, you should get to revive Annie! If Gil weren't sulking outside you'd be tied in the matter, you're sure of it. If Annie got her God-given vote, it'd be three-two. That's a majority! So you're being cheated, basically, you're—
Arledge has passed through the gate ahead of you, and Lucky's already out. You get an idea. A good idea? You have no idea. (There is nobody to judge you.) But certainly a fair idea, a just idea, a real honest stick-it-to-them idea. If Gil were with you you'd reconsider. He is outside.
They're both well through the gate now. You step forward rapidly, grab the bars of the gate, and slam it shut hard. The snake around your neck constricts, and the lock of the gate clicks.
"Charlotte?" says Arledge, and "<span class="mu-i">Ms. Fawkins,</span>" says Lucky, and somewhere from behind the wall comes a "Lottie!"
"Just a minute!" You shake your hair back and re-approach the edge of the pool, pausing to examine your reflection. You knew it wouldn't be yours, but it's one thing to know and another to <span class="mu-i">see</span> your mirror-self's too-sharp chin, too-thin brows, too-narrow eyes. You have no beauty mark and altogether too much eye makeup, though a lot of it is smeared down your cheeks. You pull a face, and the reflection follows along. You pull another. You hook your fingers into the corners of your lips and pull and in the reflection expose rows and rows of needle teeth and stare. You feel with your tongue: normal, human.
(2/3?)
