"I have not concluded. You, Beetles, did not suffer this pathetic status. I observed it as you flung yourself hungrily into that void. Too hungrily, yes. But unlike Charlie, for instance—" (You roll your eyes.) "—there <span class="mu-i">is</span> potential. And with proper tutelage..."
"No!" Gil's tensed up suddenly. "No. No. I-I-I told you, I don't want any goddamn part—"
Richard's tail flicks. "There is a urge for self-surrender in you," your mouth says snidely.
"I-I-I-I don't care! I-I-I don't even know what that means! Please just— <span class="mu-i">please</span> just get out of her! It's creepy! I-It's not at all helping your—"
«Ungrateful.»
Richard slides off your neck and begins winding around your torso— "sulkily," you might ascribe to it, if you were in the habit of ascribing emotions to a toneless snake. (You are. You absolutely are.) You massage your jaw. "Um, I'm— he did."
"Oh."
"It didn't hurt or anything," you feel compelled to explain. You rub your palm. "Um, I didn't think he'd go into a whole speech... he didn't say all that to me. Just so you know. He just said the part I said. Um. So what did you actually do down there?"
"What?" Gil's shrunken back against the wall again. (Damn. You thought he'd appreciate the change of subject.) "I-I-I... I don't remember very well."
"It was less than an hour ago," you say irritably.
"I-I know! I-I-It's just— it's like I'm trying to remember somebody else's, um, memories. They're <span class="mu-i">there,</span> but they're, um, out of focus... i-if that makes any sense...?"
«It is a real effect.»
«A real effect mitigated by <proper tutelage>.»
God. "Okay, can you tell me the <span class="mu-i">gist?</span>"
Gil tilts his head back. "...I-I-I left you to go find the footsteps, and I-I... did. Um, fast. We ran right i-into each other, and they started... shooting at me."
"Paint," you say. "At you."
"I-I didn't fucking know it was paint! So I got <span class="mu-i">my</span> gun out, and that kind of shut them up, so I started asking questions... I-I don't remember what, probably how they could live with themselves knowing they churned out such cheap shit every day. Who was in charge of security measures because whoever he was deserved to be shanked. I-I'm just making stuff up, I don't actually know... oh." He frowns. "I-I-I think I asked about, um, Ellery. I-If they knew Ellery. I-I-I-I have no goddamn idea why I'd—"
Huh. "So you took some hostages, and then..."
Gil reddens. "I-I didn't take, um... one of them escaped, I-I think. Or sounded the alarm, or something, and then I-I-I, uh, ran... wait. I-I might've—" He pauses.
"You might've...?"
"...Um, I-I think I hit somebody with my gun, and took their... ID?" He looks pained. "Maybe other... they confiscated the ID. After they caught me. But, um, I... oh."
"Gil?" you prod, after a much longer pause. He's staring into space. "Gil, you—"
(2/4)
