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After that, it's all over. There's Earl one moment, and in the next he's vacant, gormless— his eyes wander the horizon for nothing in particular, even as he creeps into a wide pink smile. "HAW!" he barks. "HAW-haw-haw-HAW-haw-HAW!"
"There he goes," the fish advises Wayne, who's been clacking his rings together peevishly.
There he goes. If Earl's face has slackened, his neck is slackening with it— its muscles and the muscles of his shoulders are all sliding together, even as he's beginning to broaden. That's the only word for it, really, broaden; as if molten rock is spilling through a split down his middle, and is cooling as it hits air, and is being shoved aside again to make way for more and more rock. His wrists are going geologic, too, contorting inward and locking in place, as his fingers stretch and form soft points. His heels have lifted off the ground, which has to account for some of the height, but not all— he's clear past Horse Face, the worst and tallest man you've ever met. His toes are spreading and flattening to bear the weight, and his legs are swelling like hot gas was pumped into them, to say nothing of the arms— the size of your head around. Or the size of his head, you suppose, since it's stayed the same in shape and size. Mostly. It's possible his skin's stretching a little farther past his jaws, exposing two new rows of white teeth. They look like knifetips.
"HAW-HAW-HAW-haw-HAW-haw-haw—" You'd only really know it as laughter from the context: it's just a sound, otherwise, issued deep from the chest. (It must be a cave in there.) You're going to cling to that context, though, because that's comfortingly human. He's just having a good time, somehow, somewhere inside of there. Yeah. Throwing a mind party. You're glad for him, because you're guessing it'd be hard to stomach, otherwise. The original Earl looked human. (Of course.) The previous Earl looked human, too— if he'd ate properly and lifted heavy jugs and things on the regular, he could've even looked like that normally, no drugs needed. Or somebody could've, if they did all that.
The current one, though... he doesn't look not-human, precisely, but neither is it natural. He's twice as wide as you are, and it's not in fat. Veins are popping out from him. His hands and feet are huge, proportionally, and strange-looking. To say nothing of the teeth— not that you're <span class="mu-i">judging</span> the teeth. They look properly scary, though they're not as good as yours. They're just, er, uncanny.
That's really the word for it: uncanny. Not frightening. Slightly intimidating. Mildly disgusting, to be sure. But profoundly, profoundly uncanny, especially combined with his regular head, his regular features— as if he were still right here. Except he's laughing, and his eyes are mostly black.
You come out from behind the dip, slowing the laughter— the eyes follow you right up to him. When you stop, he locks into a jagged grin.
"...Hello?" you say uncertainly.
He keeps grinning.
(2/3)
