Quoted By:
>Taste of his own medicine
What's in that nasty syringe? You have no idea. You do know it's better off in the balding man than it is in you. "Syringe!" you say.
"Ah." Gil keeps the gun in the man's mouth, but feels around for and snatches up the syringe with his other hand. The man emits more noises, even wriggles some, but Gil's knee keeps him in place and the injection of the syringe's contents shuts him up for good. He stops moving. His eyes roll up in his head.
You wait a moment. "Is he dead?"
"Um..." Gil reaches out and feels his neck. "I-I-I think he's unconscious. It was an anesthetic, or something."
"Oh. That's good." You fold your arms. "He was going to inject <span class="mu-i">me</span> with that. And he was going to extract my— my memories, or something. Of something. I got fired from whatever position I had, because I saw something... I don't know what yet."
Gil is pushing himself up to a standing position. "Um, can you find out?"
Virginia is an open book to you. You're not in a reading mood. "Yeah, but— yeah. Um, I will. A little later. Are you okay?"
"Am I-I-I okay? You're the one who the guy was going to— oh, shit, you're tied up! Do you have a knife?"
"A sword? I'll let you hold it if you promise to be careful." You toss your hair back. "It <span class="mu-i">is</span> a family heirloom."
"...So Richard owned it?"
"No! I— it's complicated. Richard likes knives better, anyways. Here. It should be at my hip."
At your hip, maybe. At Virginia's? It doesn't matter, because Gil pulls The Sword out of thin air, flames and all. He holds it like it'll bite him, attempts a couple test swings, thinks better of it, and grips The Sword by— you wince— its blade instead. His hands bubble, but don't seem materially affected, and you guess it affords better control. With the The Sword's tip, Gil pokes through your flimsy bonds, and you shake our your sore wrists.
"Thanks," you say.
"Um, yeah. Of course." He hands The Sword back quickly, and you stow it at your side. Where? Don't look.
"No, you—" A gun in the balding man's mouth! "That was actually cool. Like you were a— in a book, or something. You didn't even hesitate."
"Oh." Gil bites his up. "Um, i-i-it wasn't really... I just couldn't feel anything. That was all."
"Feel anything?"
"This goo stuff can't, um— I told you before. Or Pat did, or somebody. I-I-It doesn't <span class="mu-i">react.</span> Normally I-I'd be— I'd be jittery, or I'd fumble the goddamn gun, or something, but this time I— it was like nothing was happening. Like I-I was taking a walk. So I-I-I didn't— it wasn't me." He clears his throat. "But thanks."
"You're welcome, but so what? You still <span class="mu-i">did</span> it. You could've not done it, Gilbert. So there." You fold your arms. "Also, we're in Headspace."
"Yes. ...And you're her."
Thanks, Gil. You've been attempting not to reckon with that yet. "Yes."
"And we've got a knocked-out guy on the—"
(1/2)
