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You not being able to read it makes sense, though. You're not a snake. Richard is, and should be able to read this, and was expected to read this, and probably used to be able to... and you know he's <span class="mu-i">saying</span> he can't read it, but he was looking at it for a really long time. Something's off. "Are you sure? Maybe we can try it together? Uh... let's see... think quick! What does that say?"
You jab at a random collection of triangles. Richard focuses spasmodically. "Corre— corr— I don't know. I'm sorry."
"Correspondent?" you say.
"I really don't know. This is gibberish."
"You were reading it just now," you say huffily. "Try again! Think fast! Or don't think at all. If that's Correspondent, then that there is—"
"...3... 3-2-6...?"
"326?" A different snake name? Or title, or whatever. "See? You read all of that, easy. And if you read it all together, it says..."
"I don't know what it says. I— I can't read this." Richard snaps the card shut. "It's very creative, Charlie, so thank you, but next time I might suggest writing it in something universally legible? I'll assume it contains nice words about me all the same. Should I keep it or would you like it back?"
"Keep it! It's for you! And you were literally reading it right now, so I don't... I don't know what..."
Richard has exposed the front of the card, which is illustrated just like a normal non-snake greeting card would be. It depicts a large tube of water, with a... a... a white lizardy thing sleeping inside, rendered all roundish and cute. That and some more writing, this time stylized bubbly lines and triangles, but still incomprehensible. (Maybe "Get Well Soon" or something like that.)
It's incomprehensible to you, in any case. Comprehensible to Richard, somewhere in his tiny snake brain. Buried there. What's the <span class="mu-i">matter</span> with him?
(Choices next.)
