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"Don't fucking use 'we,'" Gil says. "What?" you say. "Okay, for you, whatever. But Gil isn't of <span class="mu-i">my</span> mind, I hope, so... how is that supposed to matter?"
"Easy enough, Charlie. Mr. Wallace declined my offer to escort him here, and chose instead to enter his own manse and transverse via door." (At your look, Gil nods.) "As he was on some level already there, arriving here did not take long. Understood?"
You cross your arms. "I suppose..."
"Excellent. It's nothing to be concerned about, Charlie, it's only metaphysics. I have arrived well before you since the beginning."
Gil also nods at that. "I <span class="mu-i">suppose,</span>" you say. "And I suppose you'll tell me the snake being gone is normal, too? What happened to—" You adopt a voice. "Uuuuuuh, I'm a stupid mean snake, the human guy is only a fakey-fake you made up, don't listen to him one bit'— and now you don't even have a snake? Did you murder it?" ...Did <span class="mu-i">you</span> murder it?
"Charlie, have you been storing up your grievances again? That's not good for your health." Richard reaches behind his back. "Regardless, do you mean this snake?"
In Richard's bony hands is cradled a snake— The Snake, you should call it, black and yellow and blank-eyed, with a metallic sheen and flattened tail and little pink tongue. It's the spitting image of <span class="mu-i">Richard,</span> of the only Richard you'd ever known for an unknowable part of your life. This snake has looped around your neck and arms and waist, it has sat on your chest and in your desk drawer, it has told you so many horrible things—
And now it is here, and Richard is holding himself. You are blanched.
"Oh, shit," Gil contributes.
"It won't hurt you," Richard says, and strokes The Snake under its chin. "It doesn't have the free will for it. Besides, you ought to be immune to the venom, Charlie."
"It?" you say.
"Yes, Charlie. Snakes are sexless." He arches an eyebrow. "Unless one is intelligent enough to choose otherwise."
That raises <span class="mu-i">more</span> questions. "You— that's you. Richard. That's <span class="mu-i">you.</span>"
"Yes, oftentimes. Other times no. I haven't lately felt the need to..." He hesitates. "...assume it? Usurp? You don't have the term for it, I'm afraid. But that's really all it is— the snake is safe, I assure you."
You don't know why he's presuming you prefer the snake <span class="mu-i">safe,</span> but you have bigger fish to fry. "You're not the snake."
"No, no. When I am the snake, I <span class="mu-i">am</span> the snake. No pussyfooting. They're like bear traps, Charlie."
A trap for bears? What does that look like? Maybe they rig it with smoke to calm them down? Um, this isn't the bigger fish, either. "Okay, but... what are you the rest of the time?"
Before Richard says a word, you know you've walked right into a bear trap. His eyes crinkle up. "Well, I'd like to think I'm your father."
>[-1 ID: 11/14]
"Ah-huh," you say. It does in fact feel like there's smoke in your eyes. "Cool. Are you feeling okay?"
(2/3)
