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"They eat—" <span class="mu-i">You ate—</span> "—memories."
"Charming."
"It's not their fault. They're just made like that." You reach a gentle hand into the tiny tank, and Matches unravels and twitches your way. "See? It already <span class="mu-i">ate</span> my fucking memories, so it likes me. Easy. And watch, I bet I can—"
You scoop Matches up in one hand. It stays put. "See? I was inside this fucking thing. I know what I'm talking about. I— hey!"
It has latched its fangs like broken needles into your finger. It doesn't hurt. It just <span class="mu-i">cracks you open with a ball peen hammer into neat vacant halves</span> just <span class="mu-i">pounds a tap through your skull to collect the juices</span> just <span class="mu-i">slides fishhooks through your cheeks to pull your mouth wide</span> opens your fucking third eye, or whatever the shit, and you stare gaping down at it and watch yourself staring gaping down on it recursively and
"This is why you wear gloves," Pat says, and pries Matches off your finger. "Are you okay?"
"Uh."
"Oh, damn, your pupils." Pat is peering into your eyes. "No, yeah. These things are nasty, and I think the babies— I think I read the babies are worse. Since they don't know how to gauge their strength, or something like that. Do you need to sit down?"
You stare at Matches. Matches, you are convinced, stares back. "...No."
>Your SNAKE SENSE is: Low
Pat doesn't waste time on prying further and instead goes to grab you gloves. You avoid eye contact with Matches. This is made more difficult when you're enlisted as official Snake Handler and made to do all the picking up and putting down in Pat's stead.
You fall into a kind of rhythm, at least, which allows your mind to wander to other things. Like Pat's attitude, which hovers somewhere between 'businesslike' and 'standoffish.' And yes, she is working, but— but you also did explode on her. For next to no reason. And while teenage Maddie is telling you to shut up about it and save whatever face you can, teenage Maddie wouldn't last a fucking day kidnapped. So you pinch an eye shut, grit your teeth, and suck it up.
>Your GRIT is: Slightly Low
"Hey," you say. "About earlier—"
"Yes?"
She's waiting for you to make the next move. Great. "—that was, uh, fucked up. Of me. So I'm sorry. I know it's not your fault Ellery's a chickenshit— it's not your fault, right?" You should clarify this sooner or later. "You didn't <span class="mu-i">help</span> him dip on me?"
"Me? No. I never heard of the guy until well after..." She clacks her tweezers. "I guess it would've been a couple months ago out here. And I accept your apology."
No fucking way it's that easy. "What?"
"Difficulty with regulating emotions is a pretty standard side effect. Didn't I tell you about Lester? You learn coping strategies over time." She looks sideways. "Also, I agree. Never really liked the guy, not at <span class="mu-i">all</span> surprised to learn he's a waste of air. Sorry you had to deal with him."
(2/3)
