The One With The Two Heads: Video

[twoheadsofcabbage]

[There's a man on screen. A scruffy-looking man who's recently been in a fight. His lip is split and bleeding, and there's a chunk of hair missing from one side of his head. He stares into the camera with unfocused eyes. His jaw works silently for a moment. Eventually he slurs:]

Did anybody...catch the plate on that Arquillian cru-...

[His eyes roll back in his head and he drops like a ton of bricks. The communicator lands with a clatter, camera still focused on the man's face. And then another voice pipes up. It is, in fact, the same voice.]

Oh, you did not just pass out. Scrad? Scra-ad!

[No one named Scrad responds. The man on the floor remains still. His eyes are closed. His mouth has not moved. It continues not to move as his disembodied voice quips:]

Annnnnnnnnd the champ! Is! Down!

Comments

[most_feared]

[Wait, that voice is familiar. Those two voices. Voices he's not heard about in a while.]

Charlie?

[Squiiiint. He'll take a shot in the dark here.] What room are you guys in?

[twoheadsofcabbage]

[A moment of silence, both on and off-screen.]

Uh...

[And then Scrad punches himself in the face. Well, technically Charlie punches Scrad in the face, but it's really the same either way. And Scrad awakens with a start.]

Shut up, Charlie!

[Because Scrad wakes up shouting that every morning, why mess with success? He blinks at the image of K on the communicator's screen. And eventually the image reaches his brain, and the color (not that there's much more than grey in the first place) drains from his face.]

H-how did you get the number for this communicator?

[And Charlie, who is sporting a broken nose, drifts into the background and adds:]

Also, how did we get this communicator?

[most_feared]

You're dead. You're on an interdimensional ship. It's for redemption. So on and so forth. That's a journal. You need to get to the infirmary.

[He pinches his nose. Aw, hell. Are they even gonna know what to do with this sort of anatomy. They're both used to aliens there. They'll figure it out.]

Which room are you in? Go open your door. Look outside of it. There should be a number.

[Kay, slow down. Neither one of these guys looks like they're in the best shape.]

[twoheadsofcabbage]

[Also, they just took that 'you're dead' the wrong way. Scrad holds up both of their hands.]

Wait! Look: it was alllllll a big misunderstanding. You don't have to kill us. We'll tell ya anything you wanna know.

[And Charlie generously offers:]

For a completely reasonable price.

[most_feared]

[Oh, Jesus at all the lineface. He puts his hand over his face and drops it out of frame.]

It's been years. Sarleena is dead. The Light is off of Earth.

And you are supposed to be dead. But you're not and you're here and you look like you need medical attention.

[He stares. Drums his fingers. Waits.]

[twoheadsofcabbage]

[Two pairs of eyes stare uncomprehendingly back at him. Charlie snakes his head around and presses an ear against their chest.]

Nope. Still tickin'.

[A light bulb goes off over Scrad's head. Unfortunately, it's in a completely inappropriate lamp.]

This is a trick, isn't it? You want us to come down there, so you can pin the whole thing on us. Well we're onto you!

[most_feared]

[He just stares at the two of them. Before just... canting his head at Charlie's side of his screen.]

Your nose is leakin'.

[Well hell, guys. If he needed information he'd just point a gun at you. Tricking is an awful lot of work.]

[twoheadsofcabbage]

[Scrad glances in Charlie's direction.]

Paper towels. In the bathroom.

[And they move through their apartment, which is primarily puke green, holding the comm at arm's length like they're afraid of taking their eyes off of K for a moment. Which they are. As they make their way to the door, K may catch a glimpse of one of seven TV sets, or the matching pair of floor to ceiling lava lamps, or the mural of the space-babe in a metal bikini, or maybe it all just sort of blends together into a dizzying array of Earth-not-necessarily-popular-anymore pop-culture. And then they're standing in the Barge's blissfully un-lava lamp-ed hallway.]

Charlie? Where did the bathroom go?

[Because Charlie is in charge of keeping track of that kind of information.]

[most_feared]

The bathroom's not there. Because you're dead.

[Because that's where bathrooms go when you die. You go to a hell without bathrooms.]

Let's try this again. Scrad, Charlie. You are on an interdimensional prison ship known as the Barge to be rehabilitated. You can not leave. You can not die again. You will be assigned a warden who will receive a copy of a file about your life to assist in your rehabilitation. If you are successfully rehabilitated, you will be returned to life, presumably somewhere far away from Earth [because he's still surprised he's here] away from the situation that caused your death.

Check the door and see what floor you're on. Infirmary's on the second.

[twoheadsofcabbage]

[Charlie twists around and eyes the door as Scrad asks:]

When did you guys get an interdimensional prison ship?

[most_feared]

We haven't. I'm taking some time off to work elsewhere.

[Oh hell no, he is not going to be mentioning that he has a significant other that he's here saving their planet for. Who will buy that information? Everyone. And he can't trust that somehow some communications failure will happen again and they'd have the opportunity.]

[Invisible comment]

[timesbureaucrat]

[Oh look, someone from Kay's universe. Once both of him are conscious, Narvin will need to have a quiet chat, ask some questions... Because Narvin is nosy and Kay doesn't talk about himself or his past much. Narvin will take any scraps of information he can get.]

[Invisible comment]

[twoheadsofcabbage]

[That may not go exactly as you are hoping, Narvin, as the entirety of their intel on K comes from 1) skimming his employee file, 2) watching him beat the crap out of a bunch of guys, and 3) rumors passed around the alien underground which may or may not be exaggeration to outright falsehoods (they've heard he once assaulted a Cephalopoid with another Cephalopoid). Also: it's gonna cost you a lot of beers.

Now, his partner: they could definitely tell you exactly how far J's spine bends.]

[Invisible comment]

[timesbureaucrat]

[Narvin will enjoy picking out the bits of truth from the masses of lies, rumours, and exaggerations. Or, maybe not enjoy--Scrad and Charlie aren't exactly his first and second choice in drinking partners--but he'll obsessively do it anyway because gathering intel is important.]

[Invisible comment]

[twoheadsofcabbage]

[This is a thing the three of you can agree on: intel is important. Because other beings will pay for it.]

[strangehistorian]

Ah! You'll need the infirmary, just a moment.

[can_has_vodka]

What's the trouble, Chromie love--oooo. I see. Hullo! What's the room number?

[twoheadsofcabbage]

[A hand closes over the communicator. Once removed, it is being held at different angle and giving a close up of the same face. Only this time the face is conscious, and this face has a broken nose.]

Nuh uh. No way. We've seen Fox's Alien Autopsies. They cut right through that guy's zipper!

[Charlie is fairly certain you need your zipper to live.]

[strangehistorian]

Well, we aren't going to autopsy you - you're not dead! But you should get your face healed a little.

[can_has_vodka]

I'm fairly sure that Bones would kill me if I brought him a live person to autopsy anyway....

[twoheadsofcabbage]

[From off-screen, the same voice that has been speaking to you says:]

He'd kill her, he'd kill us.

[The head on screen nods curtly.]

What he said.

[can_has_vodka]

But...don't you want your wounds seen to?

[twoheadsofcabbage]

[The head snorts. And then winces, because: ow, broken nose. But they haven't seen the inside of a doctor's office for over ten years, so why start now? Only...]

Does feeling like you're gonna hurl count as a wound?

[The off-screen voice insists:]

That's me, not you.

[But same stomach, so.]

[can_has_vodka]

All right, compromise. Can I bring you an ice pack and a cuppa chamomile tea?

[twoheadsofcabbage]

[A quandary. On the one hand: free shit. On the other: wtf, chamomile tea. Scrad makes an executive decision and muscles his way on camera.]

We could do that.