twoheadsofcabbage | The One With The Two Heads: Video

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The One With The Two Heads: Video

[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!

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Hee hee hee! I'm not exactly human either. Hullo boys! [She has a large red chicken in her arms. It blinks sleepily at them.]

Oh.

[That's explains everything. ...Almost everything. Charlie blinks warily back at the bird.]

Nice chicken. ...What's with the chicken?

[Scrad in particular was looking forward to that ice. Chickens were not part of the deal.]

Oh, I...hello Bertina, why am I carrying you? This is Bertina, Pooer of Eggs. She's Bertie Rooster's wife.

[Bok.]

I'm sorry, just give me a moment.

[She disappears. Just like that, leaving one or two floating feathers behind.]

[Then she reappears with an ice pack and a cup of sweet smelling tea.]

Better?

[Good question. Is no chicken better than chicken? They both stare blankly at her. Around the room, various piles of magazines and DVD's threaten to turn into avalanches. The walls look content to remain upright, but they are vomit green so standing doesn't count for much. Scrad resolves his stare into words.]

Who're you, exactly? Is this hazing?

Arkady. I'm a FreakAngel. We're from Earth but we're a bit different from humans. I deliver things--hurt people to the Infirmary, drunk people home from the pub, supplies everywhere...like that. [She offers the ice pack.]

[Scrad grabs it and presses it gratefully against his head, as Charlie asks:]

Are you in for somethin'?

[Possibly assault with an unexpected chicken?]

Me? Oh no, I work here. Run the pub. Look after people. The chamomile helps with hangovers too.

[Charlie opens his mouth to point out that: prison: you guys are doing it wrong, but Scrad slaps a hand over his other face's face before he has the chance to. If they wanna run their prison like a hotel, that's their business. Fake smile!]

That sounds. Great. We'll...get one ASAP.

[She offers the mug, which has two straws sticking out of it.] Here you are. This should settle your stomach.

I don't blame you being cautious. But please let me check your pupils before I go, and make sure you can walk a straight line.

[Scrad takes the mug. Charlie eyes it dubiously. They still need to procure said hangover first.]

Walk a straight line.

[Clearly Charlie thinks this may be asking too much of Scrad.]

Can't have you drinking anything stronger if one of your heads is injured and your belly's unsettled. I love drinking with people but I don't want to do more harm than good!

[Charlie slithers past Scrad's shoulder.]

Look lady: we're kinda space terrorists? We can drink through anything.

[Scrad nods distractedly, because his head is still pounding.]

Space terrorists. Oooo. That sounds rather scary. But I'm a bit worried about your partner here. [She addresses Scrad, ducking her head to peer into his eyes.] Right, your eyes are even at least. Are you sure?

[Scrad gingerly touches the area around his eyes. Neither of them seems to have wandered at all. He asks:]

Are we sure about what?

[She's lost both of them somewhere.]

Applying alcohol to the current problem!

Oh, yeah. We're always sure about that.

[Charlie adds.]

Two please!

[They don't like to share, even if it does end up in the same place.]

Right then! Do you have preferences? I'll pop down to the pub and get you each something.

[Four eyes eye her. Scrad leans forward.]

What would we have to do for you?

[She grows serious.] I'm into relationship building. Back and forth. A favor here, a favor there, gradual earning of trust, maybe some business...my agenda is mutual survival. You never know when someone might have a skill or a resource available to help with that. And things can get very difficult around here.

[The four eyes eyeing her narrow. A favor here, a favor there: that makes sense. Mutual survival, business: those they can definitely do. But trust? It's not a foreign concept exactly, but they're not sure what it's got to do with anything. They may be a shining exception to the theory that two heads are better than one, but even they have never been stupid enough to put their trust in anyone. Still, their expressions resolve into something approaching innocence. Or naivety. Or open stupidity.]

Sure, sure. We can hang with that.

[Charlie adds:]

No problem-o.

All right. What are you drinking, then?

[In unison:]

Beer.

Oh that's an easy one! I bet you've never had dwarven ale either!

[She disappears, and is gone for perhaps a minute while she pulls a couple of pints. What she comes back with is nut-brown, with foam you could float a fork on.]

[They've had alcohol on a lot of different planets, and while Earth's beer may not be 'the best', there's something comforting about its lack of pretension. Also it can be had for extremely cheap.

Scrad lets the ice pack fall to the floor. From the state of their cabin's floor, this is a somewhat common occurrence. Charlie licks his lips.]

Beauty.

[Grabby hands at!]

Here you are, boys. [One for each fist! Yay.] We had dwarves aboard, and stocked it for them. But then I tasted it and now we have it all the time.

The One With The Two Heads: Video

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