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

[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.]

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

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

[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.

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

[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.]

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

[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.

All right. The tea should settle your stomach. Though you're not human so perhaps it will get you stoned right off your rump. Hee!

I'll come down and pick you up. Where are you?

Nice try, but we've lived on Earth long enough to know that that takes more than tea. Charlie, what was the room number?

[Charlie snickers behind Scrad's shoulder.]

Scrad, she said rump.

[When Scrad doesn't seem amused, even though 'rump' is a hilarious word, Charlie sighs and reports.]

Four-twelve.

All right, I'll be right down. *KSHT*

[There is a knock at the door, and a cheery voice calling from the other side.] Hullo! Can you stand?

[They can, in fact, even if Scrad isn't completely steady on their feet. The door opens a crack, and four pairs of eyes peer out.]

How'd you get here so fast?

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.]

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