Friendship is Magic

Cricket

All the instances of Cellblock were turning into one big blur, really, so it was hard to give an answer of when even if I'd wanted to. I'd been there sometime. I simply shrugged.

"Though, ah . . . once again, there's th' whole 'getting killed' thing t' worry about. I don't want t' start up any more trouble than there a'ready is." I was a tad bit surprised he might be willing to go at all. Or that he might be at all serious about the politics after all.

"Terrorists and blocking things that never happened on Youtube . . ." I could have sworn that sounded a tad bit familiar from somewhere. Aye, with the being tied up and the knives and the cameras and . . . I couldn't remember an ending to that, actually. That was odd. Either it was some odd dream or it hadn't been finished. That was an odd thing, to have a memory simply . . . stop. It wasn't that I was avoiding it, it was that it simply wasn't there. "Ah, if you want. We can go on or go in, either way."

Mr.Face:

"I have no qualms against packing a bag full of ammunition. Theoretically that would be sufficient to keep anyone of pertinence from being too badly manhandled." I replied. Though again, it all came down to the "moderation" part of it. I didn't want to have to deal with... figuring out swimming or anything. Not going to happen.

I pulled the door open. There was a man behind a customer service desk, and a shrinebox, playing one of five or so government approved channels stuck to the wall. "Good evening. Just checking in. Anything of note going on?" I asked the worker.

"We had two people who live next door to each other come in and claim that the Anon burned down their house. Well, one of their houses and the other ended up losing their third floor because the fire wouldn't contain itself." He reported succinctly.

"...And, was it us and one of them was an idiot?" I inquired.

"...I'm still waiting on that from tax records, sir. Told them to come back in three to six weeks after their inquiry was processed."

"Good." I replied. "See, My--- See, Cricket? Not terribly busy here." I stated, turning back towards the door out.

Cricket

"That's always th' answer from you, one way or another. Shoot them or pay them."

I listened from just outside the doorway. I wasn't too surprised to hear about burning houses, or that the burning houses were apparently nothing of importance. . . . But honestly! Terrorists. What happened there? It kept prodding at my mind. Did that actually happen, or was I crazy? ". . . I 'ave this uncanny vivid feeling that I might met one a band o' them . . . I think. Not them in th' room, but th' people who don't exist." I waited until he was out of the room to say so, but I had to say something. Otherwise it would bug me forever.

Mr.Face:

"Did you really?" I asked, mildly curious. "How did that go? They're complete barbarians...from what I know of them." I stated. We continued walking down the hall, which was acoustically exactly the same as every other hall in the place. It was the top floor of all things pertaining to tax records, however, and therfore simply known as 'tax records'. The most uninteresting part of the tax process. Basically this is where all the old records for dead people or people who...were probably also dead stayed. Just to prove something should the case arise.

"I guess the logical next place to go would be down this hall, to the tax records bureau...though if there was nothing to see in terrorism, there's really nothing to see in taxes... At least not in tax records... that's where the past fifteen years have been filed on disk, and where any pending alterations to---"

I was abruptly cut off right then and there from what seemed to be...Well... I was on the ground. Not... Not voluntarily on the ground...mind you, I seemed to have been forcefully knocked over by...Something.

I registered that however that had been done was actually quite painful, and that in normal circumstances, I would not be lying on my own limbs in that manner. At all. ...In fact the entire...situation...of my upper limbs seemed to imply that they had forcefully tried to fuse themselves to my ribcage, and failing that, had given up and tried to self destruct. ...You know, because that is the most useful mechanism of human anatomy. At any rate... It was uncomfortable on levels that... until now, I think I'd only ever inflicted upon other people. Well. This was... something.

Upon having figured out that that was going to be... an issue... I tried to set that whole... feeling thing aside for a moment to figure out... exactly WHAT had been responsible for this... sudden... misappropriation of the location of my limbs. Observation 1: There was quite a bit of screaming present now, that there hadn't been moments ago. Observation 2: I am spattered in gore. I did not cause this gore. Observation 3: There is a sizeable hole in the wall...or rather... a sizeable pile of rubbish on the...I don't know... is it even still a floor? And actually the rubbish was continuing to fall, technically...you could hear it. Planks cracking, bricks hitting things... fires... Observation 4: ...The government building was on fire. I'm tempted to deviate for a moment from my typical method of expression to simply state: OMGWTFBBQ. Now that that hideous colloquialism has been expelled from my system, I can continue observing... ...

Waitaminute. This... this right here. This, this had been a bombing. Hadn't it. This... there was no longer a sizeable portion of my building. Which... to be frank with you, I didn't think the peasants would even be capable of building. Some kind of... explosive device. ...It would explain the sudden force... the rubble... the...fire... all of it. We'd been bombed. We'd been bombed, and I had been right there. RIGHT THERE. I could be dead. I could still be dead. There had been a bomb, I had been well within blast radius, and some terrorist could be walking into this place with a gas mask on her head to put a .22 gun shell in my head. This... this was downright dangerous.

I was not the source of the danger.

This... this was not a good situation to be in.

My arms were continuing to...I don't even know, in protest to their current maltreatment. I decided that perhaps it would be prudent to... I don't know, alleviate their suffering by trying to rearrange myself so that perhaps I didn't have most of my weight on them.

...Something snapped.

I suppouse it would also be prudent to just lie here and hope that perhaps someone who worked for me wasn't deceased to come and sort out getting me off the ground. ...Especially since moving seemed to entail further wreaking havoc with my already probably...regrettably... unusable arms.

Cricket

"See, that's th' thing. I can't actually seem t' remember 'ow it went, or at least 'ow it ended." I really was wondering if I'd simply been dreaming. Or perhaps I'd simply been knocked out early on somehow. See, the thing about trying to forget so much is that every now and then, when you actually can't remember something at all, it makes you wonder if your tries to forget work a little too much. Like some eraser of the past. Or perhaps it would be better that way, not remembering. But see, the thing about not remembering and knowing there's something you really ought to remember is that it eats at you until you either remember it finally or forget it completely or die.

I trailed a bit behind him as he talked about how boring tax files were. No lie there. That was one area I wouldn't particularily mind skipping. Taxes . . . not quite my--

Bang. It hit me. Like a ton of bricks flying at a million miles an hour, knocking me backwards into a post-apocolyptic nightmare. I was pinned against something hard and I couldn't breathe. No, leaning against something. Curled against something. No. The hard thing had to be the ground and the thing forcing me against it was gravity.

What was happening. Hell, what the bloody hell was going on.

There was screaming and the sound of cracking and crashing all around. This wasn't supposed to happen, what was happening? I tried to fight gravity, forcing myself up through a blur of pain. What did I do? There was pain, so I had to have done something wrong. There was no other explanation, so what did I do? My head swam with muddled thoughts. There was someone whistling quickly nearby, the same phrase I was thinking. No, that was me. I shielded my face and opened my eyes--

And bit my tongue to swallow a cry. It was suddenly a wasteland of rubble and bits of flesh scattered around like trash, being devoured by fire, smoke rising into a gaping grey sky where a ceiling used to be. Why was there fire? Where was Mr. Face? What did I do? I couldn't remember.

There was a dark figure crumpled on the floor. That couldn't be Mr. Face because Mr. Face would never be crumpled on the floor.

. . . No. There was a bomb. That had to be it. There was a bomb, and Mr. Face was on the ground, and there was fire. It all had to make sense, but it couldn't. Mr. Face is never lying on the ground and there should never be fire. Ever. I had no idea what to do. This was all wrong. This didn't happen.

. . . See . . . it simply didn't happen.

I don't remember deciding to fight to run over there to see, but I did, and I dropped to my knees once I got there. Everything hurt, but that didn't quite matter. The feeling of my heart pounding right out of my chest sort of drowned it all out anyhow. "Mr. Face?" It was him, there was no denying it. He simply wasn't moving.

Mr.Face:

I am quite certain that I could have gone on for ages about how I was currently feeling and whatnot, when someone acknowledged my existence. ...How nice of them. It took me a minute to fully realise that that was actually what was happening, because I was currently rationalising as to why I would need to just tolerate the likely continuation of limb snapping in order to stand up. ...Standing...was over rated. For the moment.

...Ah. Right. ...The place was on fire, and I was being spoken to. That's where we were with things. So glad that I've still got at least a tenuous grasp on my mind. "Very good. Now... are you going to continue proving your lack of brain damage or... ...or..." I actually couldn't really believe that this question was actually going to come out of my mouth. I continued speaking practically to the floor, because I didn't much fancy hearing more bones cracking that actually belonged to me. "Or are you going to... help me." I find it terribly disconcerting that my voice betrayed my current physical state. How dare it imply anything of my pain. Pain was not something I did. It was something I handed out, certainly. But not something that I personally dealt with. The idea that that could have been so easily picked up on my voice was utterly repulsive.

...However, now was hardly a time for any kind of detailed introspection as to the philosophical nature of pain. Now was a time for getting up, and getting to the office... to figure things out there, where it wouldn't be nearly as shrapnel laden. ...This required actually standing, and after my preliminary analysis of my own limbs, I couldn't manage the plan on my own.

Cricket

And . . . he remained frozen. The last loose bits of rubble kept collapsing, flames kept burning, and he just laid there. Was he breathing? I couldn't tell. You know it's a bad situation when even the seemingly-indestructable villian of the story looks dead, and it's not because the good guys won. Add to that equation the wafting heat of flames that don't appear to be leaving any time soon, and running looks aweful tempting. It seemed idiotic not to. I'd wished him dead a few times, hadn't I?

For better or for worse, I can sometimes be an idiot. "Mr. Face," I repeated, more ugently this time. I had half a mind to shake his shoulder but didn't want to actually touch him. It looked like he'd landed badly on his arms, anyhow.

He finally answered. His voice . . . wasn't what I'd expected. Or his words, for that matter. I couldn't picture him outright asking for help. Demanding? . . . Possibly. Though not ever in those exact words, 'help me'. "A-a'right, ah . . . oi my my you can't push yourself up at all?"

. . . I would wonder over all the reasons this was a bizarre and confusing situation later, after there was no gore spatter or missing walls or pain or fire to worry about.

But honestly, help him, help him how? Getting his face off the floor might be a good place to start. But I might somehow hurt him and-- whatever! He'd hurt me before.

Stop thinking. Start acting.

"Brace yourself possibly, mate." I bit my lip and tugged on a shoulder, turning him upright as best I could. The whole situation felt turned upside down and unreal.

Stop thinking.

Mr.Face:

"No I can't pull myself up. Don't you think that I would have tried that before asking you--" I may have actually just been carrying on with that series of insults to keep from thinking about the pain. I was cut off by Cricket, apparently, who was telling me to brace myself for--

Internet. Expletives. Expletives... It appears that I may actually need a bigger lexicon there. Fortunately, the sudden... intensification of pain... seemed to have brought about the freedom of my arms. Unfortunately, that was currently doing little to actually...relieve any of the pain as I had anticipated that it would. And it seemed to have propagated another set of puncture wounds to my tongue. The bones were broken, at the very least, I was quickly deciding. Perhaps a few ribs out of place as well... though I could be less certain there.

...It appeared that pain and I were currently having an interesting relationship, where I was experiencing it, fully aware of both the severity of the situation and the bizarre shift of roles at play. I was never IN pain. I was the cause of it. ...And while I could tell you now first hand that it was horribly uncomfortable, I wasn't terribly... upset about it. The pain at least. Everything else... very much so. The situation that caused it, indubitably. The fire, the building expenses, the... attempt on my LIFE... Furious. But the pain...? As intolerably uncomfortable as it was, I was also fascinated by it. So this was what it felt like. Plus or minus acid...arguably. Interesting. I filed that away for more things to contemplate later.

At this moment in time, I simply had to focus on the fact that I should perhaps be sitting instead of lying on the rubble ridden floor, and perhaps quickly turn that from sitting to standing. ...That would involve fighting against gravity and peeling my shoulders off the ground wouldn't it.

...Great. I have a ceaseless well of enthusiasm for such masochistic practices. Downright upbeat, I was. Positively brimming with excitement. However, I realised that I had a protagonist right there, and concluding that it would be best to sit here and do nothing would just make me look bad. ...And I could not tolerate that. Looking diabolical? Yes. Well dressed? Certainly. ...But incapable of getting off the ground properly after a bomb? Never.

I went ahead and tried curling myself into a sitting position. "...Expletives. All of them. All the expletives." I ended up asserting in something that seemed to be that pained tone from earlier, though laced with blood now... a response to the considerable aggravation that I was causing in my arms and ribs at my movement. Perhaps I should have given them three to five days advance notice prior to just doing that. ...It mattered little to me, as I was roughly sitting now. ...Ish.

"...This...was unanticipated..." I muttered to Cricket, more out of lack of anything else coherent to say that didn't involve somehow lowering myself continuously by asking for help. I was also pointedly trying to refrain from actually mentioning anything about the pain, because that certainly would bring up a conversation about some kind of emotional response or something, and really... This wasn't the time for discussing other people. This was a time for getting into my office, barring the door, grabbing several rifles, and waiting for the all clear from the OS.

Cricket

What a word to sum all of this up. Unanticipated. No shit it was unanticipated. It was downright bizarre. I had no clue whatsoever what to stare at in astonishment: the nightmare of used-to-be-hallway just ahead, or him. Mr. Face and 'pain' tend not to go together in this fashion. That, and it's not very often that I have to look down to look at him. Therefore, in response to the 'unanticipated' comment, I only managed a small nod and a small sound. "...uh-huh..."

He still wasn't standing and the building was still burning. This was a problem. Because as long as he wasn't sitting there in pain I felt oddly obligated to stand there in the middle of it all despite every thought in ever corner and nook of my mind screaming at me with considerable persuasion that I truly ought to leave before something worse happens that might possibly, say, somehow kill us both in some tragic and uncanny manner. ". . . Ah . . . I know you seem t' be 'aving trouble standing and all but there 'appens t' be a fire and with that in mind I'd say you 'ave th' choice o' sitting 'ere trying t' small talk or letting me try t' 'elp you, which I assure you, both involve pain, but one involves getting away from whatever potentially disasterous events might 'appen next at this particular site. So without further ado, and I can't quite believe I'm saying this, but ah . . . any way I can 'elp you? Further?"

Mr.Face:

...Having it all placed neatly in perspective like that was actually very useful. Honestly. I was being completely stupid, thinking that I could just have this all magically sorted out like some kind of business contract with my body. It simply wasn't possible.

"...Well, currently, standing would be a vast improvement." I informed him in a facsimile of my usual tone. ...This pain nonsense... really was causing a huge decline in my ability to sound like the totalitarian authority of Auda. "The plan from there currently is remarkably simple: Get to the office. Barricade the door. " I explained further.

I briefly wondered what would be involved in getting into a standing position, because even this was uncomfortable. ...If anything else cracked in the way that whatever bone that had been earlier had cracked... I didn't quite know what I would do with myself. I figured that I was quite a mess. The suit would probably not be salvageable, what with Mr.Namechov's blood on the sleeves, mine dripping from my mouth onto the collar... and whatever damage had been done to the suit during the explosion, not to mention any further damage afforded by whatever was going on with my limbs.

I preferred not to think about those limbs at the moment, honestly. Better to think about that all once we were safely barricaded away and armed to the teeth.

Cricket

Alright then. This was a small bit of a problem, trying to figure out a way to help him up. Normally I would simply try to pull him to his feet by the wrists, but his arms and such seemed to be the thing bothering him. Perhaps ribs, too, based on how he was when I found him and how he was acting now. Now to do this. Alright. I ran a hand though my hair. "Oi my my, ah . . . your 'ands look terrible so I'm going t' assume I can't simply pull you up by th' wrists or anything. Or arms. Ah . . . back a'right?" I stepped behind him after a moment of hurried contemplation. "You're going t' 'ave t' 'elp me 'ere by pushing up a bit with your legs after a bit. Let's see 'ow this goes, trying now." With a heave I pushed up and forward on his back.

Mr.Face:

Alright, the confirmation that my hands were some kind of abomination wasn't particularly necessary, due to the fact that I had decided not to think about them or their problems for the moment. ...I was briefly sent into a series of thoughts wondering exactly how badly off I was.

I will also admit that the leverage idea he was now applying actually had a bit of basis in physics...Which I hadn't been aware that he'd had a concrete working knowledge of. I may or may not have been putting thoughts like these at the front of my head to prevent thoughts about to what extent I'd been damaged. I utilised the force against my back to get my legs underneath me, which was good...except for the fact that equilibrium was petulantly refraining from restoring itself, so my stability in this awkward semi-standing, semi-leaning on Cricket position was minimal at best. I figured that the equilibrium would even out after a bit, because I didn't, to my knowledge sustain any notable head trauma from the blast. It was probably just shock.

"...Once I'm actually completely standing, don't go anywhere." I requested. "I seem to be having difficulty with euclidean space, and it ought to clear up... I think..." I informed him, as an explanation. Alright, trying to stand and breathe at the same time was also somewhat taxing, though I wasn't about to say anything in that regard. Again, If I could get back to the office without saying a thing about my discomfort... Things would be good.

Cricket

I had to wonder how much he actually weighed compared to me. It took a bit of effort to push him up enough so he could support most of his own weight, but after a moment or two of holding my breathe and shoving, it actually worked. "There." I held my position, though, as he said. "Dizzy?"

Mr.Face:

And finally, the objective of standing had been achieved. The objective of: Getting the floor to stop gently undulating right now was next on the list, running parallel with: Get to office. "Thoroughly, though... it seems to be dwindling... kind of." I replied, continuing to lean just slightly as the world slowly worked its way back into some modicum of focus.

"...Right. So. To the office." I stated finally, still frustratingly lacking any definitive tone of command... more one of: I am really asking you for five aspirin. Only refraining from using the word "aspirin" and the phrase "surrender to me immediately under order of law".

I tentatively tried to relocate my arms to a less ludicrous position- I hadn't moved them from their preposterous arrangement in front of me. The immediate result of that attempt was a fair bit of shooting pain, as if to punish me for trying not to look like a complete idiot. I left them where they were for the moment and tried the whole 'walking' thing.

...I promptly stopped trying to walk. That... that was unstable. I didn't understand what incited the whole: You are injured and therefore shaking phenomena, but whoever created human biology was an imbecile and should be sued for malpractice. I did not need to be so unstable at this particular moment in time. I needed to be able to move my arms like someone who had not just achieved a Darwin award for concrete swimming, and I needed to be able to move with some speed. To my office.

Cricket

I kept a hand near his back to occasionally pull or push him back to center. "Careful, you're swaying like a branch. And if you topple over again I'd be quite tempted t' simply leave you 'ere," I said, glancing over my shoulder at the still-burning mess. . . . Igh. "Igh, ah . . . On second thought, is there a way t' be careful and move it along a bit faster per'aps all at once?"

Mr.Face:

"I can attempt an actual constant velocity of... more than zero, however I don't know if I can promise maximum stability that way..." I stated. "And if you leave me here I will find a way to..." I paused a moment to try and sort out an apt threat. This actually was taking a bit more work than usual. They normally just rolled off the tongue. However, my tongue was currently quite filled with holes, so the probability of anything rolling off of it without hitting a few potholes was inevitable. "To... do something suitably threatening once I am able to feasibly move." I finished finally. "Basically insert your worst nightmare there, and you've got it." I added.

...I shouldn't have been talking and trying to breathe and trying to walk at the same time. It just... wasn't working. Air needed to come in and out of my mouth, to be absorbed by my lungs to be used so that I could walk without becoming oxygen starved. Talking impeded my ability to breathe. "I am going to shut up and walk now." I informed him, and then proceeded to do so, Carefully. Very carefully. Trying not to move my arms at all, or let them get jostled by my occasional uneven footing caused by either debris or my current dwindling episode of vertigo.

Cricket

"Sounds like a plan." We were still moving quite slow. Painfully slow. It was like being weighted down by some invisible ball and chain, walking him down the hall. I couldn't complain, really. Except that the building was on fire. ". . . And I didn't say I would most definately leave you 'ere, I said it would be tempting."

Mr.Face:

After a ridiculous amount of time, by which on any normal day I could have probably gotten to the cellblocks, to my kitchen and back to the office already, we finally arrived at the office. That was fantastic, although the doorknob was downright inaccessible to me at this point in time. Lovely.

"...Cricket... If you could open the door, I can get the OS not to release neuro-toxins upon realising that I'm not the one using the door knob." I stated.

This whole pain thing, I was realising, wasn't a constant. It wasn't simply: And now your relative pain rating on a scale from one to gory pile of flesh is X. No. It fluctuated slightly depending on variables. Were you moving? Were you moving the problematic areas? Were the problematic areas in any way altered or jostled by the movement? Were you breathing too hard? Did something possibly catch your sleeve? Perhaps you were imagining that. Any of those things could alter the whole relative pain index number. Perhaps even more things should have been included on that list. I wasn't quite certain.

Cricket

Oh bother. I'd miraculously gotten out of this one without getting hurt for once -- too much, at least -- so I would be a small bit upset if neuro-toxins happened after all of that. But on the other hand . . . "Well, it took a dinner, piano session, Silent 'ill, who-knows-how-many chatbox discussions and a bomb, but you finally got my name right. Good work, I suppose." I turned the handle a swung the door open.

Mr.Face:

I ignored his comment for the moment, because of the more pressing matter of manually overriding my own security system. "Good evening OS, if you could just override protocol nine for me, that would be lovely." I requested.

"But sir-- Your hand print wasn't--" She immediately started. I do believe that this is a scripted failsafe.

"The other hand on the door was Cricket, you remember I introduced the two of you? He's assisting me with something, with regards to the recent bombing. So, if you could kindly look at the emergency override for protocol nine, you will realise that this is all perfectly fine, and that nothing at this point in time is in need of being terminated. I'm here, after all." I explained. This was getting very irritating to do with my current melange of injuries, but clearly, manually overriding the neuro-toxins was kind of important.

"...Having recalibrated to account for statistical improbabilities and a positive voice match, I can reasonably override protocol nine. Sir." She finally conceded.

"Fantastic, thank you. " I replied.

Alright. So we'd achieved goal one, which was: get to office. Now what. This question for once was not as a result of my lack of knowledge of what to do, but my lack of knowledge on where to even START. Probably office security would be best for the moment, and then personal health... and then building wide management...? I'd need to have a staff meeting for sure. But that couldn't happen until I could actually... have my arms in a position that A- wasn't excruciating, and B- didn't make me look like an idiot.

"OS, if you would please activate any and all security protocols that will prevent anyone from getting into the office." I requested. "And Cricket... if you could see if it is within your capacity to shove my desk against the door to work as a barricade." I added.

...I quite wanted to sit down. I was currently ignoring quite a bit of pain... to keep everything running, but I quite honestly know how long I would be able to maintain the façade. I was basically running myself into the ground, I think. This... this was not good.

Cricket

"You want me t' try and push that? No joke?" Well, I was the only person in the room currently with working arms. But honestly, they don't work that well. Also, I had to wonder . . . if I barricaded us in, when would I be allowed out again? Then again, it'd been sort of an unspoken agreement that I'd stay until midnight or so anyhow, because of the suit. "Well . . . a'right. I suppose." I sauntered around to the side I'd be pushing from, trying to find the best spot to throw my weight against.

I backed up as far as I could, staring at the desk like I was staring down an enemy. Here goes nothing. I darted and threw every ounce of force I could muster against the gigantic wooden thing which so dared to stand still, a smirk breaking my determined expression after it lurched further than I'd expected. After that it was only a matter of digging my feet into the ground and keeping up the persistance. Occasionally running at it again when it started . . . well, not budging for anything.

It took a while. But it got there. I leaned against it and caught my breath, trying not to whistle some quick phrase. "Oi my my . . . you're welcome."

Mr.Face:

After several minutes of waiting while I heard the thing being forced across the room, it was finally in place. Most likely keeping us safe. ...Or at the very least keeping us from being out there, where unpleasant political dissidents were most likely waiting to receive my head on a platter.

"Yes, thank you." I replied when he informed me that I was welcome. What, had he assumed that that had been a thankless action? I mean, granted, I don't know that I would have remembered to thank him for it right now, due to... other pressing circumstances, but still. Had this been any other day and any other situation it probably would have been one of the first things out of my mouth.

Now that we were relatively safe for the time being, I suppoused that I ought to perhaps acknowledge the mess I was currently in anatomically... and see what could be done to get that all sorted out. ...Because that sounded like a lovely thing to do.

The obvious problem with that of course was that I lacked the capacity to actually do anything on my own at the moment, so even if I wanted to risk stabbing my tongue a few more times to slide my bones back to their usual location manually, I couldn't do so, because of the very bones I sought to force into anatomical compliance. This lead to the deduction on my part that I ought to perhaps ask for help again, as much as I was loathe to do so. It wasn't a matter of having someone around that I trusted... so much as that I trusted no one, and was so secure in my utter independence from everyone else, that I felt as though I would be denigrating myself and my position by actually asking at all. Though of course, nothing would get done and clearly they'd heal like this if I didn't do...something.

...I could most definitely just try to move them again, and hope that that worked, despite the likelihood of it causing more cracking. More cracking either meant that I was shattering things more, or that things were sliding back into place, I figured. Though really, anything about healing that I knew was sheer extrapolation on my part. I didn't do repair. It wasn't my specialty.

"Alright. I am about to try something. Don't be alarmed. ...I think." I informed Cricket after a moment and then tried to bring one of my arms down by my side, where it was generally suppoused to be while standing.

...This accomplished excruciating pain, several loud cracking noises, and another wave of vertigo. I collapsed in what I hoped was a bit of a dignified manner after that fail of an attempt to repair myself. To my distaste my breathing was being hideously irregular after that, and nothing much had actually succeeded in moving itself, from what I could tell. Expletives.

Cricket

All I could really think to do while he attempted that was try not to stare or make a face at the cracking. Which I ended up doing anyway. Both were hidden a bit behind my hair, but staring a wincing nonetheless. It was only that I still wasn't quite used to the idea of him being hurt at all. It simply didn't happen. Aye, I spent quite a few rants at him trying to remind him that he was still mortal just like any other person, but I suppose it didn't quite register in my own mind either.

I bit my lip so not to whistle something, and cleared my throat. "That went well, if you were trying t' break yourself more . . . which it seems you might 'ave t' do any'ow t' get 'em in a spot t' 'eal th' right way. I'm also not a doctor, so I can't say I can give too much advice without guessing."

Mr.Face:

Alright. I was done with this. I was done with pain, the amusement had worn off and now it was just getting ridiculous. Doctor indeed. "I was trying to fix it." I responded, completely irritated with the situation.

I paused for a moment, trying to figure out another way that I could get this all at least mildly sorted out without him. Under control. Managed effectively. There had to be something... something I wasn't noticing...something, anything, that I could sort out how to do by myself, and make it all fine again. I needed to secure the building. I needed to have a staff meeting. And a press conference. And NONE of that could get done while I was like this.

At the end of my allotted period of contemplation I was slightly horrified to find that I, in reality only had one other option... and that was to request assistance from Cricket, who'd just admitted himself that he had little experience in how to deal with this properly. ...Though admittedly, he was probably better than most Audian Medical Technicians. "If we do a thorough search of Wikipedia on the theory behind fixing this...Would it be at all possible to get you to assist with... with... fixing... all of..." I paused and figured that any other man in the world would have made some kind of hand gesture. "This?"

There. I'd said it. I'd asked for help again. ...Second time this evening. I needed help. ...This was ridiculous. What was I? Some... stupid useless peasant? Ugh.

Cricket

"...Y'know...every time you ask for my 'elp you start ellipsing like T.Mor," I thought out loud. "But aye, I can try."