Dear God My Aching concussion.

Having Devil go over this as I write it. Need to make sure its cogent. Shes real good with uh... word stuff.

Things uh.... could have uh...uh ummm...the uh... could have gone better... right. Fuck. Sorry. Need a minute..

Blue lights are not your friend.




Okay. So like... uh.

She was screaming. Right.

"Nooo!"

So fucking loud. Bloody fucking murder. She was bolted down pretty good. Nails digging into the table's wood. Dug in so hard she had managed to rip a few of them off... probably still embedded into the table. Rabid thing.

Couldn't flail but my god if she could. Be kicking and flopping all over the place. Right up the wall maybe. Like some Freddy Crouger shit. Fucking... Christmas sweater shit.

"Shhhh," I whispered. Shushed. Calmed. Soothed. Didn't work. Kept trying to squirm.

Helrick... think he had to look away. The way she had ripped open her own finger tips, uh scratching at the table... got to him. 

I was stroking her hair. Sooooooothing. Think at some point between the screaming I remember her tilting her head up as high as she could manage to try to bite my fingers.

Rabid thing.

"Right..." I said when she wouldn't sooth. "Lets just get started then."

Whisper stood up and moved over to her. Leaned in close. Pushed her face head against the table so he could get at her ear without him biting her and shit. 
At this point Helrick and Ivan had to leave the room. I can resist whisper's voice but... nerds can't. Needed to be out of ear shot. Made them meander down the hall... tweedle thumbs.

Picasso's fighting got more desperate. More panicked. "NO! NO! NO! NO! N-"
And then suddenly she stopped.

"Stop it."

Was all he said. That simple. He says it. It gets done. No if and or buts. If you aren't immune... gonna swoon for Whisper woon.

Woooon.

Heh.

"How do are we gonna do it this time?"

"We need to nip this whole insanity spiral in the butt. Push her away from his whole line of thinking. Make her stop chasing Duckie. Push this... abomination down. Pull Patricia back up. Force Picasso way way down. Make like... like new. Like when she first arrived."

"Impossible. We already know through extensive trials there is no way to make her stop screaming at random when she talks."

"Well, you know. Besides that. I don't know that we can remove her... quirks. There are always going to be ghosts of past efforts. Scars mapping tragedies across her mind. But I think we can bring back that core behavior pattern. Make her behavior like Patricia on an internal level. And that'll carry on into everything she does... theoretically."

"Well, Lord Albino, where would I even start with that?"

"Lets take her back to the night her brother died. This is all supposed to be for him. Revenge against Duckie for accidentally running her brother through with his own sword. The documented report says she spent hours trying to talk to his corpse when it happened. Wouldn't leave his side. I think its high time she had a talk with her 'Bother'. I'm thinking it would be easiest to set her straight working off of that moment."

As we talked Picasso slowly got louder. Slowly started again. It started soft and it slowly grew.

"no... no.... noo..... No....Noo.... Nooooo.... NOOO..... NOOOOOOO!"

"Yes," I told her. I could feel my grin. I was getting no small amount of satisfaction from her suffering. I getting a big amount. For all the trouble she had caused these last two years... felt good to see her back on the beating end of the stick.

Whisper pulled out the file we had and started discribing the night to her. Describe the incident. Put her through it. Put her back in there. Pushed her back into the moment. Make her live inside the memory. Made it her world once more. Made her world back into the moment when the universe came crashing down on her.

Pushed her back into the start of the nightmare. Source of the suffering...

She was begging...

"No... common... open your eyes... this isn't funny Feral... you're gonna be okay... just... just wake up... Feral... I need you... I NEED you... I SAID wake UP... WAKE THE FUCK UP TRENT... CAN YOU HEAR ME?! WAKE THE FUCK UP YOU USELESS PIECE OF SHIT. YOU PROMISED! MAKE GOOD ON IT OR I WON'T FORGIVE YOU!"

I could see her hands jerking. Clenching onto something that wasn't there and thrusting them forward.

According to the report, Feral A.K.A Trent, Picasso's brother died of a fatal sword impalement... but he was found with a crushed skull. The way shes trying to thrust her hands forward. The shape her hands are trying to grasp... I think she crushed her brother's skull... screaming at him to wake up...

I motioned at whisper. If he wasn't dead before, her crushing his skull would make him very dead. Whisper needed to step in now before the situation became too surreal to stick. If that happened all this little incident would serve to do is traumatize her further.

Had to act... had to... Fucking ow... more... ibuprofen... morphine.... scotch...

scotch scotch scotch... scotchy scotch scotch... good ice cream...

hahaha... free market... brought to you by scotch!

[He went on to write a whole paragraph that went on like that before he went back to the tape recorder and replayed the next instance of dialogue before turning back to me to try to give it context through slurred broken speech]

"This is Trent Picasso. This voice is Trent's voice. When you hear me its him. I'm him. I'm alive... god this hurts... stop hurting me..."

"Tr-Trent...? A-Are r-... ommaggoiwwassosskeeeeaaarrriiid!" she cried out as she broke into tears. She was sobbing. Sniffling. Snorting to try to keep her nose from running. "I thought I lost YOU..."

I could see from her tense grasp and posture... think in her head... hugging him. Hugging whisper... mental to herself... so tight she would have hurt an injured person.

"P-Picasso!" he cried out in pain, miming the motion of pushing her off of him. "Ca-Calm down... hurting me," he said miming another motion like he was nursing a wound around his chest.

"Oh god! I'm sorry!" she declares. Her body shifted against he restraints, like she had just shifted away in her head. So I assumed.

"Picasso... Patricia sweety... I uh..." bstarted whisper before he randomly broke out coughing, putting his hand infront of his mouth and then looking in disguest and agony as if he had just coughed up a whole bunch of blood, "... Think I'm about to break that promise..." When he said that her eyes went wide.  "Pretty sure... I'm not gonna make it."

When he said that... she started begging again... pleading... such pain... given what she wanted... slipping away from her again...

"No! Y-You can pull through this! Don't speak like that. Don't you FUCKING give up on me. I F-"

Whisper grabbed Picasso's shoulder with one hand to shut her up. Stop her. Settle her down with an authoritative gesture from what is likely the only authority she has ever respected.

We had her right where we wanted her.

'Should we make her believe Trent never died?' he wrote off to the side with his other hand.

'No. We don't need her questioning where he is when she wakes up. Asking why he never visits. Make him make her promise to forgive and help Duckie. Hes sick and needs help, not to be put down. Make him send her to meet me. Have him tell her to listen to me. Have him tell her I'm someone she can trust. If she trusts me, forgives Duckie, and has this closure with her Brother, I think she'll be manageable again.'

Should have worked... should have...

[And then he fell out of his chair and passed out on the floor. Hit the ground pretty hard. Hes real fucking lucky he lives in a loop and was injured in a loop or I'm pretty sure this would have killed him. Spoilers. Hes better now. But after we spent all that time coxing explanations out of him when he was really out of it, it felt like a waste to just throw it all out and let him explain it again with a clearer head. So this is what we got before he got more cogent again. I'm sure he'll post the rest when hes done fuming over this.

Dictated but not read by Fracture,
Heavily edited by yours truly,
Devil Out]