[ Well, folks, September must be "Elan Ceres (plural) suffers from no good very bad cravings" month, because the original can't fucking take it anymore. He is this 🤏 close to shoving his phone in an industrial blender and turning it into a protein shake. Something's gotta give, and it's not going to be his own Syntrofos.
-- So, totally ignorant of the fact his clones have cannibalized each other, Elan texts Four. ]
Come to my room. I need to see you.
[ And, like, it's not even a lie; Elan hasn't spent any time with Four since their little heart-to-heart at Patho-Gen headquarters when they imprinted. Turns out that yearning for someone's company is a new -- and distinctly uncomfortable! -- sensation for him. ]
[Unfortunately, Four can't come to the phone right now as he's currently deceased. The messages will go conspicuously unread for at least several days.]
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forward-dated (!) to the end of september
-- So, totally ignorant of the fact his clones have cannibalized each other, Elan texts Four. ]
Come to my room.
I need to see you.
[ And, like, it's not even a lie; Elan hasn't spent any time with Four since their little heart-to-heart at Patho-Gen headquarters when they imprinted. Turns out that yearning for someone's company is a new -- and distinctly uncomfortable! -- sensation for him. ]
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