Chapter Text
( The script is written jerkily, with a light grip and an attempt at flourish. Every so often, the grip tightens [AS SUCH] to the degree that the paper is nearly ripped through. There, all attempt at style is lost, and resembles true chickenscratch.)
Hello,
My name is Arthur Lester (AND JOHN). My friend, John, and I have taken to listening to your radio programme in the evenings. It’s been quite helpful in orienting us to this new world we find ourselves in. Even so, I must confess some nervousness in writing to you. Please excuse any errors in transcription, as I am functionally blind and asking John to transcribe for me.
Our predicament may be unusual, even by creatures-of-the-night standards. While my friend (
ME)
prefers the particulars of his situation to stay private, suffice to say that he is a small fragment of a much larger, immensely powerful deity. Through events frankly too uninteresting to describe (
THEY WERE ALSO BAD)
, he inserted himself into my head. We share a mind, and to a lesser extent, a body. John acts as my eyes; beyond that, he also has some limited control of a hand and some toes -
yes John we are going to mention the toes fine fine fine I’ll carry on –
We aren’t writing for advice on how to separate us. For the time being, it seems that my various injuries and a general lack of knowledge on our parts preclude us from leaving one another. That’s alright. Well, I shan’t speak for him ( HE NEEDS ME HERE) , but he’s been in my head for so long that I don’t find it as troubling as it once did. Besides, and no offense, I doubt we’d be writing into a radio service if we needed help on demonic separation ( HE CAN BE RUDE).
Instead, I believe we’re asking for advice on … ( HE’S PAUSING FOR A VERY LONG TIME. SORRY.) Conflict resolution.
(WE DON’T NEED THIS. WE’RE FINE. IGNORE THIS LETTER.)
We share a mind, and we’ve both been through a lot together. John is my friend. Without him, I’d be dead a thousand times over. Still, when we get into arguments, it can be hard to … to de-escalate matters. It scarcely helps that, up until recently, we were constantly thrown into situations where our lives were at risk. It would have been better for us, more strategic, had we not constantly been at one another’s throats.
And yet, there we were.
We’ve both hurt one another, you see. Very badly. No doubt that if we had been in two separate bodies, we would have killed the other. We almost killed each other being in the same body. Saying this, I feel the need to emphasize that John’s presence in my life is a constant; even if we were to be separated, I can’t foresee us ever – (
FUCK THIS. THIS IS EMBARRASSING.)
John, what are you doing? Are you - are you scratching that out? What on Earth for?
We agreed to do this. No, I don’t care if you’ve ‘changed your mind’. You don’t know this person. They might offer useful advice! Are you … John, I can still hear the pencil scratching on the paper. You’re … you’re seriously transcribing every word I say? Oh, you – Stupid scoff. You can be such a fucking child sometimes.
(YOU WANTED ME TO WRITE DOWN WHAT YOU SAID. FUCK YOU. NOW I’M WRITING DOWN WHAT I SAY.)
Oh, yes, fuck me, what a familiar refrain. We have to say that we’re friends, at least. If I don’t remark on how I want you in my life, do you know what they’re going to say? They’re going to say ‘ oh, you two are clearly terrible for each other, find a way to separate immediately’.
(FINE. LET’S SEPARATE, THEN, IF YOU’RE THE ONLY PERSON THAT THINKS WE SHOULDN’T.)
That’s not what I meant and you know it, you frustrating little – Aggravated grunt. We can’t separate, you know that. It’s the same problem as it’s always been. The how. Now, if you want to separate so badly –
( I NEVER SAID I WANTED TO SEPARATE.)
You just said –
(I’M NOT A PERSON. WE’VE BEEN OVER THIS.)
You are impossible. You are absolutely impossible - you know, to hell with this, give me that pencil. ( NO.) It might be illegible, but at least I won’t be dealing with an unreliable narrator. ( JESUS CHRIST.) Fine, we’ve got more than one pencil in this bloody room. ( FUCK YOU –) Stop fucking scribbling and let me –
(YOUR SHOW IS GOOD. THANKS.)