"Welcome, welcome."

"Welcome, welcome."

Hand him the apology card.

You reach out to wave the apology card in front of him. He smiles politely and takes it.

"Ah." He scans the card, smile returning to his eyes. "Thank you. I accept. Of course. Friends."

"Ah... thank you."

He scans the apology card, face falling.

Perhaps you were overzealous?

"I... see... Thank you."

"You're welcome."

He glances up at Eszti before folding the card out of sight.

Bet it's the fucking grammage.

"Best friends?"

"It's fine, you hate it."

"What did you sign to him?" (To Eszti.)

"I reminded him about your head injury."

"What head injury?"

"Your severe brain damage that made you behave so appallingly in my kitchenette, of course."

"I do not appreciate being forced to lie to him, Hershel."

She meant that. Delusional.

Maybe little pale lies draw her attention to the pitch black one at the core of this relationship.

"You know nothing of my sufferings."

"Nor do I care to. He believes that you have severe brain damage.

"Ah... my concussion. Which caused us to have a little fight in your kitchen." (Lie.)

"Exactly. But less concussion, more brain damage."

"Pascal, I don't have brain damage!"

His attention does not waver from the television set.

"He's deaf, Hershel. Deaf."

"Could be early-onset LASS. Have you taken him to Dr. Gonza?"

"Dr. Gonza is a half-boiled maniac who thinks every ailment is caused, in some way, by the existence of women."

"You don't think we're capable. Sad."

"You might be."

"Do you pound or not? Your husband's life could depend on it."

"What... are you talking about? You are obscene."

"We've caught it early, he's still moving. A quick handy could be all he needs."

"If you attempt to give my husband a handy I will load a syringe with something far worse than sodium pentathol."

"Ignoring a man's needs -- that's what's obscene."

"My husband is a perfectly happy man."

"Is it... you know... metal?" (Point to his crotch.)

"I am not answering that question and don't you dare attempt to find out. I'm watching."

"You protest too much, Eszti. I can tell. You're an animal."

"I have been known to go to town. But that's none of your business, Hershel."

"He is a little demented but sometimes crazies are right."

"If a crazy person were ever to be proven right then they would not be a crazy person, they would be a prophet. Where are the prophets, Hershel?"

"Why did he turn his doohickey off?"

"He finds the noise overwhelming, prefers quiet. Plus, you have nothing interesting to say."

(Louder.) "I don't have brain damage!"

Pascal remains engrossed in the TV set silently flickering into his face.

Let it go.

"That cup there... is it yours?" (Point to the cup.)

He follows your gaze to the collectible plastic cup, then switches on his implant.

"Aha, yes! Placid wolf. Very rare."

Extremely rare.

So he knows its value... shame.

"How did you get it?"

He lifts up a crossword puzzle magazine, appearing proud and apologetic at the same time.

"Won the puzzle. They do mail-ins."

"Big 66 Wolves fan?"

"Never watched. I just think the cup is fun."

"Nah... not rare at all. Maybe worth one sol." (Lie.)

"Ahahaha, no, no! Very rare."

"Any more puzzles? Bet I could do that."

"Ah, no. Well... yes. But the prize is a toaster now."

"May I have it?"

He smiles, but shakes his head.

Relieve the pensioner of his plastic propaganda.

Your asset has given you a cover, why not use it?

"I'm just a simple brain-damaged woman in need of a Placid Wolf..."

"Don't you dare."

Curious, he switches on his hearing device and turns to you.

"The head injury... it's very serious. I could die with an incomplete cup collection." (Point to your head.)

"Don't listen to her."

"Not all scars are visible."

"Oh... yes. You collect the cups..."

He frowns and glances forlornly at Placid Wolf.

"Yes. Take him. I hope your brain gets better."

"Eszti... I'm dying... it's like you said..."

Clutch your head and moan, plaintively.

"Please, Pascal. Have mercy."

Such a happy couple. Wonder what else she does with all that sodium thiopental?

"Quite a supply of medical equipment and sodium thiopental you had there Eszti."

"What are you getting at?"

"Just wondering if your lovely husband knows, is all."

"Is this... the cup? For the cup? You can't be serious."

"My collection is very serious."

"I detest every moment in your company."

She waves, then signs something to Pascal -- who nods sadly.

"I told him you were going to borrow it." She sighs. "Damn it, Hershel."

"Hand it over."

"Should I ask him to check the cupboard up there?"

You have an asset right there. A good operant knows when to delegate.

"Eszti, can you tell him to give me his cup?"

"No."

INSURBORDINATION.

He just wants to see you grovel.

"I'm begging you. Have mercy on me! I need that cup..."

He chuckles warmly at the TV. He can't hear you.

"For goodness' sake Hershel. Have some dignity."

"I will kill myself without that cup, man. And I'll do it in front of you. Then you'll wish you were blind as well."

"I will wang myself without that cup, man. And I'll do it in front of you. Then you'll wish you were blind as well."

Watch TV with him.

You sit in silence together a while, content in the TV's glare.

The TV is silent, playing what looks to be a documentary about dolphins and their trainers. Docile grey heads bob up and down from a large tank.

You're hit by a bolt of unconditional love for dolphins and their magical ways.

Noticing your attention, Pascal grins up at you and turns on his hearing device.

"Do you like dolphins?"

Spoken as if he's talking to a stranger's child.

"They have more friends than I do."

"Dolphin friends are called 'pods', you know that? A pod of dolphins."

If we were dolphins we'd be a Whole Sick Pöd.

"We're a pod, Pascal. You and me."

"Yes. We are a pod. That's nice."

He looks up at Eszti, who shrugs.

"Sorry about the whole 'augmentoid' thing by the way."

"Ah... that's okay. I thought it was very funny."

Dolphins frolic onscreen. Pascal crosses and uncrosses his arms.

The man is a vision of comfort and security. Remember that move for later.

"It was a dumb joke, I didn't really mean it."

"Don't mention it." A friendly smile.

So this is what it's like to have a pod. It's nice.

Dolphins nuzzle a pufferfish, tossing it back and forth between them as they swim.

Cross and uncross your arms, Pascal-style.

"Mm. Yes." He does the same.

You're in the affable demeanour big leagues now, Hershel.

"Ahem."

He looks to his wife, smiles.

"I'll let you two girls chat." He flicks off his hearing device again.

"It's good being back in Portofiro. I missed this place."

"Yes. Welcome back. It's very nice."

"These dolphins are all rapists. We should put chemical castrator in the water."

"Not very good for the environment, though?"

"Incredible how realistic these suits are."

"Oh, yes. I can see the zips now."

"We should find us a puffer to knock around, pod-friend."

"Mm, yes. That would be fun."

It's so nice having a friend.

"It was quasi-racist to hold against you. You are what you are."

"Yes. We all are."

A new baby dolphin is born. The water goes pink with blood.

"Were you programmed to marry Eszti, or...?"

"By fate, yes. I like to think so."

He smiles shyly as if this is a good thing.

Dolphins nuzzle a pufferfish, tossing it back and forth.

The pufferfish's default expression of rigid shock seems designed for this sport. Manus fati, at it again.

"Really I'm just jealous. I too wish to transcend my fleshform."

"Don't worry. There's nothing wrong with your flesh."

Damn right there isn't. You could do flips over this sofa that would put the dolphins to shame.

"And by 'sorry' I mean 'Watch your fucking back, steelskull'."

"Oh? I will." He nods solemnly. "Thank you for letting me know."

He exhibits no fear whatsoever... must be a very advanced model. Maybe even missile equipped. Be nice.

"I haven't forgotten that you're a steelskull."

"Ah... yes. Haha."

Dolphins frolic onscreen. Pascal crosses and uncrosses his arms.

The man is a vision of comfort and security. Remember that move for later.

"Watch your fucking back."

"I used to have a pod but I blew it. Now I'm too sad for pods."

"I... think the pod would be happy to see you... yes."

"Do you think dolphins know about betrayal?"

"No." He laughs. "They just know about fish. Yes?"

"No such thing. Those are all men in suits."

"Oh... yes? How do you know that?"

"Why not?"

"Yes, why not. It's nice to tell stories."

"I can see the zips at the back of their necks."

"Ah, yes." Nervously, but not unkindly. "I see it now, too."

"Are you a dolphin in a man suit?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Just checking."

(Turn to Eszti.) "Is he a dolphin in a man suit?"

"I know Pascal intimately. I can assure you he's not."

Öld sex! Psychic damage, direct hit!

"I love anything that can be trained. Strap a bomb to its fins."

"Poor dolphin. Why would you want to do that to poor dolphin?"

DOLPHINS ARE PERFECT FOR MARTYRDOM. THEIR SMOOTH, SIMPLE FEATURES WOULD SAVE OUR SCULPTORS MANY HOURS.

"Not to the dolphin. Fascist submarines, liberal diving schools."

"Maybe they could hunt for buried treasure instead, hm?"

"It will be a peaceful death. Witless, unknowing, instant."

"Ah... yes. Yes! Wouldn't that be nice."

"Better the dolphin than me, my friend."

"Better nobody, maybe?"

"Only if they're existentially aware."

"I think I see what you mean. People can be cruel to things which cannot speak for themselves, or speak differently."

His smile is warm, knowing.

"Oh, you mean like you and your funny voice."

"Yes... like me and my funny voice."

"For all we know, every dolphin could be a poet."

"That's a very clever thing to say." He thinks about this a moment. "But clicks don't rhyme!"

"We should crush them to spare them the agony of living."

"Oh... I don't think we should do that. I don't think they'd like it. Look -- the dolphins are happy. Always happy."

Take the remote and change the channel.

A montage of grainy black and white photographs shows a factory full of machines, fabric spewing from steel mouths.

Out of focus but big enough to cover the whole back wall, there's a word and a number: ESSILK #3.

Let's see how many channels they have. (Change the channel.)

The screen is awash with neon lights shot directly into a camera lens. The strobe-flicker of colours forms a veil that hides a girl's face.

A still adolescent face. Small glittering lips move as if summoning a spectre from the distant future. This must be early Ultra Violeta.

"Enough."

Give the remote back.

"Thank you!"

Take this, Eszti. (Scroll through channels as quickly as you can.)

An infuriating stream of sound and light flashes before your eyes. A scream, a song, a joke -- all melting into a pot of beaming brain poison.

"You're going to wear out the battery. Enough."

Actually, take this, Eszti. (Turn the TV on and off again, over and over.)

The TV clicks on and off, the afterglow of its screen growing increasingly pale in distress at the pace of your manic finger.

"Stop!"

"Eszti's a spy by the way."

He turns to Eszti for help.

She signs something to him, cigarette smoke waving over the gesture.

"Ahh."

He looks to you with his sweet smile, nods empathetically.

"If that was the brain damage thing again, she's lying!"

"It's okay, sweetheart, you'll be fine."

"What was that?"

"Sympathies from me."

"Ignore whatever she just said. She's crazy."

"Shall do, sweetheart."

Thumbs up.

He gives you a thumbs up back.

Wave goodbye. [Leave.]

"Bye bye!"

Alternative wording

"Bye bye! Please be careful!" He taps his head and looks at you with concern.

He looks over his shoulder to check in with Eszti before smiling at you.

Like an actor asking the director: 'Are we rolling?'

"Hello."

He gives you a hurt but understanding look, his nose still a little red from cupboard impact.

"You got what was coming to you."

He smiles kindly, then turns off his hearing device.

YOU HAVE BEEN CENSORED.

"Sorry about the cupboard."

"Cabinetry doesn't work on augmentoids, I see."

"She attacked me first!"

"Hello again."

He nods towards the kitchen.

"She's in there."

"I see you have a big family."

"Yes. Many little avenues for happiness."

"You're deaf, right? What's that like?"

"Quiet."

He laughs heartily.

"I'm watching you, steelskull."

"Aha, yes. Still very funny." He flicks a hand to his left.

"Eszti's in the kitchen."

A touch of desperation, there.

"When did you and Eszti get married?"

Alternative wording

"About you and Eszti again..."

"Yes?"

"How did you meet?"

"Oh! I was the postman. She always kept such a clean postbox. Started making me tea and... well."

Oh no... and we fucked up his postbox...

He shrugs and winks.

She married a man who knows everybody's name and address and has access to their correspondence. Clever, ESTOC.

"She's using you for information."

"About stamps? Ahaha."

In his eyes, a spectre -- recognition?

"I'm retired now, anyway. Happy home." He spreads his hands.

"You dirty doorway dog!"

"Ahaha -- no, no."

"Very romantic."

"Yes, it is. Us old people need love too, you know!"

So beautiful.

Sickening.

"Saw Oskar Metamoto was at your wedding."

"Oskar! Yes. Good friend. Good hair."