Day 357 | Video
[It was all wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. The kind of wrong you know in your bones, the wrongness of blasphemy and perversion, the embodiment of everything against all good sense and logic and taste.]
[Caliborn woke up in a strange place, and his blood was green.]
[It didn't take long to figure out that he was, somehow, occupying his dead sister's lime-addled brain. What took longer was figuring out what to do about it—other than to follow the old instinct of completely trashing her things. He may be somewhere strange and he may not know a single thing about what's going on, but ruining Calliope's life is a downright nostalgic comfort.]
[It's that same comfort that he latches onto when he finds and figures out the communicator, hears a bunch of humans (and robots??) whining about something unimportant, and clears his throat to do his best Calliope impression.]
[It's awful, frankly. Anyone who has met Calliope in person knows she doesn't smirk like this, and even if you haven't, Calliope's voice isn't so—well, harsh and stilted. Every word spat out to mock, or with absurd pauses for emphasis.]
Oh, boo-hoo! Dearie me. I am sooooooo. Ugly.
I forgot how ugly I was? It's been so long since I looked at me. In the face. I even cracked my mirror?
[Caliborn flips the communicator around to show that yes, indeed, he broke a mirror. The astute and detail-oriented viewer might catch the mirror reflecting other broken things in the background, but he doesn't linger on it for long. He brings it back to his face.]
So. Who here has a cure for this condition. Of being. An "Ugly Bitch."