The call came in that Claudia and Pete have the pen and that Pete is coming. That information is what Myka uses to keep her voice steady as she reads until Pete runs in
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"His strength is the only thing that's keeping that pen from flipping completely out," says Artie over the Farnsworth. (Truth be told, he's doing his best to keep from freaking out himself. It's been a very tense few hours, even for those who are just watching the action from the sidelines.)
"Good. Take the pen, keep it in the bag, and just, y'know, approach the notebook."
"I'm on it." Pete tosses off a casual salute (with the hand he's holding the bag in).
"BE CAREFUL!" snaps Artie.
"I am!" Pete snaps back. "Willya stop yelling at me? Somebody turn down his volume or something..." He steps over to the table where the notebook is laid, carefully peeling the bag open with a gloved hand.
Artie takes a step back from the screen so Pete can see his gestural visual aids. "Y'know, put the bag right over the notebook, turn it upside-down, dump the pen out, make sure it lands on the notebook and stays there."
Pete looks slightly incredulous. "That's it? Just dump it out?"
"Yeah." Honestly, what's so hard to understand about this? "This isn't Cirque du Soleil, just dump the pen on the book and stand back!"
"Alright," says Pete, sounding exasperated. He holds the open end of the bag over the notebook, and v-e-r-y s-l-o-w-l-y eases the pen onto the leather cover. The moment the pen is free of the bag, he steps back, cringing in anticipation of the oncoming... whatever.
"Ah... that's-that's okay, it's alright, it's fine," says Artie in what he hopes is a reassuring manner. "It's been a while since they've been together... probably they're just... getting reacquainted."
"Dad?!" Myka takes a step forward, and then a half step back. No way of knowing if uniting the pen and book has changed her father's symptoms, made him dangerous to people other than himself
( ... )
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"I'm on it." Pete tosses off a casual salute (with the hand he's holding the bag in).
"BE CAREFUL!" snaps Artie.
"I am!" Pete snaps back. "Willya stop yelling at me? Somebody turn down his volume or something..." He steps over to the table where the notebook is laid, carefully peeling the bag open with a gloved hand.
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Pete looks slightly incredulous. "That's it? Just dump it out?"
Artie shrugs. "Yeah."
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"Alright," says Pete, sounding exasperated. He holds the open end of the bag over the notebook, and v-e-r-y s-l-o-w-l-y eases the pen onto the leather cover. The moment the pen is free of the bag, he steps back, cringing in anticipation of the oncoming... whatever.
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"Artie, nothing's happening..."
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That makes sense, right? ...right?
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Then, like steam escaping from the rim of a boiling pot, a thick ring of ink-black smoke puffs outward from all sides of the notebook.
"Woah woah hey woah woah--" Pete takes a step back to avoid making contact with the stuff.
At the same moment, Warren Bering lets out a grunt of pain, the words crawling across his skin faster than ever before.
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