[VIDEO] Episode 4: In which y-AAAAHHHHHOHGOD FIREFIREOWOWOWWWSOMUCHFIRE!!!!
[Bhamba doesn't seem to know that there is an event going on right now, nor does he seem to care. Thanks to several crocodile attacks his transmission equipment is more unstable than others and has been switching on and off at random a lot
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The piano sits only a few feet from the screen, so his face is fairly visible. The one side of it is reddish and starting to slough off, threatening to obscure his left eye.
He hasn't been very careful about his intake.]
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But then he sees Cohen's face. Yes, he remembers it looking not quite right before and yes, he still remembers his arm from the first day they met, but no... no, he didn't remember it being that bad and suddenly his voice sinks and the only thing he can say is the thing that has been on his mind all afternoon.]
You are going to die a slow and horrible death.
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He looks up at the camera, raises his voice in anger.]
Excuse me?
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[He fishes for and holds up one of the rats; overgrown, deformed, stone dead.]
I thought I'd made a mistake during the extraction or missed whatever makes this work for humans, but your face is not exactly making a good case for that.
[And, just because he feels he needs to be absolutely clear, he adds in a tone that isn't mocking, but a little concerned and a lot like that of somebody who's reviewing an unsatisfying test score.]
You look like hell.
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--and then, an instant later, he draws back as though he's been bitten. His hands go over his face. A low "ouuah!" of horror bursts out of his throat. He's been lucky so far, not thinking about anything but his music; music is one thing he doesn't try to lie about, when he isn't being paid to do so. But no matter how devoutly he believes his own delusions, they all begin with lying to himself.
His face is ruined. He knows it, and can't quite convince himself otherwise. He can't even hide it with makeup any more.]
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[Bhamba frowns. He isn't quite sure what reaction he was expecting, but he doesn't like that one at all.]
You knew about this, right? Right?
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[The fact that he can believe this while simultaneously clutching his face is testament to his crazy pants.]
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No, rather I assume that sooner or later those lesions on your skin will spread throughout your entire body, most likely causing you to die of multiple organ failure - unless they get to your lung first in which case you will just suffocate slowly and painfully.
[What the hell, Bhamba? I know you wanted to desperately say something, but couldn't it have been something more comforting and less blatantly truthful?!]
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[He gropes his way to the closet, reaches inside, turns back to the camera with a black and gold rabbit mask pressed over his face. The eye on the bad side of his face is still visibly off if you look for it: bloodshot, a little squashed.
He firmly believes that Sander Cohen is immortal. And at the same time he knows that something's horribly wrong. Why can't he deny that it's wrong?!]
How dare you? I'm terrified of dying!
[THAT WAS NOT WHAT HE MEANT TO SAY. WHAT. WHAT.]
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[He holds the dead rat closer to the screen and swings it in demonstration before angrily setting it down in front of him and taking a deep breath, his voice coming out more shaky with each word]
...and I also wish I hadn't said that just now, because you really look like you want to kill somebody right now and I remember what happened the last time I got on your bad side.
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I don't know how it might help, [he snarls,] but I'm confident that your head on a stake will soothe my temper - and perhaps it might even teach you to keep your mouth shut when your input is not wanted!
[See, he doesn't know how it might help, but he's confident that -- you know what, this whole truth thing makes the interior monologue narration feel a little redundant.
Don't try to argue, Bhamba, because Cohen has already disappeared in a spray of misting blood.]
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[W-wait, that's not what he meant to yell in a high-pitched and panicked voice, but then again, as your narration already kindly suggested, it really doesn't make that much of a difference.
...which Bhamba realises and instantly takes as a reason to drop his work and dash out of the door.]
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Bhamba is no longer in his lab, so with an angry grimace and a violent gesture, Cohen sets the box of rats alight. Then he stalks out into the corridor, looking back and forth for his prey.]
Don't try to fly away, woodpecker!
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[Bhamba is not immediately evident. When in doubt? GOUTS OF FLAME DOWN THE CORRIDOR. In both directions. And Cohen is pretty heavily spliced, as you may have noticed, so that's a lot of fire.
Hope you didn't like the tip of your nose unsinged, doc.]
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In the next episode we will analyse whether there would have been a more sensible solution available for the good doctor. Today we will give the stage to his fear and burning desire (hurrdeehurrhurr) to get the hell away from Cohen, causing him to make a dash for the stairs.]
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