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Romana was doing the maths, sort of. Properly, she was standing in front of the pool table in the rec room, cue in hand, playing against herself and surveying the arithmetic behind it. Really, it was quite elementary, but in a pinch like this, she was quite up the challenge of seeing if such a simple sport could be made, well, more complex.
She was in the midst of sizing up her next move, calculating the angles, when she heard the jukebox click on behind her. She stiffened slightly, a bit put off by the sudden influx of noise, but before she could do anything, the words of the song began.
you're obsessed with finding a new brain
but what you need is a new body
it feels your brain has lived a thousand lives before
and the skin you call your home
holds a heart that quits and knees that buckle in
and lungs that can't breathe when they're alone
She froze, and turned to look about the room, wondering if maybe, just maybe there was someone else in there with her whom could’ve sparked it. No, it was her that the ruddy machine was serenading. And she was not thrilled about it in the slightest.
“What are you thinking?” she asked the machine uselessly, before turning back to the table, trying very hard to regain her focus. The best way to deal with these things was to not think about them and hope that they would just go away. She aimed her shot, and struck the cue against the ball.
'cause he felt sorry for what he'd done
and he put down his gun
will you feel sorry for what you've done?
will you put down your gun?
And missed. That idiot machine had ruined it. She slammed her cue down in frustration and stomped her foot. It wasn’t fair. She hadn’t even asked for this at all.
She was in the midst of sizing up her next move, calculating the angles, when she heard the jukebox click on behind her. She stiffened slightly, a bit put off by the sudden influx of noise, but before she could do anything, the words of the song began.
you're obsessed with finding a new brain
but what you need is a new body
it feels your brain has lived a thousand lives before
and the skin you call your home
holds a heart that quits and knees that buckle in
and lungs that can't breathe when they're alone
She froze, and turned to look about the room, wondering if maybe, just maybe there was someone else in there with her whom could’ve sparked it. No, it was her that the ruddy machine was serenading. And she was not thrilled about it in the slightest.
“What are you thinking?” she asked the machine uselessly, before turning back to the table, trying very hard to regain her focus. The best way to deal with these things was to not think about them and hope that they would just go away. She aimed her shot, and struck the cue against the ball.
'cause he felt sorry for what he'd done
and he put down his gun
will you feel sorry for what you've done?
will you put down your gun?
And missed. That idiot machine had ruined it. She slammed her cue down in frustration and stomped her foot. It wasn’t fair. She hadn’t even asked for this at all.