(Untitled)

[1blaze_ofglory]

Roger sighed. He was getting abso-fucking-lutely nowhere on his latest attempt at a song, and he was tired of it. He scowled down at the empty page, then stood and threw the notebook down on the couch. Maybe a cigarette would calm him down, make him less frustrated. He'd try again after a short break. Roger hunted for the pack of cigarettes

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[theother_mother]

"Roger," the other mother says, beaming. "You've made it."

[1blaze_ofglory]

Roger blinks a little. He's pretty sure he's not hallucinating, but --this isn't helping much.

"Who the fuck are you?" he says after a minute. Nice and concise, Roger.

[theother_mother]

"I'm your other mother." Her voice is oh so disturbingly sweet.

[wilfulparadox]

"Some madwoman with buttons for eyes is holding us hostage so she can make us all dinner, or some such similar nonsense." Lord Henry offers him a cigarette. "It's shaping up to be rather entertaining."

[1blaze_ofglory]

"...Food sounds good." Roger takes the cigarette and hunts around for his lighter absently. "I dunno why that's entertaining, but hey, if it's warm and has food, I'm cool with it." At least until he starts getting antisocial again.

[wilfulparadox]

"She has buttons for eyes," Henry repeats, just in case Roger missed this very important detail. "Like an overgrown rag doll."

[gorbalsgoebbels]

Malcolm looks up from the book he's been half-reading and shrugs one shoulder with an air of total disinterest.

"We're having some kind of mass psychotic break," he offers. "Freud is most likely splooging his fucking grave."