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[devoutish]

Yeah?

[That's it, that's all you get.]

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[headjacked]

It's... honestly not, uh. Not a big deal in my time-slash-place. The implant surgery is safe. Mostly safe.

[devoutish]

It's fucking unnatural.

[headjacked]

Time marches on, I-I guess? And if you're down a limb, a fully responsive replacement is better than... a block of wood, or. Uh. Whatever they used in your day.

[devoutish]

Suppose so.

But a block of wood doesn't try to be a replacement, does it.

[headjacked]

Mmm.

If your arm was gone, and the option was there... you wouldn't go for what I have?

[devoutish]

It'd be useful.

[He can at least admit that.]

But an arm that acts just like an arm, but is metal rather than flesh? That's fucking eerie, mate. It's fucking mental.

[headjacked]

If you really wanna navel-gaze, we're all just sacks of flesh carrying our brains around, which is -- it's kind of the only 'us'. -- you get me, I think. Words are a little --

[ Hard. Rhys holds both hands out, bending his fingers in sync. ]

They're both my arms.

[devoutish]

And that's the part I don't think I'd ever feel comfortable with.

[headjacked]

You can't knock it 'til you've tried it.

[devoutish]

It's not for me.

[headjacked]

So try not to lose your limbs. N-not that I'd be able to make you a quality replacement here. Though -- never say never.

I'd try, is what I'm saying. I'd try for you.

[devoutish]

[Oh, Rhys.]

Honestly, mate, I'd rather have wood.

[headjacked]

[ ok no PHRASING... he has to nastysnortlaugh at that ]

Then it'd be the nicest crappy wood-limb I could make.

[devoutish]

You're a good lad, Rhys. If you were from London--

[-- and less messed up--]

-- I'd give you a job.

[headjacked]

[ Oh, that's. Oh. There may be an instantly, angrily disapproving blue specter of a man in the background, but that doesn't matter. Rhys kneads his face, pushing back tears of a slightly different sort. ]

If this was London, I'd say yes.

[devoutish]

[That's right, Rhys. Forget Jack and move on to the gangster. Just as planned.]

You'd quickly get bored of the lack of robot arms, I think.

[headjacked]

Oh, I'm sure I'd find something to occupy my time.

[ His eyes are still red and puffy and he's miles away from anything resembling happy, but... no more panic.

"Yeah, like dying of dysentery." ]

[devoutish]

What would you do in London?

[headjacked]

[ Rhys mumbles 'not die of dysentery' under his breath. ]

Anything I could to help out your operation. Help you expand.

[devoutish]

[Dysentery. That's adorable, Rhys.]

Help us win back territory from the Italians?

[headjacked]

I don't know what an Italian is but abso-flippen-lutely! Especially since it sounds like they stole it in the first place.

[devoutish]

They're a thorn in my side, is what they are; yeah. We've been at war with each other for an age.

[headjacked]

What started the war?

[devoutish]

Oh, who the fuck remembers. It's over territory.

[headjacked]

Oh, so one of those long-standing grudge matches. Whatever, I'm sure you're in the right. You. You're a sensible dude. Always have been.