sirenspull | 002

[In the wee hours of the morning, a long robot staggers down the suburban streets of Sector 4. It creaks loudly whenever it moves, and shudders violently with every step it takes. The artificial pupils in its glowing eyes dart back and forth at random, when they are present at all. Rust encrusts swaths of its body, especially around its mouth. It's barely noticeable how rusty it is, though, because gobs of mud are caked all over it.]

[It smashes right through the 4x4 post holding a mailbox, and falls face-first into a shrubbery. When it finally extracts itself from the earth, there is a robot-shaped impression left behind, and some fresh debris on the robot itself.]

[More noticable than all of this behavior, though, and the part that can be observed from several blocks away, is its constant high-volume shouting of lively Americana folk songs.]

Went out to milk, and I didn't know how
I milked the goat, instead of the cow
A monkey sittin', on a pile of straw
A winkin' at, his mother-in-law

Turkey in the straw, turkey in the hay
Turkey in the straw, turkey in the hay
Roll 'em up and twist 'em up, a high tuck a-haw
And hit 'em up a tune called Turkey in the Straw

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Are those old folk tunes?

[The hell?]

[Bender seems to get his bearings for a moment, but the tone he adopts isn't sarcasm, but rather desperate denial.]

No, no they're not... They are, aren't they.

Oh god, here it comes again, if you tell anyone I'll kill you.

[He gulps a huge, rasping intake of air, trying to hold something in. He fails, and the first line of the next verse spills out too fast and off-rhythm.]

Did you ever go fishin', On a warm summer day
When all the fish, Were swimmin' in the bay
With their hands in their pockets, And their pockets in their pants
Did you ever see a fishie, Do the Hootchy-Kootchy Dance?

Edited 2012-09-19 18:20 (UTC)

There is something missing from those lyrics, but I can't quite put my finger on it.

[Death threats are something he gets everyday]

Those are unusual verses.

No they're not, they're pretty traditional for this one.

I mean, uhhhhh, how would I know? I don't want to secretly be a folk singer or an-nhhhuuurrghh [He groans as he cuts himself off, starting up the next verse despite his best efforts.]

Oh I jumped in the seat and I gave a little yell
The horses ran away, broke the wagon all to hell,
Sugar in the gourd --

[He claps his hands over his mouth, and the rest comes out mumbled. This lapse in concentration on where he's going results in him colliding with a nearby telephone pole and stumbling backwards.]

[Sheila has no idea what's wrong with the metallic fellow on her NV. The following is not a judgement on your singing, Bender, she promises!]

...Art thou ill?

Usually I'd say, "yeah baby, I got a License to Ill". [One of his hands flashes a thuggish gang sign, seemingly of its own accord.]

But no, something's really, really wrong here. [He shivers, struggling to maintain composure of his body.]

[Sheila's eyebrow rises. He's fascinating in a way Lee's robots aren't.]

Hast thou seen a...robot physician?

...Art such a thing?

[Okay, that's annoying. Okay, so Yosuke fell asleep on the floor in the streetside room again, but usually there aren't any drunks out singing at this time of night to wake him up. He sits up groggily and stares, then reaches for his NV and flicks it on.]

[Now, you can see him. You jerk.]

Dude, shut up. People are trying to sleep.

You think I wanna be doing this? Get some earplugs or heeellpp meeee-- [He trails off again, this time into the opening lines of a different song altogether.]

[Groan.]

Are you kidding me? Come on. Ugh...

[Just watching unhappily now, because it's not like the hiccups or something where you can at least suggest a crazy cure that might work. This is just insanity, as far as he can tell. He squints at the clock and scoffs. Dude. So not cool.]

Try welding your jaw shut!

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