For the both of them as they are now, these odd weekends are always paradoxical. There's the inevitable pandemonium that comes with the fabric of reality shifting out of place, but there's also the quiet part. Scar has taken to hunkering down for the extent of the ordeal, keeping hot foods and comforting drinks at the ready for Lust's uncomfortable return to her living death. There isn't much else to be done for it. All he can do is remain close by.

But, of course, even those plans have not been spared this time around. Scar has, once again, found himself grotesquely transformed, his head replaced this time with not one, but three of the digging Pokemon whose name he can never recall. Each sprouted head sports a different hair style from the various eras Scar's (questionable) personal grooming has passed through.

He prefers not even to be seen, like this. He's spent most of the day outside, the human part of his body submerged into the earth in a way that is oddly comforting, when he's stuck like this.

However.

The afternoon is crawling by when he bursts into the kitchen, with Mehitabel the bastard Espurr riding his shoulder and looking undeniably smug. Unable to speak, Scar is brandishing a white board with a simple, bold manifesto:

You THROW Mehitabel??? ??