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Taym's "really?" expression of betrayal at Kostya was rapidly substituted with one of utter incredulity, and then, slowly and quietly, with the total shut-down of his face. His shoulders started shaking. For a horrible second it looked like maybe he was about to burst into tears, but instead he started laughing: silent, awful, shaking laughter, laughter until he cried, until he looked a hell of a lot like he'd been into whatever Oz had been smoking.

"This--this ******** place," he managed through a gale of hysterical tears. "No, no. Fine. You know? I don't--this is fine. You should ******** join me, Bashmet, it'll be--it'll be--"

He wasn't sure what it'd be. He just laughed some more, and he folded up onto the floor with his head in his arms and instructed Zoe in as solemn a tone as he could muster through bouts of hysteria: "You don't say ahh to put on lipstick."

Zoe gave Taym a cryptic look. "We do not allow non-believers to keep our hard earned dark matter." Between the time of Taym's breakdown and Zoe prepping the gear, Oz had woken up and half-crawled half-wiggled his way next to the trio still holding a corner of his tent-slash-blanket. He looked at Taym and then Kostya and then with his free hand quietly peeled open a twinkie.

Taym didn't quite say ahh, so Zoe waited until most od the storm had passed before calmly flipping him over and drawing on whatever real estate space she could find, and donning the whole mess with a lip and nose piercing clip on. "Being one with the darkness will hone your minipet senses. You'll be able to see them more clearly, to feel what they feel, do as they do. Once the darkness has taken you, you will be free." Zoe paused and admired her handiwork, "As one of us, of course. Also put these on, anything to cover your past taint." Taym got the kilt and fishnet stockings as well as a t-shirt with Good Charlotte on it.

Oz had already finished his snack and was licking the cream off his fingers while staring angrily at Kostya the entire time - however Kostya wanted to interpret that was up to the Russian. It was about then that Oz leaned over, and pressed one hand against Kostya's chest, staring up with deep brown eyes. "You're mine."

Kostya got dragged scarf-first into the semblence of Oz's tent where the dark-skinned Death Hunter worked on Kostya's fingernails. "And don't touch them when they're drying."

He had thought becoming Judas would have been the safe bet, but the really weird look from the really weird midget was starting to become highly suspicious. In fact, as the goth girl's lectures grew more and more intense, so did Oz's weird looks.

Of all the fates he'd resigned himself to, this had not been one of them. Oz dragged him into the tent, and Kostya continued to emit alternating variants of noooo and nyett and noooyetttnooonyettnyett, like a demented knock-off Russian pikachu.

(He hoped that Allan did not appear, for the love of god.)

Miserable, Kostya sat still as Oz painted his nails, on the verge of tears. He was going through a series of logic-breakdowns:

1. Taym needed to recover his efficiency lest he be granted a two month vacation to the Sahara.
2. Kitties assisted him in this transition, and provided emotional bolstering he and America could not.
3. In order to get the kitties, he had to endure this.
4. This was the worst experience of his life thus far, because someone was touching him repeatedly, and he was expected to behave.
5. He wanted to run away, to scald his hands with water so hot it activated his shield, but could not, because reason number 1.

With the look of a sad, abandoned kitten, Kostya began to weep quietly, shoulders shaking. It really added a nice, realistic effect to the guyliner that Oz was trying to add, and Syntax mentioned that he should get his black ink feartridge replaced, and then, said to maybe turn it off then turn it on, to see if that would fix the leak.

The band. Right. Of course he knew. He surveyed his own chest skeptically.

"Generous, absolutely, but I have a fear of needles," he lied. "I need a two drinks and a few hours to work up for it. I'll call you. Anyway, a n****e piercing? Don't those normally come in pairs? I feel cheated."

At the word cage he sagged with immediate relief, the hysteria-fueled acceptance long since drained out of him. He now just desperately wanted a shower. He was probably going to walk around with smudges for days.

"No thanks," Zoe replied upon Taym's offering, "I'll call you." She didn't quite smile, instead just staring at Taym with a look of judgement before adding on another droplet of thick dark midnight darkness of the darkest skies eyeliner to create a symmetrical tear on Taym's other cheek while the music in the background screamed something like "Girls don't like boys" in an upbeat mantra with overtones of the screaming of a thousand tortured souls or just very excited teenage girls.

A few minutes of agony later, Oz showed up with two suitcases. Note, not minipet carriers, actual suitcases, the ones used for luggage at airports by cheap families who tried to label everything as a carry on. He peeled one open to reveal more clothing, all dark black upon black darkness with black highlights. After fishing out a few choice articles including socks, fishnet arm gear, and a dark choker, he placed them carefully on the ground and then paused.

A long moment passed and then he zipped open the other bag to pull out two minipet carriers, that somehow miraculously fit in. Sitting crosslegged, he stacked both in between his legs, in front of his-

- Kostya got an eyebrow wiggle. "Come and get them big boy."

Taym regarded slug!Kostya with disappointment and disapproval for several seconds as he attempted to layer a striped arm warmer over his fishnet sleeves. No one was asking him to do any more, but it was always good to show willing, and also they had red stripes, and he liked red.

"Oh for ******** sake, you big baby," he hissed, plucking up the carrier without the slightest hesitation and without touching Oz even a little. He in fact darted back as soon as he did it, clutching the carrier possessively as he went, as though he were afraid Oz was going to make a grab for him. Zoe painting his fingernails and his face was OK. Oz touching his hands while they were in the vicinity of a man's crotch was not.

"Am not baby," Kostya bemoaned, his short locks being caressed by the angriest person he'd ever met. Second to Caelius. ...Third to Mimsy. ...Fourth to Rep. But still.

He choked on a stray feather from a feather boa.

"Go," he said, nobly, "be saving yourself."

He was going to die here, dressed like a goth. The most inefficient death.