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While Umma meant well in her gifts, Reid Covey was not always a fan of the various knick knacks and sentimental gifts his mother showered on him almost constantly. Little things she'd find here and there - maybe while she was out shopping, maybe something she saw on the television, maybe a prize she spotted on BINGO night at the community center. Wherever she got it, he was always cordial when it came to accepting it but more likely than not, it found a home in the corner of his room along with the other items, increasing the pile's size slowly but surely.

Today's present, on his way out the door to work, had been a particularly ugly looking sweater. While Reid wasn't a picky shopper, per say, even he had his suspicions on the fabric's appearance.

In other words, it was just plain ugly.

Still, he'd tossed the outerwear over his arm on his way out the door, not one to break his sweet Umma's heart. It was dragged along on the journey to AI's building, up the elevator and tossed haphazardly onto the corner of his desk as he got to work.

It didn't take long for him to notice that the air in the building seemed a bit chillier than usual, prompting Reid to scowl in between his attempts at typing on the keyboard in front of him. Responding to emails with cold fingers and an especially cold nose was... irritating, to say the least, but he'd worked to focus through at least one of his owed responses before pausing to deliberate his next course of action.

Blue eyes glanced towards the sweater, offering it an equally grumpy scowl as he debated on the merits of donning it versus continuing to scowl at it. The hideous thing did look as if it would provide suitable warmth... but at what cost? Itchiness? Tackiness?

It wasn't as if Reid was a fashion statement, himself, which was the main reason why he caved and rose from his chair, moving towards the bathroom to tug the sweater on over his dark head, the woolly fabric finding its way down his sides before hands shifted to tug his shirt collar free from the warm material and over the edge of the sweater's neck.

The thing wasn't any more flattering than he'd expected it to be, which was why he wasn't surprised at hearing a familiar voice pipe up as he made his way back towards the desk.

Leave it to Barnett to find the perfect time to turn him into a walking target.

Her comment earned her an eye roll - the girl hadn't been at her desk for almost a week (or had it been a week exactly? He was pretty sure it was five days but it could have been six...), leaving the office unusually quiet for a change.

He wasn't sure if he particularly liked having the office that quiet but he wasn't about to tell her that.

"Covey~♪" He was quick to correct out of habit, immediately freezing as his eyebrows furrowed. His voice had hiked itself up in pitch suddenly and unexpectedly -- he hadn't done anything differently...

Shaking his head (and growing more perturbed), he shrugged it off and continued, "I don't kno-ooow, whe---ere did you go-ooo?~♪"

What. The. Hell.

His mouth clamped shut and he could feel the heat rising to his face. Reid hadn't meant to make the words rhyme, much less work their way into a tune... it was like someone had control of his voice and was making a fool out of him with it. Him -- his own voice!

While he didn't understand her antiques roadshow comment (Was there something inherently wrong with antiques that he didn't know about? Or maybe it was one of those internet inside jokes he wasn't aware of?) it was easy to tell it was a slight against him. Hell, most of the comments she made were jabs against him - Reid might have been more suspicious if she didn't make some sort of crack.

"Not sad, not glad, though I admit I'm getting a little ma-aad~♪"

Fingers moved up to pinch the bridge of his nose, the tall boy taking in a deep breath as he tried not to let slowly rising panic get to him.

He was more or less singing and he had no idea what was causing it.

Every time he opened his mouth, something melodious came out. He wasn't even thinking in rhymes - he was trying to respond normally and something was converting his words the moment they left his mouth. It wasn't something Barnett could have manipulated -- at least, he was eighty-six percent sure that she wasn't able to tinker with human brains, yet.

"Barnett, I'm having a problem hee-ree~♪," his jaw clenched but he tried remaining calm as blue eyes stared her down, one hand raising to gesture towards his throat, "I'm not controlling this, I fee-aar~♪"

Oh for the love of...

Fingers moved to clench into a fist, balling it up and resting it against his side as he worked to keep his aggression at a tolerable level. Of course Barnett only saw this as some sort of game - not that he was ever one to participate in any game she tried. Trashball, I Spy or any of the other whimsical thoughts she had went ignored for the most part (when he wasn't on the receiving end of a wayward trashball aimed for the wastebasket in the corner of his cubicle). It was very out of character for him to be playful but very in character for his neighbor to clearly not catch on that he was not in a playful mood.

"Bah, this is NOT meant be, you're just not listening to meee~♪"

His voice was low and rich as it dragged out the final me, cheeks lighting up even more when a few curious heads popped up over their cubicles.

Ducking his head down, he hurriedly took his seat at his desk, determined to keep his mouth clamped shut - Reid didn't know what in the world was going on with him but he was certainly not about to be labeled the office clown because of it.

Had he not been almost distraught over his current situation, he might have felt bad for being rude to his coworker. She didn't seem too upset about it, the sound of fingers flying across her keyboard shortly following her departure from his personal space. Not like she was having to deal with any of this... this madness.

The next several minutes were devoted to feeling sorry for himself as he stared at the beige, undecorated wall space in front of him. There was absolutely no explanation as to why his voice was doing this -- it wasn't being manipulated by some computer, it was coming out of him, in rhyme form, no less, without his control.

A paper ball whizzed by his head and he turned, startled out of his trance-like state of gloom. Barnett, back again with even more questions than before.

He opened his mouth automatically to respond, right as she cut him off and implied he needed to gesture instead. His jaw closed with a click of teeth hitting each other, blue eyes trying to gauge as to why Barnett was suddenly being super helpful about this.

Heck, maybe she was bored.

His head shook, the young man feeling helpless as he failed to offer any help. Was it a vocal cord thing? Or maybe some nerve firing off wrong in his brain? Or...

Wait.

A brain tumor????

Eyes widened as his straight-lined expression went absolutely abysmal, a melodious squeak managing to escape as he tried to talk (and then quickly remembered not to), one hand clapping itself over his mouth.

Mouthing and gesturing towards his head, hands began to shake from nerves alone.

"A tumor???"

His emotions were going on a roller coaster ride today and Reid Cho Covey wasn't enjoying the twists and turns nor the ups and downs he'd been tossed through. First the singing - that alone was insufferable - but then to be teased into believing he could possibly be dying from a brain tumor, of all things?

He knew his sense of humor didn't match his peers but christ alive, his heart couldn't take much more stress.

Hand rising, he lifted one finger... then hesitated and pulled up a second. He hadn't exactly spoken to anyone that morning, no one except his Umma when he was leaving. The walk was silent, save for the scuffing of his shoes against the pavement and occasional snow clump.

So... after he got to work, maybe? Yeah, he'd stick with that, on a technicality.

Nodding his head, he was more confident in his two-fingered answer. Reid had never played charades (because that would involve having both friends and games available, as a child) but he was slowly getting the hang of this no-talking game of theirs.

Blue eyes cut over as he watched her create a chair out of his discernibly not meant-to-be-chair furniture, paperwork getting crinkled and creased by her careless shoving. She was making herself at home in his cubicle without invitation, not even given a second thought to his personal possessions or important work assignments.

There were other priorities to be concerned about, however, than wrinkled paper and butts on desks.

His mouth opened out of habit to explain that no, he hadn't done anything unusual but as the first melodious sound left his mouth, it clamped shut once again and he let out an exaggerated, tired sigh. It wasn't even nine in the morning yet and he was already done with the day. Not to mention how uncomfortably warm it was getting, even though it had just been freezing in the office and----

The sweater!

Eyes widened by a fraction as he realized the only unusual thing about his painfully normal day was the ugly, horrific sweater his darling mother had gifted him. The musical side of him hadn't come out until after he'd donned the sweater. Could the woolly atrocity be the cause of all of this? How was that even possible??

Almost frantically, hands moved down to the hem to start tugging it up and over his head. Only... the sweater didn't budge at all. As hard as he pulled, as he yanked and fought with the blasted thing, the sweater wasn't moving. It was as if it had fused to his skin and refused to be peeled off.

Desperately, he mouthed THE SWEATER to his amused coworker, trying to point out his current dilemma.

Fingers grabbed at the excess material and yanked hard enough that it should have done some decent damage to the fibers (sorry, Umma) but the sweater still refused to budge. Definitely not common materials being used, if the stupid thing had fused to him.

In the sake of testing the rest (just to make sure it was just the sweater and he hadn't been magically cursed altogether), he spun around in his seat and hands flew down to his pants, fiddling with the zipper. A quick unzip and an unfastening of the buttons proved that it was just the sweater that refused to come off, Reid just as quickly fastening his slacks back up in the front as he'd undone them.

Barnett was still prattling on about something or another but his attention finally refocused to her latest (of what was probably endless suggestions).

Crystal... clubhouse?

What sort of smack was Barnett smoking, talking about a crystal clubho--ohhhh.

So it was embarrassing as heck to think about approaching Miss Argent about something like this but at the same time, it was either this or sitting around all day wearing a sweater that had self-attached itself to him or getting down to the bottom of it all. Maybe Tyrolite wouldn't have some horrid sweater attached to him... he could hope, right?

"I'm not really about the silver linings~♪"

The lyrics croaked themselves out as he forced himself to talk, still trying his darndest to speak normally and not in lyric form. Oh well.

"But if the database has some findings... ~♪"

Shoulders slumped forward and he let out a sigh. God, this was definitely ranking its way up to one of the Worst Days Ever for Reid Covey.