Animal Flow

Count Down Three Rounds

None but a silvery ghost in the midst of the small group, Lips sits quietly... or, at least, he tries to. He isn't truly there, it seems. He's tried to get the attention of the others- but it hasn't quite worked out. He seems to go through everything he touches. Perhaps he's dead. He doesn't quite mind being that way, if that means he still gets to be with the band in spirit... also known as the only group of people who were ever there for them in his life. Looking through the group that sits beside him, he notices something off about it. The group seems... light today, as if someone is missing. Janice, Floyd, Animal... oh, no wonder. Zoot isn't there. And neither is Teeth. Contemplating where the absent members could be, Lips allows his eyes to wander even further. 

Chairs... rows of chairs, millions of them, it feels like. Could this be an auditorium...? Judging by the flowy fabric covering each and every one of the chairs, he's leaning toward no. An auditorium is for loud performances involving ground-shaking rock and metal music... stuff of the likes. Not for something as quiet as a funeral.

...

...wait.

....a funeral?

He shoots up to his feet, eyes darting toward the front. And sure enough... it's a funeral of some sort. On the small stage in front is a large altar with a strange selection of items upon its surface. Cleaning supplies. Sponges, cloths, chemicals, brushes, vials of powder, bottles of soap, and, unfittingly... a sax. Tilting his head in curiosity, he wonders... could that be Zoot's...? With barely any signs of who this funeral is for, he couldn't really be sure.

Behind the altar is Teeth... dozing off as he sits on top of the shut casket. It's difficult to tell when he's actually asleep due to his lack of eyelids... but this time around, he's definitely confident that he's asleep. His head is hung lazily to one side, and he's letting out little contented purrs of relaxation. Teeth never acts like this. He shakes his head, deciding to ignore him. He's acting even more like Zoot than Zoot himself.

As his gaze trails further behind the altar, something catches his attention: A small sign that has been knocked over, most likely by Teeth himself. He has to reposition, twisting and turning his head to properly read it- and his heart sinks as he finally figures out what it says. Written in poorly formed, barely legible letters, is the name 'ZOOT.' Unsettled, Lips slowly looks over to Teeth, who hasn't moved an inch- he's still dozing away. He's not sure how to feel about Teeth in the moment... not with the new knowledge that he's currently sleeping upon the deceased body of his husband. And to make things that much worse, he could swear he just saw his tooth cap sparkle.

After such a long moment of eerie quiet, Floyd finally breaks the silence. 

Lips flinches as he speaks. 

"I can't believe that shaggy ol' trumpet player did this, man!"

 Provoked by the snarky description of him, he looks Floyd in the eye, tilting his head to try and get his attention. Did what? I did absolutely nothing. 

Animal, on the other side of him, huffs angrily. 

"Lips very bad. Lips liar." 

Janice nods in agreement. 

"I, like, didn't think he'd totally murder Zoot like that...?"

Feeling a panic ignite within him, Lips clenches his fists as he takes a heavy step forward. He leans in shakily, raising his voice- his entire body shuddering with disbelief. "Idi nuthin tazoot!"

But despite his efforts, he still isn't there.

He doesn't exist.

Floyd gazes over at the empty seat besides him, disappointment apparent in his expression. The empty seat would be for Lips himself... if Lips actually existed. 

"He had no reason to put his bloody little hands on any of us... we've blessed the guy and yet he screwed us over like this!"

Desperation taking over him, Lips precariously waves his hands in front of Floyd's eyes, desperate to get his attention. Tears erupt from the corners of his eyes as he yells out once again. His words punctuated by frustration, his voice is raspy and tired... almost as if he's on the brink of giving up. "Vloid, I- I dinuthin'! I lub'im wifall mihart... I d'never..... d'anydin'.... tahur'im...."

No response.

He doesn't exist.

The gold-haired puppet falls to his knees, weak attempts to hold back the sobs proving fruitless. Almost as if they're aware of his presence, the group looks down upon him with cold, empty stares of disapproval. Never in his entire life, even in the tangled mess of a timeline that came before the band, has Lips ever felt so small. The feeling of eyes upon him has never hurt so much. He's never wished he could simply vanish from the memory of everyone he's ever met more. 

Janice, with such powerful amounts of mamba venom dripping from the fangs of her word, finally replies to Floyd.

"For sure. He's totally, like, burning in the deepest pits of hell as we speak."

Those words pierce his felt like a knife. He falls to his hands, just about to begin breaking down. To begin giving up... almost as if he hasn't begun already.  He feels like his entire world has come crashing upon him. His cheeks already burn from the salty tears soaking into his cottony flesh.

But he lets out an audible yelp of startlement as he hears Teeth's voice, immediately snapping him back to his senses.

"Ya dream 'bout some onerous stuff, don't'cha, goldilocks?"