Mood Slime 1989

2. Is This What You Guys Do When I'm Not Here?

* curious about the songs in this chapter? I made a Spotify playlist called Psychomagnotheric.

CW: Mature Content. Science Husbands.

"This stuff is really weird, Egs, but what isn't with this job?" Ray wonders, hands on hips, contemplating the next sample.

"Weird. Affirmative," Egon agrees, he's on his second Twinkie of the night. Needs the blood sugar high after their last sample just kicked his ass.

It's so late, it's early, about 2AM. They're downstairs in the office/garage bay.

"I've been meaning to tell you, ever since I splashed some slime on my wrist earlier while putting it in the Tupperware, I think I might be- kind of- ," Ray stumbles over the beginning of the confession but then the end comes out in a rush,"-I feel like I can intuit what the slime wants from me. It's communicating. I'm picking up a general impression. Not words."

"Ah," Egon nods. Instantly believing Ray, of course. The look on his handsome face is one part fear, four parts scientific excitement, by Ray's calculations. He says, "Same for me. Especially since it splattered my face, I feel it...watching me, listening, without sense organs, Ray."

"Peter's gonna lose it, man. Psychic slime!" Ray hoots.

"Raymond, what do you think about this particular sample?" Egon asks, quirking a dark brow, gesturing towards the one on Janine's desk. "What does it want?"

"I think, it hates this song," Ray answers.

They're standing before the "Copacabana" sample. The slime in that cylinder radiates slimey dislike at the two scientists.

"Agreed," Egon nods. He stops the Barry Manilow CD. The slime seems relieved.

Ray asks, " Can you please flip through the CD case and find something better, Spengler? I need to jot down a few more things about the saddness sample."

They've only just recovered from the sad country song experiment. Two men in lab coats, sobbing their eyes out on the tool bench, while George Jones drank himself to death, and Tammy Wynette got divorced, and Loretta Lynn struggled to overcome childhood poverty, and Patsy Cline went out walking after midnight. When Willie and Waylon warned everyone's mamas not to let them grow up to be cowboys, Ray had to click it off. After about five minutes more crying, he stopped feeling like a coal miner's daughter and could go blow his nose and splash water on his face.

Poor Egon had to lay flat on the cold concrete floor recovering for twenty minutes. He rarely cries and when he does, it's intense.

That vial of slime is now charged with pure sadness and probably should only be handled with a hazmat suit and tongs. They put an upside down bucket over it and weighed it down with bricks. Not much of a containment unit, but it will do til morning. It had turned a depressing greenish grey color, clouded up, and smells of bitter grapefruit pith, whisky, and salty tears. They probably need to play some Jackie Wilson for it when this is over to cheer it back up. Ray makes a note of it, a reminder not to leave the slime in misery.

It is odd but both Scientists feel a weird sense of elation now. All that saddness drawn up, felt and surrendered. After bawling, Ray feels a little high. Now that he can peel himself up off the floor, Egon too, is flushed and smiley. There's a releasing, cleansing side effect. Ray notes that down.

Egon finds a CD and puts it in the player. Ray hears the whir of the drawer sliding shut. Egon choses a song. Hits play.

All of a sudden Sam Cooke's You Send Me croons out of the speakers. Ray looks up from his notes to see Egon holding out his hand, inviting Ray to slow dance with him. Ray freezes for a second, surprised. Egon manually pulls the notepad from his stiff grip and sets it aside, gently removes the pen from his startled hand, and pulls Ray up and into his arms.