She considered not getting up. Her body ached and her head was a swirl of emotions, none of them positive. She ignored the phone, allowing it to go to voicemail.

And then it rung again. She knows she cannot avoid the universe for much longer. She grabs her phone.

And groans out a "Uh huh what? :)"

"First of all. Pick up the phone the first time dear. I'm far too busy a person to put up with that and you know it.
Second of all, I just watched the news, are you dead again?"

The voice is in somewhat filtered, accented limblish.

Princess sighed. It was this bitch, her ex. "Oh yeah you're talking to a ghost right now. How does it feel to be the first person to own an anomalous spirit phone? :))))"

"News fucking took long enough to reach you, it's been a month. Do you not watch trash tv? :)))"

"I've always found myself too busy engaging in doing my job as a senior government official to indulge much in junk dramas, good grief. It can take a little while for news to trickle down to the rest of the universe from whatever moldy corners you find to skulk in."

"Cool. Nice to know I'm junk drama. :)))))"

"The junkest, and you know it."

"Don't fucking diss the mold though. :)"

"People turning their phones off for weeks at a time in the aftermath doesn't help me figure things out either. Lucky is the day that I dont know anyone so foolish."

(Sorry to bother, but who's she? And can I get a ETA on how long theses fights last? I need a cup of water. ;D)

"This is my ex, Life. Not even a fucking joke of a name. We broke up like 750 years ago or something and she won't stop texting me. :)"

"Ugh. I feel sick as shit. I got a damn headache and I feel like I need to puke. Did you call me to just fucking bother us?"

"Bet you want to talk aaaaall about how good you're doing? :)"

"..."


"Is someone else there? Since when do you have friends you still have to introduce me to before moaning about?"

Princess rubs her temple. "Craftsman, would you like to introduce yourself or should I tell her I got another mental illness on my spread sheet today? :)"

"Hello, I'm Craftsman. Artist by craft and the thing that the N-classes start writing worriedly about on their notes by hobby. ;D"

"Please don't call him a mental illness, he's normal. :)"

There's a deep, deep, electronically distorted sigh down the telephone line.

"I am putting you on camera phone. Don't even complain about it this time, you're always dressed like shit :"

"Come on. I look and feel like shit and now you want to see -"

"Fuck you. :)))))"

There's something of an ugly cackle down the line and a fuzzy image of an alien appears on the phone, Clad in blue face-concealing armour.

"That's better. You hardly look like you've spent weeks in some kind of housetrapped ennui at all, there's nothing to worry about."

"Nice to meet you, dear (handsome armour by the way, nicely made). But as much I love watching this conrversation and all, I sadly happen to not have popcorn with me. Could we just have a pause for a snack? I will be sure we can procced where we were in like... Thirty years. ;D"

"I can't see you on the screen, "Craftsman" dear. Tell Princess to move over, she can't hog the lime light for another century."

The voice seems to lose an edge addressing Craftsman, polished and cleaner.

"I know I'm wearing a face but do you think I'm waving my hands like this for no reason? :)"

"Craftsman is in my head. :)"

"I'll have to dedicate a national day of commiseration for him then. :)"

"Fuck off. Me and Craftsman are doing just fucking fine with this arrangement. :))))"

"Also, really? That's an interesting feat even for notails. I'm going to assume you aren't lying to me for pointless reasons so I'll just elide over feasibility there. However did you manage to fuck that up?"

"Craftsman, tell her how you fucked up. :)"

"Something about soul machines actually working. Funny accident, would love to talk about it more if I couldn't feel your rising headache. ;D"

In a whisper just loud enough to be obviously audible
"Blame shifting? I guess she isn't too rattled after all."

"Sorry to say, but can we just... Turn off the phone? I'm sure Life is a nice person or so, but we're under a heavy hangover with a empty stomach. ;D"

"What do you want from me? Cause if you don't have anything you want I have a bottle of vodka here calling my name. :)"

"Cause right now I'm getting tried of you spitting in my wounds every fucking time I make a mistake. :))))"

"So sorry I couldn't be your prefect little Princess but don't call me unless you need shit. :))))"

"I suppose having someone who can recognise when you're trashing yourself in your body will be good for you, dear. But if you can believe it, I didn't just come here to spit fire like the old days"

"Then get to the point before I use vodka to remove my mistakes, if just for a little bit. :)"

"I"

"Can probbably help."

"(I am working very hard to remove the barbs from my words Princess because I'm not, 'fucking' kidding)"

"Take your pity to some starving alien nation, or some shit. :))))))"

"I think you will find I am indeed taking my pity to some starving alien nation!:)"!

"Sweetie!~"

"Notails. Aren't. Fucking. Starving. That's the issue. :))))"

"Not to be rude, but there's also better official channels to donate than calling us straight away. This phone is for personal usage and we're off-duty right now. ;D"

"I don't even know what to say to that. Why has this become the issue."

Princess sighs. "No, Craftsman. This is the best channel to donate......."

"There's no fucking official government channels. Remember. "We" want them to die."

"Hahahahaha!!!"

"Life I'm soooooooo glad you called! You know what, you can help! How about you give oooooh 1,000,000 points per prisoner? I mean that's a steep price but you're being so generous. :)"

"Lets see...that comes out to........."

"0 points! Do you think you can pay for that? :))))"

"If I blow the budget it might just cover the first installment."

...

"Look, things got fucked up. Nobody stopped some creepy-ass anomaly from stealing the entire planet out from under you. Because they didn't care. B-"

[Craftsman turns off the telephone.]

"Oops! My bad! Wrong button. ;D"

Princess feels something awful twist and turn in the pit of her stomach as she lays back down. "Thanks...."

"She's just going to call back, you know. It doesn't matter. Maybe I should call her and tell her it doesn't matter."

"You deserve better than this. Rest down. I will deal with it. ;D"

"Just tell her we already have a wonderful benefactor whose going to "improve" prison planet and that she doesn't need to fucking help."

"Not like this shit is going to help the situation anyway. Notails won't care, even if we make aliens care, and that's all that fucking matters. :)))))"

[Craftsman picks the telephone... And throws it on the couch as he rises, walking in the direction of the kitchen.]
"I do agree. This doesn't matter. At all."

[As he picks one of the bottles, he asks as he looks at the liquid inside.]
"She is unhealthy. This all is unhealthy. Should we drink...?

Princess knows Craftsman hated this, but this was out of her hands. She opens the bottle of vodka. "I know it feels fucked up, but that's the point. If we're going to be blessed with this we have to stay unhealthy."

In a darkened office a dozen galaxies away, an old, old, old metima eases herself back into the office chair she had leaped up from. A curl of action a rush of this is the moment to make things right fading back into the ennui of the ages again. Claws curl on the desk as the minutes tick by with the phone silent and dead. One by one the letters she had already typed into the SEND field are slowly deleted, until nothing remains.

"But I always cared..."