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It's the third night since Test Tube's outburst at Microphone, which led to her leaving the hotel with a dark, dramatic slam of the door. Microphone stares up at the ceiling, her phone which she previously wasted time away with charging just out of reach.
As much as Test Tube's blatant dislike for her causes a churning in her gut, this is a whole new level of guilty that she's experiencing. The show is over, they're all supposed to be enjoying their downtime; that is supposed to include sleeping in and, you know, actually talking to people.
Ever since that argument- something about burning the candle out from both ends, and Test Tube muttering You're one to talk, referencing the rollercoaster that was the second season of Inanimate Insanity- she's practically been a hermit. She's only been sighted once by Paintbrush when they were up reading, and twice by Lightbulb outside of the checks that she's been doing.
It's nice to know that she has somebody on her side. Whether or not Lightbulb's contagious good cheer would work on her, Microphone's seen her bringing hot meals down the chute of the 'secret' lab.
Why the heck am I so worried? Microphone thinks to herself frustratedly, even though she knows the answer. Deny it or don't, it's Mic's reaction to the cheap shot at her performance in season two that led to all of this happening. She shouldn't have taken the bait from her so easily.
And the fact that, alongside the churning feeling in her gut whenever she thinks about Test Tube's scowl, there's something warmer in the very pits of her stomach as she thinks of the blatant contrast of her face, laughing and free from wrinkles originating from stress.
Microphone is exhausted, has been for a while, but can't sleep like this; knowing that the bed of her roommate is empty, and will be all night. Whether or not Test Tube is sleeping at all is a worry that plagues her mind, and nobody can even say that it's a slim possibility. Lightbulb merely shrugs when asked; she's seen bags under the eyes, but no plausible evidence that Test Tube isn't sleeping at all.
Before she can begin overthinking- or, let's admit, thinking at all- Microphone makes her way to the roof.
There's a twinge of disappointment when she doesn't see a head of cropped green hair, leaning against the guardrails of the roof without any blatant care if the thing breaks and she goes tumbling down with it. One of the only times Microphone has ever seen her relaxed is their chance encounter on this very roof.
(She never took Test Tube for a smoker. Apparently it's a habit she's trying to kick from her high-school days. But a cheap cigarette looked good between her long fingertips, between her chapped lips and bitten nails.)
"I have no idea what I'm doing up here," she mutters. Microphone doesn't know what she was expecting; for Test Tube to be here, by some miraculous coincidence, and to finally have a chance to... do what? Smooth things over?
You typically can't do that unless you can prove everything was smooth to begin with.
///
"You really haven't been sleeping," Microphone says. She's been down the chute to Test Tube's secret lab enough times unannounced and unwelcomed. It's not like this will make Test Tube hate her more, or anything. Mic is pretty sure she's capped out.
After processing the voice (after quite a long time; seriously?) Test Tube's head whips around. Microphone can immediately see dizziness kick in. The plates that Lightbulb has been sending down have been eaten, so at least there's no malnutrition at play. Microphone likes knowing what she's dealing with, especially with the living minefield that is Test Tube.
"I'm not here to pick a fight. Just trying to, uh... get you to sleep, I guess." There are parts all around the room, scattered across every available surface. Microphone evades the pieces on the floor, some lying still and some sparking and smouldering, getting closer to Test Tube with each step.
"I'm busy." Test Tube says, annoyance clear in her tone. "Don't you have anything else to be doing? Maybe change the locks on the doors if you want to keep me out of your room so bad." Microphone winces at the hostility, but even more so at the honesty; as if this is some kind of routine, a tango that she has danced before and memorized the steps to.
Perhaps the worst part is that this is the only time Microphone has played a leading role. So who else has treated Test Tube with such hostility that she's learned to project it back, ten times larger?
"You're not going to get anything done in this state," Microphone responds plainly. As if on cue, the piece of tech in her hands begins to spark and she drops it on the table with a resounding thud and crackle.
Test Tube lets out a genuine scoff. "This state? I'm not in any kind of state. I just want to be left to my own devices, is that so much to ask for?" The bags under her eyes make her glare that much more intimidating; but simultaneously tells Microphone that she's lying through her gritted teeth.
Ugh, we're getting nowhere running in circles like this. "Listen, will you just quit being stubborn and come to bed?" Microphone says. "You obviously need it, and... I'm sorry that I got all angry at you. It's reasonable that you don't trust me, and I shouldn't have blown up in your face like that."
Test Tube glares sceptically, still sitting on her haphazard stool. Microphone is pretty sure one leg is shorter than the other two; either that or the floor's uneven. It's not like MePhone cared about cutting corners. "We're fighting over pointless nonsense, at this point. Come back to the hotel with me; if you want, I can sneak you through the back so nobody sees you walking in if they're still up?" I seriously doubt anyone is up at two in the morning besides us, but just in case. I don't really want to talk to anybody else, either.
Test Tube's gaze averts back to the busted piece of machinery, sitting prone on the table. "You can come back to it tomorrow, Test Tube. I understand replicating the powers of the Meeple Products is... important to you. It is to all of us! But you can't spread yourself so thin. You need good rest for good results, and I'm sure everyone is expecting good results."
Whatever it is Microphone said in her ramble, it snaps Test Tube to attention quickly. It's as if her eyes are vacant; Microphone does not like the look of it. Test Tube's eyes typically reflect the very moon in them. "Good results," she says to herself, staring at the machine as if it's shown a new side of itself to her. "Right. My apologies. Lead the way, Mo- Microphone."
The walk back to their room is completely silent. Test Tube's hands are laced behind her back as she looks at her own feet. Instead of feeling like progress has been made, Microphone feels like they've managed to walk backward a few steps.