2-D had learned to be cautious. Optimistic fatalism was the best way to go, in the vicinity of such bandmates as Murdoc. It was - well, painful seeing him fall apart, over the years. It was also painful that his thwacks went from good-natured joshing to hateful assaults. Russel was really the only thing holding their band together. God if Stu had just been there for him then maybe he wouldn't have, well, lost it. And Noo - he couldn't start thinking about her. It was getting painful to cry.
Then, there was the cyborg that Murdoc had made to copy Noodle. She couldn't travel far from a power source, and was incredibly unstable. She never said a word in Murdoc's company, but 2-D had seen a side of her that Murdoc hadn't. Generally, she gave 2-D a look either of absolute disgust; animal caution; or, perhaps most horrible to see on Noodle's face, even if it was a machine underneath and not the real thing, was that rare look of lust. She would lick her lips slightly, and it was the most abjectly horrid thing to see what 2-D knew to be 'undressing eyes' on that familiar, friendly face. What made him feel safe was knowing that she would never make a move that Murdoc would not okay - and that included damaging the goods of his band.
Until she made a move that Murdoc would never okay, and invaded 2-D's motel room in the middle of the night. Yes, those were hydraulics and steel cording muscles throwing him clear out of bed and into the floor. Then, she straddled his chest, and 2-D could see that the hole in her head was slowly being repaired. Still, her eyes were bugged out, periodically sparking from the edge to a pupil, and her teeth were bared in absolute fury. Her first punch barely missed, and cracked the wooden floor. She followed up with a slap that made the world explode into stars and fireflowers. She was snarling animalistically.
Ah, right. Murdoc had decided to take this week's booty call elsewhere. 2-D had found two dead cats after the last one. The grin on Murdoc's face at the specific number 'two' made it even more terrible. The point was, 2-D had a little over a hundred pounds of sin on top of him, in the most horrible and least sexy way possible. Cyborg Noodle screamed, and slapped 2-D a good one again. "I want you to tell me," she seethed with that faint crackle in the back of her throat, "why I'm hitting you!" Her hand flew back, and she slapped 2-D so hard that his face bounced off of the floor. "Tell me why! I'm not some fucked-up little doll, am I? I'm not a toy that's broken, am I? I'm not some fake that's gone nuts, am I?" Her other hand flew back, but flinched, and stopped. It was spasming madly, and Cy grabbed her wrist to hold it in place.
Then, 2-D saw her face clearly. She had several scratches, her eyes were bloodshot, and half gummed-shut by some clear liquid. Then, 2-D realized what she was asking - she wasn't trying to invoke any rhetoric or figures of speech. She wanted 2-D to tell her what he thought. He gulped, painfully, and opened his mouth. Cyborg Noodle staggered up off of him, and tried to get to the door. "Cy," he said, afraid for many reasons, "I don't - think you're any of those things..." She stopped, chittered something rapidly in Morse code, and ran back out.
2-D had a good memory, usually for lyrics, but he could parse out what her Morse had been. It was not until after the debacle at Plastic Beach that he was able to translate it - and it came down to the real Noodle to hold his hair while he vomited.
... - - . - -. . / ... . .-.. .-. / - .
Someone help me.