Furious boiling rage

Fists clenched and facing typewriter

“Damned words come out!”

Voice ripping static aside

Grasps sides with pale gloves

Set leaning down close to keys

“I’ll find you in there

You’ll come out

If I have to come in there myself

And drag you out screaming!”

The static then actually cleared

Teeth lining up on screen

Sharp toothed and dripping bile

Spreading slow and growling

The typewriter sits silent and stoic

Frustrated groan twirl away arms up in defeat

“Fine then!”

He grabs his port

Tipping back onto screen

Where teeth are open

Poured into

Past screen

Into mouth?

Or something close

Quint groans as he sets it down

Rubbing a glove over screen

“Give me SOMETHING!”

He bellows slapping the desk

Typewriter dings

As it reaches the end

“…

You’re mocking me aren’t you…”

He grumbles

Slouching back in his chair

He idly fiddles with a key

Gloved finger

Tracing its edge

Then depresses

Then another

Another key

And more

“I told you I’d get it out of you!”

He cries triumphantly

Fingers flying freely

And back we pull away and into the dark