[ The arm comes off completely, leaving a scarred stub of flesh in its wake. Usually she hates being seen without it, necessity seems to win out.

The stupid thing is filthy and needs to be cleaned. ]

Can sing, but I don't like to. Always had to do it for other people and never because I wanted to.

[ The thing is caked with dirt, blood, and who knows what else in between the metal pieces. Her brow furrows in focus and the spaces between her words drawn out because of it. ]

Maybe you should get a band going– round up all the other pretty boys and give them instruments.. this place could use some excitement. Or at least something else to do besides sitting around and waiting to die.

[ From the plague. ]