Everything I draw ends up wearing a bow-tie

Tara I hope you’re happy.

“What did you DO?!”

Jervis’s first impression of Wheatley had been scathing. Aesthetically he was the equivalent of genetically blending a luxo lamp with a neurotic giraffe and then giving the whole thing too many joints. Mentally he was approximately the same.

“I just… well, there were a lot of holes in it, you see, so I just thought I’d… you know, put some stuff in.”

“Stuff?!” The scientist’s eyes strained to take in the unfathomable strings of data scrolling past the orange-tinted backdrop. What Wheatley had put in wasn’t stuff, it was pure, blind idiocy. It was impossible nonsense. Jabberwocky. It was, to the digital world, an unadulterated, tangible lump of fatuity… and it was working.

“Well-” Wheatley continued, as the Hatter’s increasingly unhinged mind attempted to decide which of the two men in the room was the madman; “I know you said you’d help get me back, after I, er, fell through, so to speak, but you were so busy with all that villainy business and, and reciting poetry to birds- very nice, by the way, very good memory you’ve got; not knocking that, just so you know-”

“Wheatley.”

“… yes?” The hopeful intonation was slightly marred by the A-flat accent of doubt.

“Do you know what you just did?”

Wheatley’s hand went into the air, as he inhaled with the attitude of someone about to say an awful lot of things that had no relevance to the situation, but it stopped at the level of his glasses, the fingers recoiling back into a hesitant rosebud. He shook his head, blinking mutely at the pair of eyes which he still wasn’t entirely comfortable with looking at directly.

“Wheatley… You just broke reality.”