Conversation · Washbasin

On the table you see a bowl of water, a rough soap, and next to it a small hand mirror. A straight razor soaks inside the wash basin.

The lieutenant throws you an embarrassed glance as you consider the washbasin.

Please attend to personal hygiene on your own time.

[Leave.]

On the table you see a bowl of water, a rough soap, and next to it a small hand mirror. A straight razor soaks inside the wash basin.

Time to shave. Get these mutton chops off.

Like an artist with a brush or a master swordsman, you use the small mirror and the straight razor -- with some soap -- to remove all that unkempt hair from below the nose-line.

The sharp blade chafes against your skin, producing a scratching sound. The surface underneath the beard feels tender, the air brushing against it chilly.

Feel your clean-shaven cheeks.

They feel so smooth, surprisingly so. A feeling of freshness overcomes you, as if you just came from a cold bath.

You don't have a face anymore. It's all baby-ass now.

Hope this was the right decision.

Beneath the doubt sprouts a new vigour, like you've discarded some bad decisions. It feels as though you've passed through a ritual. Emerged from cold water, even...

Yeah, purified yourself right back to infancy. You look like a baby!

The sharp blade chafes against your skin, producing a scratching sound. The surface underneath the beard feels tender, the air brushing against it chilly.

Your hand shakes so hard you can't even muster up the courage to try. Maybe you're just too wild at heart?

Your hand trembles as you scratch at your cheek... oh no, that's not how a grown man shaves!

This isn't sharp enough. Scrape harder.

Stop, for crying out loud! You're gonna cut your own throat.

There's no way to salvage this.

I need to shave the chops!

Your hand refuses to move another millimetre. A small trickle of blood runs down your cheek.

Drop the razor in the water basin.

The razor lands with a clang. A red trickle begins to spread in the water.

Leave it for now.

Thank god, I would have cut your throat.

The centipede is exaggerating -- people don't actually cut their own throats when they're shaving. At least not accidentally.

Is shaving the right call?

How would you know? You haven't even seen your face! Go take a peek in the mirror, then decide for yourself.

The water reflects back a vague image of your face -- nose bulbous and red, hair unkempt, wrinkles lining the eyes and forehead. The 'stache is gigantic.

You'll be lookin' like a pansy without the chops! A fuckin' pansy!

A fresh start looms ahead. Clean yourself up and be born anew.

Was shaving the right call?

The water reflects back a vague image of your clean-shaven face. Despite the bulbous nose, unkempt hair and persistent swelling, you look... a little younger, maybe?

You almost look like a professional.

Your face, such as it is. A regular human face. Sans expression.

The beardless nature of your cheeks makes The Expression seem even more like a terrifying grimace.

Wash the smell of death off yourself.

Thank god you didn't go in there barehanded! Death smell is notoriously difficult to get off yourself and your clothes though and cleaning up takes a while...

But man persists and after fifteen minutes pass, you look almost presentable. Sort of. The sudden absence of the morbid dead tissue smell instantly lifts your spirit.

Scrubbing all the necrotic tissue off your hands takes a while. The fingernails are especially hard. Death has made it's way into every nook and cranny...

Should have used gloves. Detectives use gloves, when they go rummaging around in someone's dead brain...

But man persists and finally your bruised hands look clean and presentable... sort of. The sudden absence of the morbid dead tissue smell is uplifting.