Fl0ra replied, "M@ke h1m @ re@1 cyb3rpunk 50 1 c@n thr0w h1m d0wn + r1d3 h1s 5 sp33d v1br0-c0ck m@yb3?"
Sir Florence coughed and sputtered at this. "You'll do absolutely no such thing! What a vile notion! This twisted glowing mess of stuttering gibberish is my own sister! Or... myself? Good lord this is all so confusing... just what have you lot been plinking away at on that infernal telegraph?" Shoving his way to the computer, he found his way to CYOC, muttering about the 'flickering of the lightbox.'
"Wait, what manner of gobbledygook is all this? Someone has written all sorts of things I have no recollection of occurring here... yet somehow that includes myself? Or.. some strange twisted alternate self, merged with this... glowing strumpet somehow. Wait no... this here seems more in line with things. Has our reality fractured in some fashion? Regardless this is a mess, I should have need of someone to... keep some compartment on my person filled with coal as I am, I believe, and this... licivious creature here certainly won't do. Let's see..." He began typing.
Suddenly a compartment sprang open on the side of the machine to which the typewriter was affixed, and a springloaded arm sprayed a mister at the strange shimmering light in the sky that was Mono. Suddenly she became more solid, a shining brass chassis still in the shape of a lovely young woman, filled with cogs and gears and complex windings enough to function much like a true person of flesh and blood, needing no sustenance beyond the occasional winding of a key, and now fully capable of such tasks as filling a furnace or taking ones clothes to be properly laundered.