ichoosefight | 35 - Audio, Text - I'm too tired to use filters.

[ Audio ]

I'm back. That means crisis averted, right? Or at least ended. Whatever. [ A groan. She sounds beat all to hell and exhausted. ]

Feel like I was hit by a bus... that tried to dissect me.

[ Steph fumbles tiredly with the communicator a little, finally getting it set on Video so you can see the infirmary and confirm that yes, she looks tired, but relatively healthy. She doesn't have that "I haven't slept in days" look that death-tollers have. She gives the camera a sleepy little smile before turning serious. ]

Hey, uh, has anybody seen my backpack? It's... sort of dark green, pretty average looking? I had it when I... whatever I did. Got hit by a metaphysical bus. Anyway, it didn't make it to the infirmary with me. Do we have a lost and found here? We should start a lost and found.

[ Private to Tim and Dick, added a little later ]

[ She dun goofed. But Tim asked her to let him know, and Dick should probably know too. So. Somebody looks tired and upset with herself! ]

In the future, if you can at all help it, don't let me use this thing until I've had coffee.

[ooc | Forward-dated to tomorrow because my memo-machine is broken ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Any seriously contagious sick people aren't actually going to be anywhere you can catch something.

I just worry about what might happen between here and there.

At least take someone with you.

Fine. I'll ask someone to walk me back. It's just one floor down, anyway.

It's just in case those stitches are... not as well healed as you think.

I'd pinky promise I'll be careful, but I'm afraid you'll ask me to take a stretcher to find you.

And, apparently, I'm possibly highly contagious, so that'd only make things worse.

I'm not trying to be insanely protective or anything, but I've spent about three days out in those corridors with death, destruction, insane creatures that belong in Tolkien or something, and... some kind of highly communicable disease. It's not the sort of place I fancy anyone taking risks.

I'm lying in a bed, what feels like fifty bits of plastic string holding my guts in, more or less helpless while the man who tortured me nearly to death for fun roams the halls unrestrained.

And he knows where I am.

Go on. Tell me again how I'm safer right here.

Because there's other people here. If you just try to wander back to your room on your own... he'll know where you are then. Leaving the infirmary. And know that there are very few people left well enough to help you out if you need it.

Not that I'm trying to make you paranoid, but... I don't want you getting hurt either. At least get someone to go with you.

I'll get someone. But I can't stay here. I just can't.

Alright.

But... For God's sake, be careful.

With him? I'm not taking any chances.

Good.

35 - Audio, Text - I'm too tired to use filters.

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