ic inbox

[headjacked]

Heyyyyyyyy, kiddo, you've reached me. Me who is Rhys. Anyway, not sure why you're trying to get in contact with the king of the dweebs, but I'm sure you've got your reasons. Reasons you should probably re-examine. I'm just sayin'.

Last chance to back out.

No?

Don't say I didn't warn ya.

Comments

[headjacked]

People unfairly -- unjustly!! ---hurt me. There is a huge difference.

[plundering]

[Rhys. Is that concern in Fiona's expression? Protectiveness, maybe?]

Who hurt you that time?

[headjacked]

[ Mmm, yeah, that's pretty readable. He's pretty sure her Concern would melt away if she knew, though. So. ]

The details are kindasortafuzzy--

[ COUGH ]

[plundering]

"Kinda sorta."

[She is so not buying it.]

[headjacked]

Can you maybe just pleeeeease accept that? We're supposed to be talking about YOUR ribs. Not mine!

[plundering]

Yeah, yeah, okay.

[She's really not looking to argue with him, anyway.]

Let's talk about my ribs. It's a pretty complicated topic.

[headjacked]

Bad ribs could mean pneumonia, you know.

[plundering]

Aww, Rhys. Are you worried about me?

[headjacked]

It's almost like I like you or something.

[plundering]

[She snorts.]

It'd be weird being friends with someone you don't like.

[headjacked]

Hey, you were the one making it sound like the act of being WORRIED about a FRIEND --

[ The F Word. He beams, just a little. ]

-- is weird!

[plundering]

I broke my ribs, Rhys, I'm not dying.

[She smiles back despite herself.]

But I've got it. Deep breaths, John said. No pneumonia.

[headjacked]

Oh, let me worry, Tough Girl. Angel never does. I can't let all the worry build up, I might, like. Explode or something one day. And nobody wants that.

[plundering]

Ugh, gross.

[She wrinkles her nose, but her tone is still teasing.]

You gonna wrap me in a bunch of pillows and carry me through the snow or something?

[headjacked]

Sometimes it's nice to be coddled. Just a little. I don't have a billion pillows but when we meet up again I can set you up with blankets.

A fort of your very own. The Money Fort.

[plundering]

With no actual money inside, I bet. Did you clear this with John? Is this an accepted treatment for my injuries?

[headjacked]

Yes, Fiona, I have official clearance from the professional. You trust me, right?

[plundering]

Sometimes. With forts, no. Not after last time.

[headjacked]

Um, excuse me? I am still the resident fort expert.

[plundering]

Resident fort dictator.

[headjacked]

You take that back.

[ SCAN!DALIZED!! ]

[plundering]

Nooope.

[Deal with it.gif.]

[headjacked]

We'll settle this once we regroup. You have made a powerful enemy today.

[plundering]

Oh, man, I am shaking in my boots. Which aren't tacky skag skin, by the way.

[headjacked]

Then I pity your sub-par insulation.