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Post by Prudence on Jul 1, 2009 15:52:58 GMT -5
Prudence has, in her arms, two books from the upstairs library, a glass of orange juice from the downstairs kitchen, and a tupperware container of chicken soup from her flat. She sniffles and then coughs heartily, and for a moment wonders where she was going. Probably her room, she thinks, but then it feels like there was something else that needed doing. Was it just her disease-addled brain fooling her? "So help me God, if I go to sleep and wake up a cockroach, I am suing...someone. Or something." She has narrowed the possibilities of ills plaguing her down to two: Either Gregor Mendel-itis, or a bad cold. She's pretty sure it's the former.
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Post by Sir_Integral on Jul 3, 2009 9:54:14 GMT -5
Stepping into the hallway, Integral closes her bedroom door behind her quietly, adjusting her cravat. Catching sight of Prudence she starts, "My God...You look terrible." Closing the area between the two women in three strides, she presses her hands against her friend's cheeks and forehead. "To bed with you, We can discuss what troble you've caused that could land you as a cockroach in your next life, once you're in bed." Ushering Prudence to her room, Integral stops a pretty maid and asks her to bring some orange juice up before slipping into the room behind her friend.
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Post by Prudence on Jul 4, 2009 21:41:40 GMT -5
Prudence sniffles again. "Gregor Mendel-itis doesn't need a reason. It's a surrealist sickness." Wiping her nose on her sleeve, she continues, "Although I suppose it might have to do with my steadfastly workaholic natu--" Prudence trails off into quiet laughter. "Even sick I can't say that with a straight face."
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Post by Sir_Integral on Jul 4, 2009 22:02:28 GMT -5
Leaning against the doorframe, Integral allows her friend to continue pratteling. One never knows when to speak to Prudence, she notes, You never know when you may be interupting. Finally deeming it safe to speak, she takes the soup and books from her friend, nudging her bedside table a bit closer to the bed, then rests the items upon it. "Do you need anything?" She asks, pulling the comforter and sheets back and adjusting the small mountian of pillows. Her mind races: If she could have her calls forewarded to her pager...the rest she could keep to a dull roar, save for Allastor, but he could always be forced out of the house with minimal cocophony..."I'll see if I can convience Walter to bring you up some pea plants, that way you can continue your undying research, However, I'm afraid He'll also have to bring you up a tray, as I'm going to re-locate my office to your room for this afternoon...You'll have company, should you wish to talk, and perfect silence, should you prefer to sleep. Either way, you're confined to that bed. I have too few friends to risk losing them to bad genetics or old monk's diseases."
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