The Old Improbable Island Wiki

The Churlish Miss Hellebore: :, not worried about indecorum, hops up on the low wooden table and sits there, legs swinging.

Rookie Ahab: : is limping a little more now, what with the one skirmish along the way, but he manages to get a leaning sit on a table across from Miss Hellebore.

The Churlish Miss Hellebore: : gets down to brass tacks, “Okay, so this whole lying thing is really easy. So here's what I'm not going to do: I'm not going to ask you questions, because questions counteract my deal, got it?”

Rookie Ahab: : gets the sense that he should listen really carefully, so he opens his mouth, “UUh,” then remembers what he just told himself and zips it.

The Churlish Miss Hellebore: : nods, succintly, “How are you?”

Rookie Ahab: : has it on his lips to say, 'out with it woman'. Thankfully for all concerned, he's smart enough to know not to. “I'm level 14, as of today. That's a good thing, right?”

The Churlish Miss Hellebore: : blinks at him, “Err… how's the battling?”

Johnson: :'s semi-inflated balloon bobs in along the floor, sadly limp. Johnson follows it sneakily, poking her head in through the door at ground level. She may or may not be trying to eavesdrop…

Rookie Ahab: :. “Well, your generous loan - I still have a few hundred to pay back, but it's coming - I was able to get out of the financial spiral, and now I beat everything and find all this lucre everywhere.

Johnson: : crawls through the pretty greens, dragging the balloon behind her. Commando-style, like.

Johnson: : blinks. Loan? Is this a financial discussion? She sneaks up behind the table, fortunately covered by lots of green plants. Green plants. Green coat. Blendage, yes? Yessss.

The Churlish Miss Hellebore: : doesn't notice Johnson, because she's a commando. She waves off the offer to repay the loan. “And the art? How are the statues?”

Johnson: : sneaks up under the table and begins, very quietly and very sneakily, to tie Miss Hellebore's bootlaces together.

Rookie Ahab: : figures the questions are ingenuous, small talk, but sincere. “There's no lucre in that, filthy or otherwise. I'm better off as a rookie warrior in a trenchcoat with a screwdriver than an artist.”

The Churlish Miss Hellebore: : frowns, thinking, “And being a trenchcoated warrior is more fulfilling?”

Johnson: : ties her fifteenth complicated knot and then finds she's accidentally knotted the end of her braid into Miss Hellebore's bootlaces. Damn. Damn it all.

Johnson: : begins rather laboriously and extremely quietly to start untying that meddlesome fifteenth knot with her hair in it.

The Churlish Miss Hellebore: : is swinging her feet to and fro, which is probably partly to blame.

Rookie Ahab: :. “Eh, no. I'd be an idiot to claim otherwise. Making art just isn't an endeavour that can be quantified - there's no perfect timing in it.”

Johnson: : is finding a few problems untying the knot. Tying it, and the previous fourteen, was fine. Untying it requires Miss Hellebore keeping still, which doesn't seem likely.

Johnson: : gives up on the knot. She'll figure it out in a moment. But now! The paintbrush! She pulls it out from her coat, dips it in yellow paint and begins to paint rather wobbly daisies on the bootheels.

The Churlish Miss Hellebore: : says, “Well, I like you better as …” She winces and rethinks her wording, “A soldier.”

Rookie Ahab: :, leaning slightly forward crosses his arms, then his stockinged feet. The crease where buttock meets hamstring is comfortably settled against the edge of the table.

Johnson: : did not need to know about Ahab's buttocks, but now he mentions them, she'll get to it in a moment. Once she finishes with these daisies. COZEN, STOP SWINGING YOUR LEGS.

The Churlish Miss Hellebore: : accidentally kicks Johnson in the head a little. She thinks it's a potted plant. Because it's all hard and lumpy.

Rookie Ahab: : looks across at her. At Miss Hellebore. Miss Cozen Hellebore. He squints ever so slightly, “rrEALL-y?” Not doubting her exactly, but not sure he should believe her either.

Johnson: : is wearing her trusty cap, but still gets oww'd. She yelps!

Johnson: : claps her hands over her mouth. Damn! And ogod, her hair's still stuck to the bootlaces, which are still tied together! Odear. And she's still holding a paintbrush. Um. Ohgod. Um. Whattodo.

The Churlish Miss Hellebore: : frowns, entirely unsure how to proceed, “You're an awful person?” That sounds about right…

The Churlish Miss Hellebore: : hears the yelp and hops off the table to investigate. This is an awful proposition for everyone involved…

Johnson: : AUGHS as her head is yanked forward and down. Paint flies everywhere, spattering plants, pants, and, why not?- Ahab and his buttocks. Just because.

Rookie Ahab: : admits to himself that yes, very often yes, he's not all that awesome. But 'awful'? Should he cop to that? He decides not. “No. I didn't say that, did I?”

The Churlish Miss Hellebore: :'s feet catch under her and she starts wheeling about to catch herself, and since her feet are attached to Johnson's head, they aren't there when she needs them, so bam. Right on her face.

Johnson: : AGHs as she comes tumbling out, paintbrush spearing ahead of her and flying from her grip. “Gragharjdsdhaegrhaaagh!” she expostulates. Wildly. Through a mouthful of loosening hair.

Rookie Ahab: : responds to the commotion like the passenger of a car accident. Stunned silence. There's no perfect timing to be honed for this sort of situation.

Johnson: :'s balloon bobs sadly out from behind the cover of the nearest bush and is promptly splattered with paint, thanks to the wildly threshing arms of its owner. The paintbrush SPANGS next to it and-

Johnson: : attempts to grab it, but misses. It sails towards Ahab in a ricochet of deadly yellow splattery fury.

Rookie Ahab: : doesn't flinch. He doesn't uncross his arms or his legs. Neither set of cheeks twitches, but he sees every molecule in the room.

The Churlish Miss Hellebore: : sputters trying to catch her balance and figure out what the hell just happened. When she turns though, the blood gushing from her broken nose makes the situation look more grim than it is…

Johnson: : GAHs as blood comes puddling towards her, mixing with the yellow paint into an incredibly pretty orange. Mmm, blood oranges. “OHGOD. Cozen! Are you okay?”

Johnson: : attempts to stand and AUNGHs again as her head is yanked back down, having completely forgotten her braid was tied into Miss Hellebore's bootlaces. Impatiently, she flicks out the knife.

Rookie Ahab: :'s slow-motion out-of-body sense of things cannot stem the tide, and it is yellow.

The Churlish Miss Hellebore: : blinks. “Johnson?! What the hell are you doing?” She doesn't seem to realize that she's bleeding all over the place, so that's good news, right?

Johnson: : saws away at her braid until it comes loose, leaving at least a foot of black hair pouring from the abused boots. Johnson then proceeds to flick back her hair and scrub paint from her eyes. 'Cozen?”

Johnson: : points at the nose, and the blood, and back at the nose again. And then at the blood, which is turning prettier and prettier. Rather like a sunset. “Ma'am, you're bleeding. I'M SO SORRYYYY.”

Rookie Ahab: :, even now, with the cool slickness dripping into the chinks in his invisisuit from every corner of his face and neck, with the exception of his rapidly blinking eyelids, does not move a muscle.

The Churlish Miss Hellebore: : huffs–which is pretty gruesome at the moment–“No! It's the Watcher. Why am I tied to you?”

The Churlish Miss Hellebore: : makes a gurgling “Wha..?” noise and puts her hand up to her nose. She turns a good deal more green under the paint and blood sunset.

Johnson: : looks up at the rookie and admires the yellowy view. Huh. No time for that! She looks back down. “I don't know! It was an accident!” She rubs her scalp tenderly. “Hell, woman. Is your nose alright?”

Johnson: : winces at the green shade. She looks up at the rookie, who has apparently turned to stone. “Do you have anything to stop her bleeding?”

Rookie Ahab: : doesn't see yellow now, so much as feel it. His eyes move down to the woman on the floor. “But there're two…” his brain tells him. “Two?” he asks his brain.

The Churlish Miss Hellebore: : pinches her nose closed. That's a good thing to do right? And she stares cross eyed down her front trying to assess the damage. “Eheb! Do somebind!”

Rookie Ahab: :, always slow on the uptake, shows a little more speed on the downtake. Squishing in uncouth places, he unbends his limbs to bend them down. He pulls a blanket out of his pack. “This?”

Rookie Ahab: : says, “Hold your head forward, Cozie.” No, not right. “Hold your head back.”

Johnson: : hops around trying to shove her hair out of her face, which, now unbound, threatens to overtake the world. “S'a bit big!” she cries at Ahab, and crouches in front of Miss Hellebore.

The Churlish Miss Hellebore: : tilts her head forward then back. This makes her head slosh like a half full coffee pot.

Johnson: : peers at the nose. It's a bit hard to see, considering there's ridiculous amounts of blood and yellow paint everywhere. “Is your nose broken or is it just sprained? Or is it a nosebleed?”

Johnson: : yelps. “Don't do that! You'll shake blood out of your ears! Or something!” She clutches at Cozen's head, hair at full riot. “Hold still! Is it broken or not?”

Rookie Ahab: : shrugs mightily. “Well, I don't have one of those little pocket packs of scented tissues on me just now. Christmas was some time ago. Woman.”

The Churlish Miss Hellebore: : glares, “Ah donb… Ah do knowb. Wad ib it?”

Johnson: : blinks at Ahab. Then she flicks out her knife. “You mind your bl- OH. Oh.” She slaps her forehead, narrowly avoiding stabbing herself in the face. “I'm a bloody zombie! Of course I've bandages!”

Rookie Ahab: : cringes at the damage to Cozen's face, and considers whether pulling the most riotous hairs out of the other woman's head might help.

Johnson: : coughs and laughs at Miss Hellebore's determination to stick to her lies, even mid-crises. She drops her knife, whips off her cap and rifles through it for that roll of bandages she swore she had-

Johnson: : AHAs in triumph. Bandages! “Hold still, woman.” She peers down at Cozen. “Um. Rook. Do you happen to know when a nose is broken, when it's a nosebleed and when it's just sprained?”

The Churlish Miss Hellebore: : gives Ahab a look like an anchor might give a boat right before it slips underwater.

Rookie Ahab: :, unable to watch the triage, looks mournfully down at his paint-spattered, blood-stained, hair-embedded blanket. “There's probably zombie skin in it, too.”

Johnson: : is thoroughly unsure as to how anchors look when they slip underwater. Particularly since anchors DON'T HAVE FACES. WOMAN.

The Churlish Miss Hellebore: : glares, “Wab boo tink Ah been doink?”

Johnson: : blinks at the rookie indignantly. “Do you mean my skin? Excuse me! I do not shed skin! I am a certified non-decomposing zombie! Now tell me if this woman needs her nose re-located!”

Johnson: : glares back down at Miss Hellebore. “Talking!”

The Churlish Miss Hellebore: : thinks that Johnson might have to get a little more used to flowery metaphor. WOMAN.

Rookie Ahab: : snaps to at the request for information. “Yes, but it'll hurt. You touch the nose to see where it hurts the most, then feel for the ridge of broken cartilidge, then sculpt it back into shape.”

The Churlish Miss Hellebore: : says, “Bub not mobink!” triumphantly… well, as triumphantly as a person can say that phrase.

Johnson: : blinks. “Er. Okay. Can you do that?”

The Churlish Miss Hellebore: : shakes her head furiously… which makes her feel woozy. “Ah lahk dat ibdea!”

Johnson: : thinks that the flowery metaphor has to avoid being thoroughly crossed in order to succeed. Anchors also keep boats safe and are the lifeline of ships in deep water. IS COZEN A LIFELINE? Nooooooooo.

Rookie Ahab: :. “Ehh, I've never done it, myself. So, uuh, no?”

Johnson: : points down instantly. “See! She likes that idea! We need to find out!”

Johnson: : blinks. “Um. WELL. DO IT ANYWAY. You sound like you know more about it than I do. GO, man. BE A MAN.”

The Churlish Miss Hellebore: : probably MEANT the anchor was asking the boat why are you doing this to me? THIS being lowering her into the depths with a complete madwoman… like a kracken.

Rookie Ahab: : looking up, says, “I can touch the nose, probably.” He reaches blindly forward with both palms, searching for the nose in question.

The Churlish Miss Hellebore: : continues shaking, “Nob! Nob! Ah lahk dat ibdea!”

The Churlish Miss Hellebore: : whimpers.

Rookie Ahab: : adds, “After that she can probably tell when it hurts most, but the rest I don't know about. I think I forget.” He's found something prominent and shrewd with a pinky finger.

Johnson: : grins. “Ya hear her? She likes that idea.” She bends over, equilibrium perfectly restored now the paint has begun to harden in her hair, keeping it mostly still. “Yep, that's her nose.”

The Churlish Miss Hellebore: : howls when he touches her nose and kicks poor, helpful Ahab in the shin.

Rookie Ahab: : says, “Maybe I should go wash my hands.” He's not looking for an out, but thinks he may have found one.

Rookie Ahab: : is armoured in the shin.

Johnson: : winces. “I believe she's broken her nose, by the sound of it.”

Johnson: : blinks at the rookie. “What! No! You can't do that until we fix her nose!”

The Churlish Miss Hellebore: : succeeds in hurting her toe then. Great. Perfect. The anchor goes ahead and cuts itself free from the boat, because I'm unwilling to let this metaphor go.

Johnson: : hesitates. “Or. OR. We could bandage her whole face up and then take her into town, and maybe someone else will be there who can fix it for us?”

Johnson: :'s sense of metaphor-accuracy is mollified. Slightly more, anyway. It would probably be more accurate to say the anchor cuts itself free and sinks into a Sea of BLUDDDD, cursing the whole way down.

Rookie Ahab: :, keeping his eyes on the grid of glasswork above but not wanting to lose track of the nose, plays his fingers one at a time across it until he's got a bit of a grip. He can't quit now.

Johnson: : applauds the rookie's bravery. “Right. I'll hold her head, you hold her nose. Found where it should be yet?”

The Churlish Miss Hellebore: : kicks. Ow. She kicks again. Ow ow. “Geb de buddy huck oppab mah noeb!”

Johnson: : frowns. “Cozen, stay still. Your nose is apparently broken and needs to be put back into place. Just hold still and it'll be over in a second.” She hopes.

Rookie Ahab: : is not a fainter, but his equilibrium is fighting for… balance. He has to lower his head to shake off the dizziness. And shake his head to clear the double vision.

Johnson: : frowns at the rookie. He looks a bit woozy. Okay. Well, he's holding on to her nose, and she's holding onto Cozen's head, so… she feels her way down. Pokes Cozen in the eye. Sorry! Ah, nose. Nose.

Rookie Ahab: : hasn't let go of The Nose. It comes into focus, and he realizes that he doesn't have to feel for the break - he can see it. “I can see it!”

Johnson: : feels something that should be somewhere else? She thinks? Well. One thing for it- to try! She grins madly and jerks.

The Churlish Miss Hellebore: : sqwaks! “Lebbe goooooooo!”

Johnson: : aughs. “Push it into place!” she yowls, jerking.

Rookie Ahab: :, in a sudden stab of courage, reaches with his free hand to push the cartiliginous wreckage into place. He sculpts Cozen's nose back into an even shrewder point.

The Churlish Miss Hellebore: : makes the sort of awful howling noise that was previously only relegated to disgruntled trains and dying monkeys.

Johnson: : hears a click. She freezes. Is that it? “Isthatit? Didyougetit? Isthatitclicking?”

Rookie Ahab: : exclaims, yells really, “Done! DONE!”

Johnson: : looks down. Hm. It looks alright… she takes her hands off long enough to feel around for the bandage.

Johnson: : applauds. “Excellent job!” And then she tosses the rookie the other end of the bandage. “Here. Start wrapping from this side and I'll start from this end, and maybe we'll meet in the middle.”

The Churlish Miss Hellebore: : is … no longer being held to the ground? Good! She gives Ahab a good whallop to the jaw.

Johnson: : jerks backwards, bandage still in hand. “Cozen! What was that for? He was helping ya!”

The Churlish Miss Hellebore: : glares, “Dab hurp!… Dibn! Ah mean dibn hurp!”

Rookie Ahab: : feels a faintness not caused by staring at the stars. He drops the bandage and looks down at a constellation entirely new to him.

Johnson: : points. “Ya see? It didn't hurt! And so you- oh wait, you can't apologise, can you.” She hms.

Johnson: : saves the other end of the bandage. Oh dear. Is she going to have to wrap up this one as well? First aid is not her strong suit. As has been proved. Just now.

The Churlish Miss Hellebore: : gives Ahab a faintly apologetic look. Nothing polite, mind you, just a look.

Johnson: : waves anxiously at the rookie. “Rook? Are you alright?” She begins, hastily, to wind a bandage around Miss Hellebore's nose, staunching the bleeding with the sleeve of her coat. It's seen worse.

Rookie Ahab: :. “It's okay,” he mumbles flexing his mandible left and right, “I deserved it. At least she didn't hit my nose.”

The Churlish Miss Hellebore: : takes overs, slapping Johnson's hands away, and peers down, “Eheb? Boo okah?”

Johnson: : blinks at the rookie. “No, you didn't deserve it. At all. You were helping her.” She tugs a little tighter on the bandage than necessary. “And Cozen's very grateful, aren't you, Cozen?”

Johnson: : shakes her hands free of bandage and ungrateful long-nosed ladies and decides, since everything seems vaguely under control, to go looking for a towel to mop things up. Kitchen, hm?

The Churlish Miss Hellebore: : says, “Noab.”

Rookie Ahab: : explains. “I could've been faster. My dad always said it wasn't curiosity killed the cat - it was hesitation.” He moves to Cozen, “Are you okay, does it still hurt. I'm sorry.”

The Churlish Miss Hellebore: :'s face finally completely bandaged, and looking rather like a mummy, inches over and puts an awkward arm over Ahab's shoulders, giving them a squeeze.

Rookie Ahab: : shakes his head and waves his hands, “No, no no, don't talk! Sorry.”

The Churlish Miss Hellebore: : whispers, “Ah'b da one who'b not sorry.”

Johnson: : returns, bearing a wodge of teatowels! She begins mopping up. She blinks at the rookie's explanation, but after a moment, accepts it. “You do have to be fast to survive on this island, true.”

Johnson: : looks up from her mopping long enough to translate, “She means, she's sorry. And she's grateful. She has to lie about everything, remember?”

Rookie Ahab: :, touched by his muse waxes philosophic. “Who needs talk? Ceno can't talk, so he writes. Teh can't talk, so he signs, sarcastically I've noticed.”

Rookie Ahab: :. “Remember what? And who ARE you, anyway?”

Johnson: : blinks at the rookie. “You need talk, by the sound of it. Of you. Talking. That is.” In case she didn't make it clear enough. “Now, can you get her standing so I can mop under and around her?”

The Churlish Miss Hellebore: : takes her arm back from around his shoulders, glad that the awkward moment has passed. “Yeb, but I'b a hat.”

Johnson: : frowns at the rookie. “I'm Johnson. Who are you? And you mean, you don't know? She has to tell lies for a week and be really, really rude.”

Rookie Ahab: : puts his arm round Cozen's waist and her arm back round his shoulders. They move away from the mess. Some of the mess travels with them, like the coat of paint Ahab now wears.

The Churlish Miss Hellebore: : doesn't even fight the close proximity with her usual missishness.

Rookie Ahab: :. “I'm Ahab, Johnson. Let me guess, you're a friend? Here to make sure she tells lies?”

The Churlish Miss Hellebore: : nods, sadly, at what Johnson's saying, “Ah'b tried not tellink byou.”

Johnson: : hehs quietly under her breath, but moves into the space and begins to mop, briskly and efficiently. She's had experience, cleaning up blood. She stands up.

Johnson: : roots around until she finds a bucket among the gardening things. Fills it with water and brings it back to continue moppage. “What?” She looks at Ahab. “Oh, Yes, I'm a friend. But I'm not a watch-”

Rookie Ahab: : disdainfully adds, “She has to tell lies and be really rude - HAS to. You're being ridiculous.” Looking down at Cozen's bloody teary painty face and seeing it confirmed, he falters.

Johnson: : sneezes. Dusty bucket. “Scuse me. I'm not a watchdog. And she just said she tried telling you.” She grins over her shoulder. “And. Please to meetcha. Kind of.” She returns to scrubbing blood off.

The Churlish Miss Hellebore: : leans on Ahab and watches Johnson clean. It's probably safer if she just shuts up.

Rookie Ahab: :'s brainwaves catch up. And he gasps. Improbability isn't quite as difficult for him to grasp as it once was.

Johnson: : wrinkles her nose up at the rookie's disdainful tone. “Well. She played a game with a joker. And that joker can be scary when she wants to. So yeah. She has to, pretty much.”

The Churlish Miss Hellebore: : says, “Jokerb.” As if this explains everything, which it totally does.

Rookie Ahab: : says, “So, you have to lie, or be silent. I know you'd rather die than be rude so that rules out sarcasm.” He's trying to solve this, like a sudoku or cryptic crossword.

Rookie Ahab: : gives Cozen, nestled into his side, a small squeeze.

Johnson: : grins, tossing the teatowels into the bucket. “She's being plenty rude without death, recently, so I think that's a bit of an exaggeration. It's not like a curse, though.” She picks up her brush.

The Churlish Miss Hellebore: : is squeezed, which rather reminds her that she's being held, and steps away, mummy-wraps hiding the proximity blush that creeps up. “It ib really bery wonderbul.”

Johnson: : grins, tucking her brush away and picking up her empty paint bottle. That she tucks away too. “And, mister Ahab, what is she saying now?”

Rookie Ahab: : still can't bring himself to trust Johnson's every word, but still he's processing the options. “It was a bet. Wasn't it. Not a game, a bet. And it's her honour at stake.”

Johnson: : also points at Miss Hellebore's boots. “Um, Cozen. At some point, also, you should probably cut my hair out from your bootlaces.”

Rookie Ahab: : keeps up the two person conversation about Cozen, standing right there. “Besides not being able to understand her, I don't know what she means, if she's really lying that is.”

The Churlish Miss Hellebore: : looks down at her boots in a oh. that explains it. way.

Rookie Ahab: : looks at Cozen's nose once more. From this angle it may actually be improved.

Johnson: : blinks at Ahab. “It was a game. Dex rolled a couple of her joker dice, and Miss Hellebore agreed to it. So she got dared, and has to keep this dare.” She grins. “Yep. She's lying. When she says-”

Johnson: : flips her hair back and yowls at the shape it's taken, with the paint frozen- “good GOD. Um. Anyway. When she says that it's really wonderful, she means that it's really very not.”

Rookie Ahab: :. “A dare!”

The Churlish Miss Hellebore: : is pretending people aren't talking about her in the third person while she's standing RIGHT THERE. She leans down and begins untangling knots.

Johnson: : nods, chucking out the bloody yellow water and rinsing out the teatowels. “Yes. One dice rolls and there's a choice of truth, half-truth, lie, dare, desire and something or other else.”

Rookie Ahab: : has little sympathy for Johnson's hair. He understands how messengers of yore would worry for their lives, as he would like to do a little chainsaw carving on her coif.

Johnson: : wrings a teatowel out. “The other dice rolls intensity- one to six, six being extreme. Cozen had a lie at five first, but wouldn't do it. Dex offered her a swop for a six dare, and Cozen took it.”

Johnson: : doesn't need sympathy for her hair. It grows back to arse-length every new day, for some godforsaken reason. If Ahab really wants to take a chainsaw to it, he can.

The Churlish Miss Hellebore: : says, “Ah trieb to do ib!… Dibn't… dibn't try.”

Johnson: : shrugs. She stacks teatowels neatly. “I myself got a four truth. Someone else got a three dare, I think? It's the problem with joker games. Dangerous business.”

Rookie Ahab: :. “shit.” He'd clean, but he'd rather watch the messenger clean.

Johnson: : nods at Miss Hellebore. “Yes. You did try to tell a size four lie, but Dex wouldn't accept the size you gave her.” She grins. Swills out the bucket. “It was a pretty big lie for you, admittedly.”

Rookie Ahab: : glances Cozen's way a little worried. “Uh, sorry, slipped out.”

Johnson: : would like to know why Ahab is referring to her as the messenger. Or at least she would, if she knew what Ahab was thinking. As it is, she continues cleaning in blissful ignorance.

The Churlish Miss Hellebore: : shrugs, privately glad Ahab missed her cursing bloody murder when he was resetting her nose.

Rookie Ahab: :, with the persistence of Inspector Morse, identifies loose ends for tying. He begins to talk to Cozen though. “In IC, you were talking oddly, I thought, but I didn't entirely notice.”

Johnson: : puts the bucket back where she found it and picks up the wodge of mostly-cleaned teatowels again. “Well. I'm done here.” She looks at Cozen and Ahab. “I suggest we get ourselves cleaned up, though.”

The Churlish Miss Hellebore: : finally undoes her laces.

Johnson: : applauds the triumphant lace-undoing! Now she has to do them back up again, though.

Rookie Ahab: :. “And your clannies were giving you the gears before leaving for the night, don't think I didn't notice that - I just didn't know what for. Well, I had a guess, but I was wrong, I suppose.”

The Churlish Miss Hellebore: : says, “Ib been dribink me sane.”

Rookie Ahab: :, absently, “There's a sink in the kitchen that I've used before…”

Johnson: : glances at Ahab. Does he want her to translate or can he cope? Eh, he can probably cope.

Johnson: : shrugs. “Well, I was planning on using a fountain somewhere and just jumping in. If y'all are okay, I'm going to head to ImpCent and get clean there. Join me if you wish, or stay here- up to you!”

The Churlish Miss Hellebore: : looks down at her gown, “Ebby time I see byou, Johnson… ib keeps gebbing worse.”

Johnson: : grins and walks out after one last look around to make sure the place is more-or-less the way she found it upon coming in. She picks up her balloon on the way.

The Churlish Miss Hellebore: : blinks. She can't actually tell if she just lied or not.

Johnson: : grins as she leaves. “Yes. Yes, it really does. I tremble to think what it'll be next time I see ya.”

The Churlish Miss Hellebore: : turns to Ahab, “Look, you go aheab. I'm going to go spay awake.”

The Churlish Miss Hellebore: :, once alone, peels off her bloodied, battered, and ruined dress, and standing in nothing but her undergarments, slips over to a pallet on the floor. Bath later. Sleep now. Day two down.

Rookie Ahab: :, only back for his blanket, sees the sleeping Miss Hellebore and considers leaving it for her, only it's a goodawful mess. He quietly backs out of the room and heads for the cot in the office.

Rookie Ahab: :, having had his fill of a cot too short for his bodily length and too sagged for his straight spine, looks in on Miss Hellebore. “Maybe I shoulda slept on the table like before.”

Rookie Ahab: : makes one more tiptoeing check that the place is shipshape. On his way out he whispers, “Then it's five days of lies for me. What you must do, I must too.”