IC Inbox

[thumbsdown]

■ You have reached the RobCo Certified Inbox for CRAIG BOONE. Unfortunately, CRAIG BOONE cannot be reached at this time, but would surely be delighted you called.

Please choose one of the following:

> Leave A Text Message
> Leave An Audio Message
> Leave A Video Message
> Disconnect

Once you've made your choice, leave your desired message and CRAIG BOONE will be notified.

[CONNECTED]

code by barbarycoast

Comments

[keeponstrolling]

"You know it. Scraped knees and stubbed toes all the time, everywhere."

Well, this is at least a lot more comfy than a pool table, and still a helluva more comfortable than a gunshot wound. Even if it's significantly less hygienic. Ugh. Speaking of.

"Mrgnh. Help me up. Should probably head to the table for this. It's cleaner than somethin' you slept in for a while, and I'll get up with a hair bandage stuck to my back." Tommy doesn't really want to move, but he knows that it'll be better for him than something rubbed in with garbage juices, even if the last time the table was sterilized was when Tommy'd spilled his alcohol on it.

[thumbsdown]

You need a first aid kit for a stubbed toe?

[He'd be smiling slightly if he could, because the idea of Tommy actually bandaging a stubbed toe is pretty funny. When Tommy asks him to help him up, he gets back to his feet again and holds out a hand.]

Hey, I'm pretty clean when I'm not covered in garbage. Which was your fault, incase you forgot.

[keeponstrolling]

"I got delicate toenails, you don't know?"

Cracking jokes helps take his mind off things, but he's only just outpacing the freakout regarding his near death experience. He takes Boone's hand as gracefully as he can, and lets himself be settled on his feet with only a slight stumble and a waver. He takes short breaths, talons still squeezing Boone's hand, winded by that relatively simple task.

"What, you're not gonna taxi me to the table?" This is entirely to mask the fact that the kitchen seems an awful long way away. "This service is awful. I want my money back."

[thumbsdown]

[He pauses, tilts his head at Tommy, then shrugs and picks him up. He makes sure to avoid anywhere that's sore as best as he can, which makes the process a little more difficult, and when they reach the kitchen he sets him down on the table.]

There. Better?

[He goes back for the first aid kit, and opens it on the table beside Tommy.]

Should probably warn you, I'm no doctor. Can follow instructions, though.

[keeponstrolling]

"Bone, my hero!"

After a split second of surprise, Tommy pretend-swoons (which is a little too genuine for his liking) into his arms, and points his foot up dramatically. The result is mostly just a wriggling sack of feathers. But he's put down on the table with surprising gentleness, and Tommy rolls his head to the side.

"Well I'm sure you'll be pleased to hear that I'm no medical professional either. But there's disinfectant and burn cream, which I think won't kill me no matter how bad of a doctor you are."

[thumbsdown]

[The display does get a chuckle from Boone, at least. This isn't really a laughing matter, but it's more helpful than getting angry.]

Yeah, I think I can handle that. Just tell me what to do, and remember it's your fault if I screw up.

[Not that you can really screw up with burn cream and disinfectant.]