quicktoanger | Fourth Casefile: Damage Control. [Voice/Written/Action]

[Voice]

I paused, staring at the journal, not sure what to say for a moment.

What the hell do you say?

"Right. Sorry ab-"

Let's try this again without the accent, Harry.

"Right. Sorry about last week. If I was... off, or confused anybody, or offended anyone, or whatever."

I paused again.

"I lost the jacket, Richard, but did you at least get to keep the rifle?"

I sat for a moment longer, then chuckled.

"Least the hand didn't stay shot. Alright, I think that's it."

I shut off the feed and set to work on a filter. I suck at those, for the record, but this kind of needed to be said and was private, so...

Hell's bells, those things are more trouble than they're worth.

[Written- Locked to Molly Carpenter, filter at 2% 5% 6% 9% 9% 13 ~~16%~~ 20%]

Kid. Molly. I'm sorry about last week. Really, really sorry.
~~I never meant to~~
~~It was like I~~
Forget it. Look. Let me make it up to you somehow?

[Action]

That done, I tucked my journal in my pocket and went into town. I felt a pressing need to talk to people, which, let me tell you, never happens to me. Ever. Plus, there were a couple awkward conversations I wanted to have.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Ah. The 'fanboy shuffle' I have heard of this in folklore and wild fantastical tales. How does it go again? You take your dignity and throw it out the window?

"It helps if you weigh it down first, so you get more distance. For example, I typically tie my self-respect and capacity for civilized behavior to either end. It gives it a sort of balance for throwing."

Such selfless defenestration. However do you cope with the loss of so much of your coherent thought?

I didn't say anything. Simply stared at her for a moment- without making eye contact. It's doable, but there's a trick to it- and then, after a moment, I lifted my hands.

And made a twitching motion. In and out. Three times, all in mechanically bored deadpan.

Flail.

Flail.

Flail.

[She's not going to break. No matter how terribly hilarious this is.

...

That isn't to say she hasn't flipped open her journal discreetly and turned it in Harry's direction. Recording. For future reference, when she could bring herself to laugh at it. For now? Line. Face. Equally bored. Equally deadpan.]

What an exciting display. Almost as amusing as watching you swallow your own tongue when I suggested...how did I put it? Ah. That I would enjoy besmirching your honor.

"Yeah, well, my honor's already a little bit besmirched, at the moment."

Damn right it was. My daughter's conception was something out of some horror-themed porn movie.

Yeah. Long story.

Do you have someone hiding under the table that I am not aware of?

"Pre-besmirched. It was smirched before and I haven't unsmirched it."

...As a physician, I am able to recommend a cream for that.

... Damn. That one nearly got me. Time to play hardball.

"I doubt I'd be able to afford your hourly rate."

You want double-entendre? Lady, I could do double-entendre.

I would rather pay you to never be troubled by it, for an hour or any other length of time.

"Man, they weren't kidding. The uniform really does make all the difference."

Not that much; you are still the same underneath it.

Fourth Casefile: Damage Control. [Voice/Written/Action]

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