I'm the girl to make you feel good.
Who: Vargret and Tonks.
Where: NeoGenesis General Hospital; Terra.
When: A day after this.
Summary: Tonks can't give her favorite boss peace for a moment. It'd be bad for him.
Rating: Uh, PG-13, for swearing.
Other: Poor Varkins.
She couldn't stand the thought of it. Poor Vargret, battered and broken, wrapped up in dirty blankets in some wasteland hospital room. She couldn't stand the thought of the white walls he was sadly staring at, the generic art that was surely hung on the walls, the unchangeable daytime television shows he was stuck watching. The stench of neglect and antiseptics that he was surely immersed in.
Poor Vargret, she couldn't let him waste through the holiday season all alone. Maybe her imagination was making the thought of it worst than it was, but still. Still, it was terrible. It was horrible! It was a no-good, very bad situation that she must immediately remedy!
So, immediately after work, the witch wrapped herself up in the blinding and mis-matched colors of her good-natured ilk, and strode right over to Terra's hospital, a bag of gifts and hot food on her shoulder. The weather was ridiculous, she thought, shivering as she made her way through the doors. Utterly ridiculous. Tonks glared around the lobby, deciding whether the temperature was suitably warm for Vargret's resting-place, and made her way to his room.
After a few false turns and a couple of mishaps involving the eldery and a stray toaster, Tonks found room thirty-seven on the sixth floor. She shook the snow off of her, stomped it off her boots, and knocked -- a one, two, three -- a cheerful ode of joy. "Guess who?"
Where: NeoGenesis General Hospital; Terra.
When: A day after this.
Summary: Tonks can't give her favorite boss peace for a moment. It'd be bad for him.
Rating: Uh, PG-13, for swearing.
Other: Poor Varkins.
She couldn't stand the thought of it. Poor Vargret, battered and broken, wrapped up in dirty blankets in some wasteland hospital room. She couldn't stand the thought of the white walls he was sadly staring at, the generic art that was surely hung on the walls, the unchangeable daytime television shows he was stuck watching. The stench of neglect and antiseptics that he was surely immersed in.
Poor Vargret, she couldn't let him waste through the holiday season all alone. Maybe her imagination was making the thought of it worst than it was, but still. Still, it was terrible. It was horrible! It was a no-good, very bad situation that she must immediately remedy!
So, immediately after work, the witch wrapped herself up in the blinding and mis-matched colors of her good-natured ilk, and strode right over to Terra's hospital, a bag of gifts and hot food on her shoulder. The weather was ridiculous, she thought, shivering as she made her way through the doors. Utterly ridiculous. Tonks glared around the lobby, deciding whether the temperature was suitably warm for Vargret's resting-place, and made her way to his room.
After a few false turns and a couple of mishaps involving the eldery and a stray toaster, Tonks found room thirty-seven on the sixth floor. She shook the snow off of her, stomped it off her boots, and knocked -- a one, two, three -- a cheerful ode of joy. "Guess who?"