[ voice - forward-dated to morning ]

[underachieves]

[He sounds hoarse, like he just woke up. Or maybe a little worse than that.]

I'm here, um, if anyone...

[- cares, he means, but he doesn't finish the thought. There's some shifting of sheets, because he's in bed still, and he sniffles like he has a cold.]

...

Is the power out?

[He's at his factory loft, not the boarding house.]

Comments

[makes_asteroids]

There you are.

[Relief. It's there.]

[underachieves]

Yep...

[makes_asteroids]

You sound like you could use some hot tea and soup.

[underachieves]

Something stronger, maybe.

[makes_asteroids]

Hot buttered rum?

[underachieves]

[He's thinking heroin, but -]

Yeah. More like it.

[makes_asteroids]

[He'll supply alcohol, to a level, but not drugs.]

I could bring you some.

[underachieves]

You don't have to. This weather...

[makes_asteroids]

I've been out in worse, trust me.