Drei
[Ever since he was un-droned this morning, Fritz has been feeling absolutely horrible. It's as though all of the forced, fake happiness he had to experience as a drone has utterly sapped him of the ability to be anything other than irritable and lethargic. The pounding headache he has certainly isn't helping matters, either. He's spent all morning in bed with the covers pulled up, trying to hide from his concerned drone-wife, his concerned drone-daughter, and his mysteriously absent drone-son.]
Darling, something came in the mail for you... perhaps it will cheer you up?
[The bed dips as his drone-wife sits on the edge of it, and there's the 'flump' of what sounds like a sizeable object being set down beside him. Groaning, he forces himself to sit up and put on his glasses, peering down at the package. It's addressed to 'Mr. Fritz Haydn'. He opens it with no real anticipation, and stares down at what he finds.
His uniform. It's all there. The gloves, the coat, the trousers, even his boots! No. He had thought he could start again here. He likes it here. Like hell is he going to let this town bully him into going back to his old life, not when it's given him a chance for a new one where he isn't just a walking bandaid dispenser, appreciated not for his work but for how quickly he can respond to a teammate with a scratch on their knee. He pushes the box off the bed and takes up his position under the covers again.
They could have at least sent him his Kritz. What he wouldn't give for that right now. Last time he checked, the pharmacy didn't have what he needed, and he's loath to use something else like morphine. It would probably ease his headache, though.]
Excuse me, neighbors--
[Oh no. Drone-wife has found the phone.]
--but my husband has been acting very oddly since this morning. He won't eat and he's been complaining of a headache for hours. Are there any doctors that could perhaps come and look at him? I know it's a lot to ask, but we just aren't a family without Fritz, and I don't want my babies catching whatever he has! I'm sure some visits from his friends would raise his spirits as well!
Ask zhem to bring morphine.
... And could you please bring some morphine?
[Doctors, well-wishers, 'well-wishers' and family (this means you, Clyde) are all welcome to come and pester Medic or ask to be put on the phone with him. His Kritz withdrawals are going to be worse than they would normally be, thanks to being un-droned having dumped him right in the middle of them. Thanks to Mayfield not acknowledging his physical addiction (since he's been here all his life, donchaknow!), he'll only get the emotional and psychological symptoms.]
Darling, something came in the mail for you... perhaps it will cheer you up?
[The bed dips as his drone-wife sits on the edge of it, and there's the 'flump' of what sounds like a sizeable object being set down beside him. Groaning, he forces himself to sit up and put on his glasses, peering down at the package. It's addressed to 'Mr. Fritz Haydn'. He opens it with no real anticipation, and stares down at what he finds.
His uniform. It's all there. The gloves, the coat, the trousers, even his boots! No. He had thought he could start again here. He likes it here. Like hell is he going to let this town bully him into going back to his old life, not when it's given him a chance for a new one where he isn't just a walking bandaid dispenser, appreciated not for his work but for how quickly he can respond to a teammate with a scratch on their knee. He pushes the box off the bed and takes up his position under the covers again.
They could have at least sent him his Kritz. What he wouldn't give for that right now. Last time he checked, the pharmacy didn't have what he needed, and he's loath to use something else like morphine. It would probably ease his headache, though.]
Excuse me, neighbors--
[Oh no. Drone-wife has found the phone.]
--but my husband has been acting very oddly since this morning. He won't eat and he's been complaining of a headache for hours. Are there any doctors that could perhaps come and look at him? I know it's a lot to ask, but we just aren't a family without Fritz, and I don't want my babies catching whatever he has! I'm sure some visits from his friends would raise his spirits as well!
Ask zhem to bring morphine.
... And could you please bring some morphine?
[Doctors, well-wishers, 'well-wishers' and family (this means you, Clyde) are all welcome to come and pester Medic or ask to be put on the phone with him. His Kritz withdrawals are going to be worse than they would normally be, thanks to being un-droned having dumped him right in the middle of them. Thanks to Mayfield not acknowledging his physical addiction (since he's been here all his life, donchaknow!), he'll only get the emotional and psychological symptoms.]