Logfile 5-- [text & open commentlog]
[Finally out of quarantine, Amelia is hard pressed for something to eat. Or drink, perhaps. Anything to get the horrendous taste out of her mouth and throat- something soothing to ease the lingering burn. The whorls are gone, but she looks a right trip. Covered in little cuts and abrasions, band-aids on some of the ones larger than a cat scratch. Many of them are covered now that she's got a fresh set of clothes that don't happen to be anything beyond her pants and a dark gray top.]
[Where is she? Sergei's. Near the back, large cup of coffee in hand and a small bowl of steaming broth. Let it be known that Amelia wasn't a fantastic cook, but she could feed herself, at least.]
[The comm in her hands is idle for a while, the woman full of uncertainty. That in itself is unsettling. She always knows what to say, what to do, even when she really doesn't. But now her home seems to be gone, and she is adamant to deny herself the feelings that thought brings. She's stronger than that.]
[Eventually, she patches in a new post and begins to tap away at the keys.]
Did anyone get around to asking that Heron woman about the Golden Shore? I'm afraid I did not get a chance.
[Or she forgot.]
[Where is she? Sergei's. Near the back, large cup of coffee in hand and a small bowl of steaming broth. Let it be known that Amelia wasn't a fantastic cook, but she could feed herself, at least.]
[The comm in her hands is idle for a while, the woman full of uncertainty. That in itself is unsettling. She always knows what to say, what to do, even when she really doesn't. But now her home seems to be gone, and she is adamant to deny herself the feelings that thought brings. She's stronger than that.]
[Eventually, she patches in a new post and begins to tap away at the keys.]
Did anyone get around to asking that Heron woman about the Golden Shore? I'm afraid I did not get a chance.
[Or she forgot.]