240.

[captainshort]

Did anyone actually see the thing that crashed into the Square? I know no one would willingly go anywhere near that foul smoke but I thought I should ask.

Because whatever it was, it looks like it disintegrated in the air. There's nothing at the point of impact.

What the hell?

Comments

[winewomenand]

Does it matter? It smells like a buffalo farted on a tuna sandwich wrapped in Caliban's dirty socks in the springtime.

[winewomenand]

There is another way?

Since always, obviously. And by some warped standard of measurement, I'm probably even telling the truth.

[captainshort]

Apparently.

No, really? Gods forbid. Besides, Robin, if I do give you a shot of blue sparks for the headache, it won't be permanent. Go take a nap or something.

[winewomenand]

I don't want a nap. I am not tired. I want to bitch at length about things that make my ass twitch.

[captainshort]

Sounds enlightening.

[winewomenand]

I am frequently enlightening. It is such a chore I am tasked with.

[captainshort]

Yes, it must be so awful for you.

[winewomenand]

Every individual day is a Promethean struggle.

[captainshort]

[This is Holly probably ignoring you now, but if asked, will probably say she was going for a sympathetic silence.]