[When the camera comes on, Heather's lying on her back on her sleeping bag with Cujo draped over her stomach and a sulky expression on her face. The bandage formerly tied over her eye (looking distinctly nasty now) is crumpled off to the side and in its place is a hot compress, which she's holding gently to the wounded area with one hand. She seems
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Uh... I could tell you some jokes?
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Any others?
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[She wishes she could guess some of these, because they're all pretty obvious in hindsight. But she's still not 100% after her whole ordeal.]
No idea.
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[if horrible puns were weapons, Heather'd probably be dead by now.]
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Okay, that was the worst.
Bronze.
[She's not gonna show how much it amused her anyway, though.]
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[sluuuump.]
I guess it wasn't my best one, anyway.
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