[The first thing you'll notice it that John looks like absolute hell. He's been floating from bar to bar or at least a day. His clothes are completely rumpled and you can practically smell the whiskey and desperation coming off him.]
Hey, Bobby? I need a favor, bad. [He scrubs a hand across his face, looking completely exhausted.] I need to crash
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...taking a break. Right. And what's this about something happening to me?
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Cookies?
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The hell is going on this week?
[And it has cookies. Why the hell not?]
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Don't ask me, I just got here.
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They're from the robot house.
[And recepie courtesy of his estranged wife. Either this is a peace offering or she's trying to kill him.
He decides to take the cookies. Hell, there's worse ways to die.]
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