[transcribed sounds of heavy breathing and someone dragging along something heavy... like a sack of potatoes]

Tch.

[another sound as said body is deposited onto a bed-like surface none too gently]

Someone come to the clinic to take care of this idiot.

[weak laugh in the background which sounds... suspiciously like Yamamoto]

( Private )

[transcribed sound of fingers drumming the desk impatiently followed by the very, very familiar 'tch' sound]

Is the damn kitchen in order now?

( Private )

( Ravi )

Being in this place is pointless.

Tch.

Private [Private]
That does not sound like the Beansprout.

Tch, whatever, I'll just let someone else deal with him for a while. He'll live.

( Private )

( Private )

[Private]

...

It's a stupid day. Birthday. Tch.

Whatever.