Claudia Donovan (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
notmyownage) wrote2011-08-03 02:33 pm
notmyownage) wrote2011-08-03 02:33 pm
Entry tags:
Room 317, All day Wednesday
Claudia wasn't getting out of bed today for love or money. She felt like death warmed over. Like even more death even more warmed over than when she was having her life slowly drained out of her by her connection to her brother's failed attempt at teleportation, and that was hard to do. Maybe she'd managed to electrocute herself a little while playing with the rock, after all.
So, since she'd clearly managed to catch creepy Massachusetts death flu or something, she decided she deserved to have a day of lying in bed.
Then she noticed the spots where her skin was going thick, gray, and scaly. Within minutes, she was calling Artie -- while still lying in a little cocoon of blankets hidden away from the world at large. So, you know, naturally she got his answering machine. Not even voicemail, an answering machine. It was like Artie was from the stone age.
"Hey, Artie, it's me. Do you know of an artifact out there that inflicts the heartbreak of psoriasis on people?"
Blame it on an artifact. The Warehouse's own Occam's razor.
[ooc: Door is closed, but the post is open!]
So, since she'd clearly managed to catch creepy Massachusetts death flu or something, she decided she deserved to have a day of lying in bed.
Then she noticed the spots where her skin was going thick, gray, and scaly. Within minutes, she was calling Artie -- while still lying in a little cocoon of blankets hidden away from the world at large. So, you know, naturally she got his answering machine. Not even voicemail, an answering machine. It was like Artie was from the stone age.
"Hey, Artie, it's me. Do you know of an artifact out there that inflicts the heartbreak of psoriasis on people?"
Blame it on an artifact. The Warehouse's own Occam's razor.
[ooc: Door is closed, but the post is open!]