fridgetothefire: (restrain)
[Private to Riddick and Abigail]

The bad news is, I didn't find him. The good news is, he's definitely not where he came from. How are you guys holding up?


[Anya looks tired. Not frazzled or grimly frantic the way she did last month, just - tired. Particularly observant folk may notice her hair is an inch or two longer than it was four day ago.]

I'm back. Any dramatic murders in the last few days?

[Private to Iris and Cambridge]

Speaking of which, do either of you have some biohazard-safe cryogenic storage type devices I could use?

All backdated to the 21st )
fridgetothefire: (mysteries)
[She feels brittle and stretched, like an old rubber band, achy and shocky. The world isn't quite steady. She blinks open tacky eyelids, sees blue sky instead of read cape, then closes them again, takes carefully counted breaths, tries to center herself in her body until the static clears. She sits up, and realizes dimly that the world really isn't steady. She's in a little motorboat on a charming neighborhood canal of some sort, rocking lightly with the shallow waves. The position of the sun suggests it's afternoon. She doesn't have a hangover but she still feels strange, unreal and full of echoes. Her back aches where she was laying on something - her communicator. Her breath whooshes out as memory rushes in, and she swallows several times, picks it up with hands that shake only slightly.]

[Public, video]

[Anya has messy hair and a drawn expression, carefully tamping down on hope and fear alike.]

...hello, this is Anya, can anyone hear this?

[Private to the Admiral, a little later]

Give me an expanded storage room off the maintenance office and I'll be able to stock up better.


fridgetothefire: (Default)
Anya Lehnsherr | Earth 97400

November 2015

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