B1, Day 2 [public channel]

[whattaprick]

[ There are a lot of things people need to do right now: help the Prince's servants get resettled, get started on figuring out who can work on a cure for the petrification, deal with the trauma of dying in a hopefully healthy and non-self-destructive way, show the new people the ropes of what the Carnival has to work with.

Instead, in the morning of the second day since the Prince was defeated, anyone on the radio gets this: ]

So, I've been wondering.

[ The Nightrider's voice, for those who recognize it, has definitely been better. It's a low, hoarse rasp, and the pause at the end is not just for effect, but to actually catch his breath. ]

Just how old is everyone here, anyway? Here, I'll start. I'm ... pretty sure I'm almost sixty. [ A beat. ] ... Maybe.

[ Why did anyone let this man have his radio back again? ]

[ ooc; Lambert's flat on his back in the medical tent for this, feel free to bug him in person and threadjack each other at will. ]

Comments

[motivenotfound]

[Lambert and his talking soul get some definite points for that little nod.]

Lucky for you, I have four. Hands, that is.

Unfortunately, I'm still missing a bunch of details about what's going on... I barely got here when Sans came through--

[Goddamnit.]

Aw shit, did anyone brief you on that?

[whattaprick]

Not about what happened here. We were there, when the Prince took Sans's name, and we heard you managed to catch him, but that's all.

[motivenotfound]

Ooooh.... well, he wasn't really that hard to catch, if I'm being honest. I actually overdid it.

[She'd been expecting a lot more of a fight, see.]

If you can tell me what happened, though, that'd be a big help. I don't know all the principles behind it per se, but the death of the self is pretty serious. If he'd gotten any more lost we'd be mopping up a puddle.

Or sweeping up dust.

[A pause.]

Maybe we should have that conversation in person, huh?