i_speak_softly (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
i_speak_softly) wrote2010-07-31 10:14 pm
i_speak_softly) wrote2010-07-31 10:14 pm
Entry tags:
Twenty-second Theory [Voice/Action]
((Forward-dated to tomorrow morning. Or whenever the draftees get sent back from the battle. Follows from this.))
[Donatello opens his eyes, and there's color. He's in his apartment again.
Raph is beside him, still in the deathlike sleep of torpor. The bandages on his wing are a little reddened with blood.
And Don feels cold. He no longer has a button for requesting medical supplies; he hasn't yet learned to use healing magic.
But he knows someone who can use it, and while his shell-cells may not have followed him back from the battlefield, his journal is lying within reach.
He can't be bothered to filter.]
Isamu... I need your help.
[Donatello opens his eyes, and there's color. He's in his apartment again.
Raph is beside him, still in the deathlike sleep of torpor. The bandages on his wing are a little reddened with blood.
And Don feels cold. He no longer has a button for requesting medical supplies; he hasn't yet learned to use healing magic.
But he knows someone who can use it, and while his shell-cells may not have followed him back from the battlefield, his journal is lying within reach.
He can't be bothered to filter.]
Isamu... I need your help.
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