fuckitybye

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017

[Filtered to the infirmary staff + Claire, Paddy, Rube, Parker (i.e. the people he sort of almost trusts).]

Is there anything at all in the fucking infirmary for a migraine? I feel like sodding Riverdance is stamping and kicking its Hibernian way through my fucking skull.

[OOC: What's this about? Well, perhaps the current general election in the UK (and the corresponding one in his native canon, which will no doubt be closely based on the one in the real world) is sending some kind of psychic fallout across the multiverse, and it's giving Malcolm a big headache. Unless a current copy of the Guardian somehow appears in the library, there's no way he can know about either the real election or the TTOI one, but it seemed only fitting that he react somehow. Infirmary staff, feel free to use this to bully Malcolm into coming in for a checkup.]

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If it were Riverdance, I'd surely fucking know about it by now.

I'm almost positive there's something, I'll ask. Do you know what caused it?

You should come in so we can take a look at you, Malcolm. You haven't had your physical yet, and this could be connected. Shall we say three o'clock?

Oh, aye? Big fan, are we?

No fucking clue. It's not like I get the fucking things regularly, either.

I don't need a fucking physical, I just need something to make the fucking clog-dancers in my skull fuck back off to Dublin.

...

If you must know, it helps me focus.

You're not fucking serious.

If you have an underlying condition I could treat you with something and it could be worse.

[Private]
Malcolm, it won't hurt, and I probably won't even need to touch you, just use the scanner.

Actually, I fucking am, you little Jock.

Thank fucking god; I thought you'd gone mental down in zero.

Sounds like you need a drink.

I am healthy as a fucking horse. Can't you just give me a fucking pill and have done with it?

Soon as Michael Flateley stops giving my eyesockets a kicking, maybe I'll be able to look at a fucking bottle straight on.

...Riverdance is a sign of mental?

I really do fucking like it.

Malcolm. A scan and then I'll give you something to take care of this. It's not hard or time intensive.

Fuck, you really are serious.

Well, de fucking gustibus and all that. I'd never have pegged you for it.

Fuck it. All right, be down in a ~~fuck it, I can't even think of an offensive analogy~~ second.

Glad to see you've come to your senses, then. I'll see you then.

The accent ain't a clue enough?

Don't fucking mention it outside...

OH FUCK THIS WASN'T PRIVATE.

Malcom showed up at the infirmary in fairly short order, because truth be told, his head was killing him, and he privately admitted to himself that he''d have fellated the BNP leader if it meant it'd make the fucking headache go away.

Blinking a little at the lights, he stepped inside and regarded Martha with a slightly narrowed gaze. "Well. Do your fucking worst."

It was funny, he thought distantly; the longer one was here, the easier it got to not think I saw you on the telly every time.

Edited 2010-05-07 20:04 (UTC)

Nope it fucking wasn't.

Riverdance, huh?

Good.

Oh, fuck you, Parker. Fuck you.

It really does help me focus.

How many drinks will it take to shut you up?

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above filter.

Same filter. - Get some Warden concern!

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Filter. 2/2 - after he's had time to suffer for a bit longer.

Filter. Spam?

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Quick spam so she can yell at him about his blood pressure. :)

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