017

[fuckitybye]

[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.]

Comments

Re: Private.

[christ-onabike.livejournal.com]

No, but it's kinda a win win right? I get drunk either way. If I win, I get my washing done. If I lose, I get to laugh at your knickers.

See?

Private.

[yourunichase]

Laughing at my fucking knickers. I'll have you know I have fucking expensive, silk and lace knickers. The best sort of knickers.

And jesus fucking Christ I've been hanging around too many damned brits. I'm starting to sound like ya.

Re: Private.

[christ-onabike.livejournal.com]

...Well. WELL. I didn't know that. I'll be marvelling at your fancy knickers, then, instead of laughing.


Sorry?

Private.

[yourunichase]

[Laughing]

You're such a fucking asshole, Paddy.

Re: Private.

[christ-onabike.livejournal.com]

It's what I do well.