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

Spam.

[toldastory]

After the hypospray was injected, Martha traced the scanner over him again with a little grin. When he rubbed his forehead, she just shrugged. "Yes, it's amazing how much better we feel when our blood pressure is within normal parameters. Lower your stress however you see fit, and watch the salt. I'd prefer it if you didn't have a stroke on me, all right?" She pulled off the rubber gloves quickly. "Come back if the headache does."

Re: Spam.

[fuckitybye]

"Yeah, all right." He fixed his shirt and replaced his tie and jacket. "Much obliged, Jones."