uuunnngghh...

gaaaarrrrr...

hhaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrr...


Groaning like one of the walking dead she'd been trying to prevent, Rico stirs from her unexpected slumber. Blinking furiously, she cradles her head in both hands.

Sitting up, still groggy, but ears already twitching, listening to Brin's sermon even while the rest of her battered body still labours to catch up, she stews in the aches of the midnight ride and the suddenly absent sweat.

Not Brin good plan ... Hellknights... Purging corrupt... Advice... Doing... Pharasmin... Murderer... Chopper... Like... Dignity... Question the corpse...

grarrrrrgggghhhh...

QUESTION THE CORPSE?! THAT"S POSSIBLE?! Rico's ears sudden stand straight as can be, her eyes jolting open. And then she recalls the aftermath of the faceless stalkers' ambush and the subsequent corpse-questioning. Her face flushing at the forgetfulness and the probably-crucial mistake, Rico groans again. And then she gives herself a good slap across the face, both as waker-upper and castigation.

Groaning, standing, she ticks off fingers at Brin, saying slowly, "One: Migh' not've been good as good, but it DID enable us ta owdflakk a powerful foe, as well as actually NOT-kill one of 'em. An' tha's good. Two: SORRY. Wazznt a matter o' likin', just makin' sure he ain't comin' back as a dedder. Again: sorreh. Three: I... er... yeah, sorreh. My fault. I =forgot= y'could actually DO that corpse-questionin' thing. Four: Borrow some bellows from a smithy hereabouts, as a lung-substitute or whatnot. Five: Where th' HELL are we holin' up at? I needs me a kip."