4 - Poor Al, he has a sufferance.

[givesomeback]

So, as I hear it from the fallen soldiers writing among us, I take it there's some fucking facility in place by which those in need of medicinal relief might find it provided for them

Comments

[thegooddrjones]

I'm Martha Jones, a doctor in the infirmary, and if you like you can come in and I can take a look.

Spam?

[givesomeback]

I'd be much fuckin' obliged for your expertise. Any particular time you'd fuckin' favor?

Spam works for me!

[thegooddrjones]

Two or two thirty work for you?

Spam it is!

[givesomeback]

Like a fuckin' charm, Doc. Like an absolute fuckin' charm.

[And sure enough, come two thirty, Al wanders into the infirmary, his wounded hand tucked neatly into his pocket.]

Private to OUR ONE LONESOME AL

[psychosnowflake]

A request?

Private :<

[givesomeback]

A request.

Starin' out into the fuckin' bleakness of infinity has moved me to think I might want to make somethin' in this forsaken fucking locale.

I used to have a garden. Papaver somniferum flowers, if you want the fucking specifics. I'd appreciate it if you'd consider furnishing me with the means to replicate that here.

Private -1/2

[psychosnowflake]

Really? You-

Private - 2/2

[psychosnowflake]

Sure, man. I'll see what I can do.