[ After Ingrid dries her tears, she opens up the journal again and calls Robert. She doesn't know what she's going to say to him, but she knows she needs to talk to him.]
[Robert is not hard to find, because locating him requires looking within the initial five feet of where he dragged himself to and curled up. This happens to be... well, the couch, still. At the least he's not currently crying, but he looks worse for wear.]
Robert. [Don leans over to gently touch his shoulder.] Ingrid wants to talk to you. [He tries to phrase this in a tone that makes it sound as unpleasant as possible, though, knowing Robert, it won't make any difference.]
R-robert?
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This is Don. What do you need?
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I need Robert.
I, uh... need to talk to him.
[That... could have been phrased better, but it's you, so who cares?]
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Why not? What's wrong? Is he- is he okay?
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[Ugh, are you still there?]
Fine.
[He leaves the journal on the table and goes to find Robert.]
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... I-Ingrid...? ... Wh-Why...?
[The first thought is that something happened to her, and it makes him sick all over again. He shudders against the back of the couch.]
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