Nicholas D. Wolfwood

[Wolfwood's not at his best today. Maybe it's because Katie has flipped her marbles more than usual. There's a cough, a sniff, a heavy rhythm of breaths; the small image on the screen is tilted awkwardly, showing a bloody chin and the edge of a mouth that's grimacing. He'd bother to cover it so there's no images to his voice, but he's sorta trying to recollect his bearings after dealing with echoes that he was not at all thrilled to see. He wipes at the blood that was dripping from his nose, looking more like he'd been in a particularly harsh fist fight than with any guns or swords. Or hit by a car. Yeah, maybe that one.

In other words, Katie is a dick who likes to flick things at his face. And make him see things that causes him problems.

But something's not right about it. Why—? She didn't seem that way before, not in the least. He knows she has an eye on him, but this...

No, something was definitely wrong. He leans back against the tree he's decided to sit under, ribs aching.]

I'm alright, before anyone asks; I mean, alright as in none of this is about to kill me just yet... Get to the clinic eventually, but Katie's lost it—nngh.

[Maybe shifting over that way isn't helpful. He spits some blood from a cut in his mouth. That was probably from the tree log she threw at him.

Don't worry, the log had a safe landing.]

The hell is going on with that kid? Anyone notice something's off with her? This isn't like her at all. Shit... If anyone can tell me anything, I'd be damn grateful.

[... He drags himself to his feet, the journal dangling in one hand while he fishes for a cigarette. There's the faint sound of him complaining behind a smoke:]

It's always me getting into this kinda' trouble...--