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[theotherright]

Cabin 127. No calls, we text like men on our disney cruise phones.

If you send Arthur a message it will be read out loud in one of a selection of friendly automated voices!

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[tempingainteasy]

Let me type that for you, speech to text is doing you a deep disservice.

[Said plainly, factually, a pragmatic suggestion.]

[theotherright]

Oh-- christ, again?

[ This has been. Pointed out to him more than once before. Using the ship's phones has been a bit of a learning curve.

He hands the phone over without an argument; time, despite Crichton not getting any deader, feels of the essence. ]

Where did I put my- where's my damn cane?

[ April may have noticed it leaning up against the wall outside when they arrived. If not, he'll find it soon enough. ]

[tempingainteasy]

[April dutifully retypes the message to Bash, with all the right words used this time, now also with proper punctuation and grammar.

They only pause to glance up at the room and remember where the cane was.]

Outside, against the wall. I can snag that for you in case there's someone lurking out there with a bat or something.

[They are struck with a vision of the immediate next few seconds where Arthur snaps at her about capability or something, who knows, but they don't have time for this.]

They won't expect to see me, and I have pepper spray in my purse and the element of surprise.

[Bear or bug spray, technically, but again, don't have time.]

[theotherright]

[ In a rare moment, Arthur doesn't take the opportunity to snap at someone. If he was completely insensible of his own weaknesses, he wouldn't have even texted to ask for ice eyes.

He rubs a hand over his face (and then pulls it away, because that was a mistake, there's still dry blood on them-), frustrated, annoyed, but not arguing. That would waste time. ]

All right, please don't get hurt.

[tempingainteasy]

This ain't my first rodeo, don't worry. ... Seriously, something like this happened almost once a year at my job.

[And while that's true, it's not the only reason April feels confident opening the door. The hand in their purse isn't the reason either, even if it helps.

The coast seems clear, however, so they lean out the door and snag the cane easily. Unless any edits must be made.]

Here you go. You want eyes on the way to the morgue, too?

[theotherright]

[ At some point Arthur will have to ask about that statement, but for now...

He hesitates. ]

I... won't assume that you've not seen a body before, [ since, her profession, ] but, I don't- I don't expect you to- I wouldn't put onus on you to- when it's somebody you know-

[ arthur shuts. the fuck. up. ]

[tempingainteasy]

[April, for once, considers having some tact. They've been easing into a professional approach as it becomes more apparent that there's an actual problem here beyond ghost clichés. And Arthur's right: this is someone they know.

So, alright: they pinch their face about the point between where their eyes go, they breathe in deep, out slow, and assume the mantle of professionalism once again.]

If you're good to go, then so am I.

[They almost point out that Arthur's the one who needs more emotional support for this, but 1930s PI man would probably be mad or depressed by that so they skip it.]

Plus, seems like a bad time to split up if you have someone possessed or edgy leaving messages for you.

[With a smile just for themselves, they add:] You won't even know I'm there.

[theotherright]

[ Arthur nods, grateful to be going as a duo rather than alone. For whatever it's worth.

He scrubs his hands, one after the other, on his already-ruined trousers, and dried blood flakes to the floor. The smell is in his clothes. He observes this with a strange detachment, and the flicker of a nervous smile. Quietly: ]

Just like old times.

...Let- let's go.