And not in a “caught the stalker groupie masturbating with The Boss’s mic” crazy kind of way or “Phil’s body taxidermied in a forever hug” kind of way but in a what the fuck is going on what happened to me am I going fucking crazy or was I actually fucking abducted kind of way.
The nurse… robot… things treats her for shock until she isn’t cold and shaking anymore. She still feels like she was going to puke, but there isn’t enough in her stomach to actually produce anything. So she focuses on breathing in through her nose, out through her mouth every time she starts heaving.
Spending so much time on the road teaches you a few tricks, after all.
Legs still shaky, she pushes herself off the metal… medical… cot… thing. The room is empty, except for the robot things. They give her some clothes. Distressed jeans, Chucks, an old tour t-shirt that is worn soft as pajamas. But not her jeans. Not her Chucks. Not her t-shirt. What the fuck? She pulls her hair back in a messy bun and goes into the hall. Somewhere, she could hear voices.
After so many years of tour buses and back stages and green rooms and signings, the feeling of being utterly alone is the worst part. Whatever the ship… hospital… thing is made out of, it makes the acoustics all weird and echoey. She listenesfor a while, and then goes in the direction that she thinks she can hear the voices.]
H-hello?
[She remembers the little cellphone… pager… thing. Tab? Like the soda? Her mouth goes dry, and she doesn’t even like tab.]
network - text
Hi. This is awkward. Does anybody know where we are? Or where I could get something to drink?
kelly ann | roadies
[This is crazy.
And not in a “caught the stalker groupie masturbating with The Boss’s mic” crazy kind of way or “Phil’s body taxidermied in a forever hug” kind of way but in a what the fuck is going on what happened to me am I going fucking crazy or was I actually fucking abducted kind of way.
The nurse… robot… things treats her for shock until she isn’t cold and shaking anymore. She still feels like she was going to puke, but there isn’t enough in her stomach to actually produce anything. So she focuses on breathing in through her nose, out through her mouth every time she starts heaving.
Spending so much time on the road teaches you a few tricks, after all.
Legs still shaky, she pushes herself off the metal… medical… cot… thing. The room is empty, except for the robot things. They give her some clothes. Distressed jeans, Chucks, an old tour t-shirt that is worn soft as pajamas. But not her jeans. Not her Chucks. Not her t-shirt. What the fuck? She pulls her hair back in a messy bun and goes into the hall. Somewhere, she could hear voices.
After so many years of tour buses and back stages and green rooms and signings, the feeling of being utterly alone is the worst part. Whatever the ship… hospital… thing is made out of, it makes the acoustics all weird and echoey. She listenesfor a while, and then goes in the direction that she thinks she can hear the voices.]
H-hello?
[She remembers the little cellphone… pager… thing. Tab? Like the soda? Her mouth goes dry, and she doesn’t even like tab.]
network - text
Hi. This is awkward. Does anybody know where we are? Or where I could get something to drink?