Author's Note: I'm absolutely horrible! I've had this story finished at
ExIsle for a while now, but I kinda... forgot about ff.net. I'm so
sorry—but on the other hand, you guys get the rest of it at once! No more
suspense.
*~*~*~*~*~
Harper and Beka were stuck in Med with Trance, who was secretly elated to have patients again. She loved her plants, but they were never much of a challenge. The girl might've worried about her friends, but she had seen immediately that their injuries wouldn't kill them. At worst, the pair would have some battle scars to brag about later. She hovered lovingly, and if she had been anyone but Trance would have annoyed her patients endlessly.
"Hey Beka, you made it into the club!"
Beka turned onto her side and raised an eyebrow at Harper. "What are talking about? What club?"
He grinned. "The 'I Suffered Nietzschean Torture and Lived to Tell About It' Club. It's pretty exclusive."
Despite herself, Beka laughed. "Do we have a secret handshake?"
"Uh, we could make one up. I think I could swing us a pair of t-shirts."
Trance smiled at their banter. They were still bandaged, but if they could joke about their capture, they were well on their way to recovery. This particular conflict had run some of the others ragged, but she had known throughout the ordeal that matters would end well. She was disappointed in Charlemagne Bolivar. He could've been such a useful ally. She also had a bad feeling about the woman he was supposed to marry. "She'd probably call me a purple monkey," she murmured.
"What was that?" Beka was looking at her with a confused expression on her face.
"Nothing! I hope you guys are ready for another shot."
*~*~*~*~*~
Harper and Beka were stuck in Med with Trance, who was secretly elated to have patients again. She loved her plants, but they were never much of a challenge. The girl might've worried about her friends, but she had seen immediately that their injuries wouldn't kill them. At worst, the pair would have some battle scars to brag about later. She hovered lovingly, and if she had been anyone but Trance would have annoyed her patients endlessly.
"Hey Beka, you made it into the club!"
Beka turned onto her side and raised an eyebrow at Harper. "What are talking about? What club?"
He grinned. "The 'I Suffered Nietzschean Torture and Lived to Tell About It' Club. It's pretty exclusive."
Despite herself, Beka laughed. "Do we have a secret handshake?"
"Uh, we could make one up. I think I could swing us a pair of t-shirts."
Trance smiled at their banter. They were still bandaged, but if they could joke about their capture, they were well on their way to recovery. This particular conflict had run some of the others ragged, but she had known throughout the ordeal that matters would end well. She was disappointed in Charlemagne Bolivar. He could've been such a useful ally. She also had a bad feeling about the woman he was supposed to marry. "She'd probably call me a purple monkey," she murmured.
"What was that?" Beka was looking at her with a confused expression on her face.
"Nothing! I hope you guys are ready for another shot."