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[fire_punk]

[Kevin has an inert body draped over his shoulder in an awkward approximation of a fireman's carry.]

John Crichton's in a coma. I'm taking him down to the infirmary. Scorpius, don't bother trying to fuck with him.

[What? He knows the guy wants to cause trouble for Crichton. And this would make it easier for him.]

Comments

[fire_punk]

That's where I'm taking him. I hope it's not a long one.

[soliterraneous]

It may be. There does not seem to be much of a formula for these comas.

[fire_punk]

None at all. [He knows what a formula is now. See? No asking what that means!]

[soliterraneous]

[ Well he did go home and grow up. ] Where was he?

[fire_punk]

[And finish a basic education.] In the cafeteria.

[soliterraneous]

Thank you for not leaving him there.

[fire_punk]

Yeah, well, he'd wake up with a nasty headache if he spent the whole coma sprawled on the table.