_{[When the camera comes on, Heather's lying on her back on her sleeping bag with Cujo draped over her stomach and a sulky expression on her face. The bandage formerly tied over her eye (looking distinctly nasty now) is crumpled off to the side and in its place is a hot compress, which she's holding gently to the wounded area with one hand. She seems to be holding the PokeGear up above her with the other. Least flattering Myspace-shot ever.]}

So-- how long do I have to keep this thing on?

_{[She's talking to somebody off-camera and judging by the ever-so-patient tone of the reply she gets, which is sort of indistinct but along the lines of 'Until I say you can take it off', that somebody is Otacon.]}

But Haaaaaal.

_{[There is no reply.]}

..... Fine, fine...

I'll just stay here and stew in my misery.

_{[There's a laugh from off the screen and another indistinct reply that is apparently amused at Heather's overdramatic whining and not sympathetic like she'd been hoping. So Heather makes a pouty face and turns her head just slightly so that she can stick her tongue out in his general direction before looking back to the camera.]}


His Dictatorship over there is reveling in his regime of oppression and I'm bored.

Someone please distract me.

_{[SHE'D EVEN WELCOME KNOCK-KNOCK JOKES. THAT IS HOW LOW SHE HAS SUNK.]}