7th Headshot || Phone Call to All

[bye_to_yer_head]

Is anyone .. hn... uhm... is everyone else feelin' a mite... like... Mayfield is ...

*Long pause.*

Somethin' ain't ri---...... Nevermind.

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[bye_to_yer_head]

Hell of an allergy making me think I lived here all my life.

*He audibly gasped and winced, the headache getting even worse, those thoughts of happy, cheerful Mayfield getting even stronger.*

Yeah. Aspirin. Something. Least it ain't just me.

[allwehad]

But we have, haven't we -- eurgh, no. No. Th-that's wrong.

[It hurts like a son of a bitch, but she presses through it.]

This is all wrong.

[She feels like if she holds on to those faint inklings of some far off place that she'll be able to grasp them, but they seem to remain elusive, the Mayfield thoughts bearing down.]

...Okay. Aspirin. Yeah. But no, you're not... You're not alone.

[bye_to_yer_head]

No we ..

Strewth mate. I hope this is like everything else and wears off in a few days.

S'like they .. want us to ... forget.

*About the things he was already having trouble remembering. This was not going well at all. He rubbed his pounding head, leaning against the wall by the phone.*

I'd rather I had just drunk a whole lot.

[allwehad]

Probably...

[It's a good thing she's already sitting down.]

Saints, what is it that they want us to -- wait. Did I just say that? 'Saints?'

[bye_to_yer_head]

Saints?

Great, it's already affectin' us.

[allwehad]

I can't tell if that's from here or -- or there...

[And that's when the headache becomes too much and she nearly drops the phone.]

I need to lay down. I can't... If you hear something else, let me know, yeah?

[bye_to_yer_head]

I'm gonna go .. drink everything in th' house. I'll let ya know if it helps.

[allwehad]

[This earns him a laugh.] It's like you're speaking my language. Best of luck to you.

[bye_to_yer_head]

You too.

*He hangs up, leaning against the wall to try and clear his head. But the more he tries to focus, the worse it gets.*