[center][h3][color=fff79a]Ayem Moestadja[/color][/h3][/center]

[color=fff79a]"I think she needs it,"[/color] said a soft voice and a soft, yet oddly pointed, tap on Ishal's shoulder. [color=fff79a]"You can have this, though."[/color]

A crumpled sheet of writing-paper covered in rudimentary maps and patterns that resembled script was pushed gently into Ishal's chitinous claw. Without letting go, the woman who'd appeared from the bathroom looked up at him, smiling just a little more broadly. [color=fff79a]"And when you're done with that, I'll buy you a drink. Organics, right? Take a look at the menu, I'll wait."[/color] She released his hand and glided to Anya's side.

[color=fff79a]"You too, huh,"[/color] the lady murmured idly. There was a clank and a red-brown smeared can of wound sealant appeared in front of the fashionably frustrated girl at the counter. She stood up straight- Toweringly straight- and unzipped her jacket. Despite the chill outside, it was still remarkably thick; True subzero gear.

A torn roll of skin-fusing gauze appeared on the table next to the sealant. Then an unzipped first-aid pouch. Then an injector half-full of system relaxant, then a bottle of nano-oxygenator pills.

[color=fff79a]"The bathroom's quiet, if you're shy,"[/color] shrugged the too-tall woman, zipping up again, smoothly pivoting back around Ishal's shoulder. [color=fff79a]"Anything you like?"[/color]