[h3][center]Private Durandal [/center][/h3]
"Attenborough...?" Regan Durandal gazed hazily at Sergeant Harald, unsure who the blob supporting her was, exactly. He set her down in an armchair, much to the private's relief. "My head... and my back." She put a hand to her head, as though trying to sooth some stinging wound. "I'm... causing trouble again, aren't I?" She smiled apologetically for a moment, before returning to her misery. "Heavy... Mnn. Nngh...!"

She winces, her headache magnifying and multiplying. She cradles her head in her hands and forces herself to breathe. After she gasps for air, her breathing changes and becomes very measured and controlled. It progresses through several phases, gradually slowing, before she gives a final, slow heave of an exhale while she sits back in her chair. "The roof must have- Mn... hit me. I got off easy. Somehow."