[center][hr][hr][IMG]http://fontmeme.com/embed.php?text=Lionel%20Wickett&name=AKENATEN.ttf&size=65&style_color=9C6F6F[/IMG]
[IMG]https://pbs.twimg.com/profile_images/1226827915/Screen_shot_2011-01-26_at_5.37.53_PM_400x400.png[/IMG]
[hr][b]Location:[/b] His room[hr][/center]

There was something almost zen about lying on your face while in constant pain that you couldn't do much of anything about. Trying to turn over or shift his weight only resulted in a flare up of pain and muscle spasms in his back, so here he was. While he couldn't do much physically, his mental faculties were completely free to think about all sorts of things he couldn't do right now. 

Interestingly, he didn't really feel all that angry or irritated anymore. Yeah crash landing on a planet and getting covered in urine and fecal matter was still among the many lows of the day (if you can even call a given sequence of time spent in The Black a day), but that had been conveniently moved to the back of his mind as he lie there.

Lionel pondered over Deadwood and how progress on his new estate was doing. It probably still had another six months or so of work required before he could return, assuming nothing fucks with it like more Reavers. Which reminded him that he'd need to check in on his shoe company later. They hadn't been recovering as well as most of his other ventures, and if that behavior continued he'd have to do some creative restructuring of upper management or cut the whole thing off before it could effect his other businesses with profit loss. Shèngmǔ mǎ lì yǎ he couldn't wait for his back to stop hurting.