The room was as dim and lifeless as it always was, and like every time she’d shown up before, Roaki was still laid out in the bed, turned toward the faux window like she might be sleeping—which she never really was. Usually it took minutes of awkward silence and prodding to get her to even turn around, let alone to speak, but this time was different. Somehow, despite having made herself a clockwork fixture of Roaki’s day, as reliable as the fake sunlight would turn to fake moonlight, Quinn had managed to surprise her.

“[color=ec008c]Huh?[/color]” She bolted upright like a bomb had gone off down the hall, voice bereft of any wilted stoicism. “[color=ec008c]Fuckin—what? Huh? What the fuck are you talking about?[/color]”

Her eyes jumped from the wheelchair, to Quinn, who she rarely even looked [i]towards[/i]. Now she was scanning her intently, as if she were looking for whatever wound must have been making her delirious. Seeing none, she decided to take Quinn’s words as they were, which made just as little sense.

“[color=ec008c]I can’t go to [i]sims[/i]. Didn’t you hear? I’m already dead, Casoban’s got dibs.[/color]”