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[Netherlands is in the Oxygen Gardens, looking more worried than pissy for once, brows upward- rather than downward-knit. Somewhere in the background there's a roughshod shed, and anyone who frequents the Gardens often enough will recognize that it's the second level, makeshift chicken coop a few meters behind, all locked up and uncharacteristically silent.
An unlit cigarette is jammed in the corner of his mouth; it bobs as he speaks.]
They're sick. The chickens.
[And by that he means: they're all sick. All the chickens. Every chicken. He takes a second to light his smoke, shifts his weight, and with the next he sails right past distressed and into something borderline despairing.]
Rabbit's sick too. Need someone to help him.
[... uh.]
Please.
An unlit cigarette is jammed in the corner of his mouth; it bobs as he speaks.]
They're sick. The chickens.
[And by that he means: they're all sick. All the chickens. Every chicken. He takes a second to light his smoke, shifts his weight, and with the next he sails right past distressed and into something borderline despairing.]
Rabbit's sick too. Need someone to help him.
[... uh.]
Please.
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