text.

[look]

[ the number's a 022, but there's no questions about where they are or when they get to go home. will doesn't even really want to be making this post, but people are talking about animal bones, human remains, blood. and that's kind of his gig. ]

I'm not a trained forensic analyst, but if we've got the equipment to do so, I'd be willing to try and take a look at the organic tissue people found in their lockers. I got meat. Anyone else?

Comments

[uncurse]

Glad you're keeping your day job.

[look]

Ouch. :-)

[uncurse]

You'll live.

[ it hits her too late that she's being ... friendly and enjoying herself with this weird text conversation with a total stranger, and it's a strange realization to suddenly feel a sinking sensation of guilt wringing her stomach. neal's dead, henry's missing, and she's shooting the shit with some fbi consultant. neal won't get the chance to shoot the shit with anyone again, and if she doesn't get her shit together, who knows what they'll do to henry. ]

If you need help with anything, give me a call. I'll see about sending anyone gifted with spare parts your way.

[look]

[ look, tbqh, will's as confused about how easy this little exchange is as emma is. ]

Thanks.

[ he's not really the kind of guy who asks for help just about ever, but it's still nice to be polite, even if he isn't quite so moored down in his southern roots to tell her to have a nice day, now. ]