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Millicent Bulstrode (reinventingmils) wrote in finnigans_rpg,

"Shake hands with someone who's got the same problem?" Both eyebrows shot up in dismay, and - resisting the urge to slam her head into her hand - Mils bit at her bottom lip so she didn't scream in frustration the way she wanted to do. "I haven't got the time to wait around and do that! I've got a me-...a ma-...a thing to go to in Ma-..." She tossed up both hands a bit, looking at him in annoyed appeal. "I can't go like this, Greg! Are you sure there's no other cure? No potion or pill or...?"

It wasn't his fault, and she knew as well as she knew anything that the Joker Weasel wouldn't have put together an antidote, because something like this was "harmless." Oh, this was going to be a pain. Mils pinched the bridge of her nose, tipped the corners of her mouth up weakly, and looked up through her lashes. "Right. Nothing you can do, because it's the Weasels, and that would be too easy. Well..." She checked the clock on the wall on reflex, sighed when she realised that it was - of course - a joke and didn't actually tell the time, and looked back at Greg, lips pursed to a thin slit. "Tell m-...say he didn't try anything on you, at least." Because really, the robes were bad enough.