Pete had been taking approximately up half of the couch after picking up rings, a suit...and a bucket of fried chicken. All of which took him precisely 56 minutes out and back in through the front door, and had been carried out with incredibly cranky military precision. The slappy hands fight over who got to eat what piece, took longer than fetching all of those things had.
Still in mid-sprawl, bundled up in his overcoat and scarf, Pete somberly answered the phone. It sounded rather like he expected anything and everything that could go wrong to have gone wrong by now.
"All right, did she spring a blood leak out of 'er face, puke, faint, fall o'er, hit 'er head, forget to eat, go narcoleptic, or somehow manage t'explode? If so, then wot hospital did you take 'er to?" There was a split second pause. "Unless this is a status update an' then you can simply tell me wot happened, Kitty. An' forget I said any of the rest of those things."