[Splat]

ooc: Guess who lives!

IC:
"What do you say, Krik? Have you ever done stitching on someone?"

Skelter laughed. It wasn't a controlled, dainty laugh, like most females; it was a full-throated guffah. "I wouldn't trust gramps here with a needle if I were you." She said, glancing at the vykker. She was under the impression that the glukkon owned the place, so tried to act casual. It didn't work too well. "I'd like to see you try that. Besides, you were too busy screaming at that mud over there to even know if I was mouthing off or not." She glanced up at him from behind her hat. "Whats the job, anyhow?"

Krik waited patiently until she was done, and then ignoring her completely turned to Arnie. Some creatures needed to be taught their proper place. "It's a simple operation, a little more complex than stitching a mudokon's lips but it shouldn't take me more than thirty minutes - twenty if you tie it down tight enough. Im sure your vykkers will make good use of it after that, though when I was up in the lab this morning I didn't see either of them, so I'd check up on what they're doing if I were you. You could go up there and ask them if they need the labour."
Krik was in a good mood.

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Jim looked slightly deflated, "Ok, ok. Just checking. Not got any chest pain or anything though, but, uh, I guess you know best." He leant back, trying to relax, though his muscles stayed stubbornly tense. "Um."

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The slog had run into the room and after sniffing around a bit had started leaping into the air in that wierd way slogs do. The others near the door didn't seem to have noticed anything (but then the slig clearly had a single-digit IQ and the other thing was probably too busy arguing with it to be useful) but she hoped it meant the slog had smelt the native, evidently up in the pipes among the ceiling. It was too high for her to jump up there, and if she started climbing on crates she would have to come out of the shadows and would probably be seen by the intruder. She didn't really trust the slog all that much so she crept a little closer and climbed up a pile of crates, keping the boxes between her and where she suspected the mud to be. There she stopped waiting, for either a distraction or for the mud to show itself.
Something seemed to have distracted the slog now so she doubted the sligs would have seen what she had.


ooc: Apologies once more for slowing this thread down the last few days.
Can Skelter save herself from the Evil Lip-Stitching of Doom™?