[ Clara feels like she's wading through molasses trying to get her words out. It feels like, maybe, she's gaining some headway and she forces out a few words. Each one leaves her mouth a second or two behind the other, causing a delayed effect. ]
She'll...go. Soon.
[ And there's something else that will help if she can manage: the sword that adjusts to the user. Right now it's folded in on itself like a pocketknife, and she manages to turn her head enough to look at him. Whatever happened to her, she's pushing against it, determined to make her body move. ]
Side pocket. Doctor—
[ Her arm flops like a dead fish, but she's trying to get to her left pocket for the weapon. ]
no subject
She'll...go. Soon.
[ And there's something else that will help if she can manage: the sword that adjusts to the user. Right now it's folded in on itself like a pocketknife, and she manages to turn her head enough to look at him. Whatever happened to her, she's pushing against it, determined to make her body move. ]
Side pocket. Doctor—
[ Her arm flops like a dead fish, but she's trying to get to her left pocket for the weapon. ]