"This is a bloodbath," Swith said. "Medic or not, trained or not, the odds are stacked against you and your fellow soldiers." She couldn't foresee any means of victory unless support rolled in, and she felt empathy for the men bravely taking their final stand.
--
Naomi drifted down the hallway, Swith's note crumpled up in her hand. It was simply stated...
Dear Naomi,
I'm away helping Thriller find himself.
Go to Bones & Co's apartment. Break in. Bring back the
guest blanket. Unless, of course, you're as big
a helpless pussy as I often think you to be.
If that's the case, send the chibi. I won't
think any less of you than I do now.
Love, Swith
Naomi couldn't tell if Swith was teasing or serious. Still, all Swith did was bemoan not having the blanket. Naomi honestly didn't understand why Swith didn't just take it whenever she crashed there. She presumed it was probably because it would cease to be the "guest blanket" and become "just another blanket". Naomi shrugged and moved in the shadows, invisably drifting past the gun combat in the halls and avoiding everyone. She was pretty sure you weren't supposed to tell people that you were out burgling. She'd dressed in black, since that seemed appropriate, and wore a woolen cap, although it was too small to actually slip over her face like a ski mask... and it lacked holes to see out of, anyway.
She arrived at the Bones & Co door, quietly prayed to the cosmos that there was no one home, and then crossed her fingers that, if they were home, they wouldn't all be naked... and tried the door.
