Former, current, or, in fact, future members of the Tenth Foot, this is your corporal speaking.

[Yes, even if you are from the future or the past, she is still your corporal.]

[A significant pause. Then:]

Stand up straight. You're embarrassing me.

[That will be all u_u]

[Looking distinctly unruffled - so nothing new there - Mal addresses the camera distractedly, as though she has something better to be getting on with. Which she does not. Unfortunately.]

Apparently this type of thing is supposed to be announced publicly, so, since we don't have a bulletin board or Barge crier, I'm adding Pietro Maximoff and Racetrack to the list of those who've fallen into comas. Anyone who has outstanding grievances with either of them is more than welcome to come draw on their faces or put weird objects in their pockets under strict supervision.

[She might be joking. She might not. It is a mystery.]

Also, if anyone needs a hand with anything barring technology more complicated than an oil lamp, I'm going to have a lot of free time on my hands for the foreseeable future.

( private | anya, elena, dean & polly )

spam

[Mal will be found in the pub this evening, not because she's particularly despondent but because she's bored. The pub is an easy and convenient place to watch people, and besides, she's gotten enough of a taste for bad beer by now thanks to the military's bad influence that this is practically the lap of luxury.]