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[driftsintobuffetline]

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Comments

[mathemagier]

[It's a twelve hour flight and it would take at least an hour to drive to Munich. And that's provided he gets on a plane immediately.

Did Newton walk away to get sick? That's definitely concerning. He doesn't feel nauseous yet, but.. Refractory period. Not even going to dignify that with an answer, though it is a fair question]

Newton, we've bothered that man enough.

[driftsintobuffetline]

THIS IS AN EMERGENCY, HERMANN. [It's nearly a shriek. He won't apologize for the dramatics.] You are in another country and--

You know what, fuck you, I'm not ASKING you, I'm TELLING you. I am CALLING Qubit and you aren't here to stop me. If you want to stop me, get your ass OVER here and make me, okay? There! Incentive enough for you?

[mathemagier]

[Wincing and yes alright, it's kind of an emergency.]

I'm certain it doesn't work that way. But very well, I'll text you my coordinates.

[He really doesn't have any other quick solutions. Estimates at least six hours of rest would be necessary before he might be able to teleport back. But if Qubit can't get to them, they'll work through those hours]

[driftsintobuffetline]

Yeah okay. Good. Stay on the line. I'm putting you on hold.

[Quickly added!] Or if I hang up? Call me back [Please]. Just, uh, tell me what you want me to bring.

I swear, I'm going to kill you when I get there.

audio > text

[mathemagier]

For the last time, it wasn't intentional.

[But he sighs as a steady beep informs him he's on hold, and decides to wait until he hears back from Newton before attempting to replicate his cane with a tree branch. Which is unfortunate, because he'd really like to find the nearest public building and warm up.

Hermann suspects he wouldn't get far in the endeavor though, as an undercurrent of panic wells up in his chest and threatens to overwhelm him. He's suddenly acutely paranoid and his fingers can't seem to stop twisting into grass or curling into themselves. He breathes, willing himself not to feel sick, and knows this must be much worse for Newton.

He occupies himself for a few moments with the self-appointed task of sending a text]

47.496873, 11.075778. Bring my cane and the thickest jacket in my closet. One for yourself as well.

[And now he could only wait and silently pray Qubit wouldn't mind doing this one more thing for them, because six hours is suddenly a very long time]

[mathemagier]

[The call disconnects, and a text follows up a moment later]

Qubit's here.

After the flurry of texts to Qubit

[driftsintobuffetline]

Too late.

I swear to god if you're having some physicists-only party, I will deck you, Hermann. Not cool.

Ps Your coat is really warm.