[ It isn't surprising to find many and more on the fringes of the camp, resting in the quiet (and well away from the excessively large man tied up in bits of red clothing, ho-ho-hoing about being Father Christmas, bless his heart. Angela's walking away with a smile still warm on her lips, fishing her santa hat from a now-mussed blond head when she comes across a... slightly familiar face.
She's seen him pass through the medbay before, she's quite certain. Angela doesn't often forget a face. Her pocket is bulging with spice cookies she's "baked" for the occasion, the bag of which she produces fairly quickly, offering up. ]
Our bandage fiend; I never did catch your name. May I tempt you with some gingerbread?
[ Her accent plays about her syllables in something clearly Germanic, but softer, more playful— it suits her demeanor well with the smile she often wears. This one, though— she's certain she's never seen him smile. ]
week 4!
She's seen him pass through the medbay before, she's quite certain. Angela doesn't often forget a face. Her pocket is bulging with spice cookies she's "baked" for the occasion, the bag of which she produces fairly quickly, offering up. ]
Our bandage fiend; I never did catch your name. May I tempt you with some gingerbread?
[ Her accent plays about her syllables in something clearly Germanic, but softer, more playful— it suits her demeanor well with the smile she often wears. This one, though— she's certain she's never seen him smile. ]