How's life treating you?

I need a god damn cigarette.

No. No. [A clang here, because Parker has thrown the communicator where it bounced against her bed, giving a sideways view of Parker in a now too tight (and torn) suit. When she speaks, it's in an angry, smarmy tone.]

No. No. You have got to be fucking kidding me. After the fucking fear gas, now this. No. Fuck. Anyone but him.

[Parker screams for pretty much the entire sixth level to hear, and then she kicks her bed and is rewarded with a further tearing sound in her suit before she looks and realizes that the communicator is still on.]

God damn it!

[She stalked over to it and looked into it for a second.]

Fuck this place.

[See Parker, see Parker looking adorable. See Parker looking adorable and squeaking for only animals to understand.]

Not even one fucking word.

[For those of you wondering Thisis what she is. Try that on her, though. I dare ya.]

Dear all you fucking idiots:

You are drunk as a result of a flood. Shut the fuck up about it. No one wants to fucking hear you rant, whine, bitch, moan or giggle.

Spare us. The next person who gets all weepy drunk is going to feel my shoe touch their liver.

[There' a little click followed by the sound of satin sheets rustling and then a small, hopeful, sleepy voice.] Tommy?

[A little pause and then there is a large gasp before Parker starts yelling and raging and...sounding tearful?.] NO! No you have got be fucking kidding me. No. Damn it, I fucking got shot for my fucking father wasn't that enough?

I don't want to fucking be here anymore!

Damn it. Damn it. I want...

[Parker had gotten up to pace at this point and then she found the letter from Paddy.] No. Fuck you.

[And then a crunching sound as Parker threw the new communicator thing against the wall.]

I really don't know what people are freaking out so much for. Just sit back and enjoy the drinks.

Yes I remember my fucking name.

No you cannot fucking call me Angel.

Denise, I want a fucking drink and I want it now. Paddy, Malcolm, anyone else fucking want one too?

[Private to Five.]

[Something was here, but now it's not.]

[Private to Ned.]

[Something was here, but now it's not.]

Denise, I want to go to the pub. I'm not going to fucking get drunk, I'm not an idiot, but I want to go and be social. I hate April and think I deserve it.

This fucking hurts. What the fucking fuck? I feel like my motherfucking...

Right. Fucking ash. Lemme tell you something, you fucker who did this: I am going to find you and make it so that your teeth go flying out the back of your motherfucking skull and then I'm going to collect them, make fucking buttons and then when you come back to life, I'm going to skin you and use it to make a new fucking coat and put your teeth buttons on it.

I need more fucking pain meds. This hurts like a bastard.

...

How can this be fucking worse than being burnt to fucking death?

Well thank fucking god that's over. At least I can leave my room without having to worry about friends people I know punching me in the fucking face.

Denise, I need more fucking smokes.

I don't give a flying fuck about whoever the fuck it is that has everyone in a fucking uproar. It's just one more twisted fuck in an already fucked assortment.

BUT TO FUCKING CLOSE THE FUCKING PUB IS FUCKING GOD DAMN BULLSHIT.

Dear Admiral,

FUCK YOU.

Edited Private to the Manly men gang.

Poker?

Oh fucking fuck this place. I am going to the nearest fucking pub and am not fucking movie until I fall off a stool or the Admiral fucking brings us back.

Also, fuck these stupid fucking hearts.

[OOC: Wanna bother her? Spam her here!]

This has to be the most retarded fucking idea I've ever heard. Seriously. You people all need to shut the fuck up.

Private to Inmates:

Try going after me and I'll fucking remove your balls with my bare fucking hands. What the fuck are you fucks thinking?

So many fucking people leaving, so many new people fucking coming. I feel like I don't know who half the fuck you are anymore.

But if one more fucking person starts whining, I'm going to shove my heel into your ass up to my fucking ankle and make you lick it off.

Private to West.

You and me need to have a chat. An in person.

Private to McCoy

Sorry I missed your birthday. Happy fucking birthday or something.

Look, if you're going to get McCoy, I want in. I mean it. You're going to need all the help you can get.

Public

Awesome. I cannot fucking wait to get a warden so I can fucking graduate from here and I don't need to be around you losers.

Filtered to the people whom she knows are unaffected, based on Inara's forthcoming post, and inmates from Swing's filter.

I'm still me. Apparently people think I'm going to graduate. Do not fuck this up. Let them think it. If you see me in the hallways, treat me like you normally would. I've got a gun, I've got access to food and am going to stop by and bring some to where you are.

If I know you, I'll try to protect you as best I can. Keep your fucking heads down, and I know it's hard for you... but for fuck's sake, try not to do anything stupid. I know it'll be fucking hard for you, but I don't wanna have to deal with this.

Private to McCoy

I'm out wandering and I'm armed if you need me. I'm not giving it up when this is over, though.

[ooc: Anyone wanna run into Parker?]

What the fuck is with this ugly ass sweater? Jesus. It looks like something Broots would wear.

Also, fuck Christmas.

[A whirl and a moment before Catherine starts speaking. Her voice is much warmer and nicer than Parker's is.]

Hello. I think I'm doing this right. My name is Catherine Parker, and I'm here about my daughter, [and here there is an odd noise of perhaps dropping the journal and Parker's name is completely lost to the ether.] Can someone tell me how she is?

Well this is fucking fantastic. Another Warden. I don't suppose anyone has seen Barbie around? Fucking wandering off and not being seen since.

There are a lot of fucking new people here now. What the hell? This place wasn't full of enough bullshit drama before?

I cannot even tell you how amused I am by all of this.

Private but separate to McCoy and Shego
Are you all right?

Oh for fuck's sake.

Dear idiots on board this heap.

Take aspirin and drink water. Lots of water. Try doing it the night before. And for fuck's sake stop whining about having a hangover. If you can't drink, don't.

You will not die from a fucking hangover, but you may die from me shooting you for bitching about it.

I hear you may be able to help me.

We want a new a new warden. Someone who did not commit genocide against us.

I want a gun and I want to figure this shit out. Immediately. I'm sick of being this fucking boat's bitch.