No Fun Allowed

[Pinko]

Lizzie nearly lets go of a pair of underwears she had her grips on as she's smacked on the head with the cold steel, a disappointed pout following shortly after. "Tsssk, Freya. Pink is a childish color." With an unexpected twist to face her, using the last rush she'll most likely get from her first injection before finally being sedated by her No-Go cocktail, she flings Freya's arms sideways to redirect the cannon away from her own back, gripping her wrists and nearly breaking them, using her second hand to remove the gun from her palms. It's a swift motion, nearly blinding, perhaps because of the flash that went off midway through the whole ordeal. When all is said and done, Freya's wrists are tied up with the strong fabric of the underwears Lizzie was holding on to a moment before, while the Bretonian girl examines a new hole on the side of her dress. Giving in a exhasperated sigh, she tears the dress wider open to check for any more injuries, only to notice the laser had kissed the skin of her waist, causing a nasty flashburn on her. Good thing she started that diet recently, or she might've taken more of that blast!

"Ah, Freya! You're always the one that warned me! You lose your only advantage with a firearm if you close up the distance with one!" Lizzie lets out a childish laughter as she examines her injury again. "Eeesh. Uhmm. Nothing some medigel won't handle, though." Worsening her case by revealing she handily steals already scarce medical supplies for her own benefits, she produces some kind of clear gel bottle from her purse. Suddenly, there's a look of disbelief on her face as her eyes meets the frustrated Freya's. They seem to ask if she could really 'do it', in a way. Regardless, Lizzie begins tutting, crossing her arms, bottle still in hand. She looks ridiculous with her dress nearly torn off, revealing the lower half portion of her body, which may include a pair of seriously work inappropriate underwears of her own. It takes a moment for her to regain semblance of a composure.

"Regardless, as for your meetings, you don't have to worry about them at all anymore. I've had them all cancelled for you, per medical order, to cure you of your very contagious Space Morosity. It's a very serious illness that is now recorded in your medical dossier! And your only cure is, of course, to follow me out on this trip!" She almost seems proud of that fact. She's standing there for a goofy grin, just about to apply some gel on her injury.