"Xena, I'm cold"
"Shut the window."
"Can't, the cast, remember?"
A groan, the window slides shut. Another groan.
"You sure you don't feel better yet?"
"Are you accusing me of faking it?"
"No, but I am eighty. You can't expect me to move that way anymore."
"Hush or I'll bite you before I put my teeth back in tomorrow."
©ĘTaleweaver