Very well sirs. I will organise some food, it will be in the dining room in 30 minutes.
Dunk heads up to his room to grab a quick shower as the med-drone rumbles into the room.
Kicking off your shoes was agony, the roof tiling had splintered and caused slight lacerations to your lower leg as it got bedded into the insulation and lagging in the lower layers.
The light bleeding had soaked into the fabric of your clothing, scabbing up and it stung like fuck as you rolled the trouser leg up to look at it, reopening some of the cuts.
After some awkward fumbling with your socks, the drone sets to work prodding and poking at your ankle, causing you to yelp as it tests your passive range of motion.
You could see the ankle was severely bruised and swollen, it'd take a while before that settled down, but it was gonna look a pretty spectacular series of colours before it did.
It wasn't long before the drone had made its diagnosis and injected a decent bolus of anti-inflammatories, pain killers and a small shot of bio-repair protein to help fix the damage to your ankle ligaments.
It started to feel better almost immediately, but the drone was insistent that you keep it elevated for a while. Dinner wouldn't be long now anyway.
Heavy thudding resonated in the high ceilinged hallway as Dunk's considerable frame plodded down the stairway, joining you in the sitting room as he plonks down heavily into the comfy armchair by the fireplace.
Ye got a clean bill o' health then eh?
He takes a big slurp of a steaming mug of tea and flicks the armchair controls to boot up the Trid screen on the far wall and flicks through to the Euro-League sports channel.
Rangers are playin' teday. got a fiver on em te beat Hibs he looks over with a smirk:
Easy feckin' money. What time's the meet with the salesmen by the way? We got any more of a plan for this job than we did this morning?