"Stop playing with yourself like that!" Beka hissed as she stood in line at the reception, "You'll make a scene."

"I can't help it." Harper protested, "I've got a really bad rash, and it itchiness like crazy."

"What kind of rash?"

"I don't know: it appeared yesterday mourning."

"That's it." Beka grabbed Harper by the arm and frogmarched him to medical

"Trance: Harper's got a rash that needs…" Beka stopped dead in her tracks when she saw no sign on the medic, "Trance?"

"I'll just be a second!" A voice called from the other side of a partition, "I'm sorting out a little rash of my own…"

The End