Crude and Feckless — Page 23
Hey, look! It’s Fetch’s mom! Ain’t she sweet?
↓ Transcript
PANEL 1
Tara at Morrigan’s bedside. Morrigan sleeps under a blanket. A plate of food sits on an overbed table, mostly uneaten, and a cup of cold tea. And a pack of cigarettes, several butts sticking out of a tray. On the walls are photos of her kids when they were very young, a wedding portrait of Morrigan and Fetch’s dad. Morrigan is dressed in a nightgown.
TARA: Ma. MA! Wake up. You need to eat. And a bath.
MORRIGAN: Muh. Who? Oh. It’s you.
PANEL 2
Morrigan and Tara, Fetch in background
MORRIGAN: Hand me a cigarette and pour me a shot.
TARA: Later, Ma. Listen, I brought Fetch with me.
PANEL 3
Same shot, Fetch waving with a nervous grin.
FETCH: “Prodigal son”, haha?
PANEL 4
Morrigan grumbles, Tara annoyed, Fetch rolling his eyes
MORRIGAN: Still the wise ass, I see.
TARA: Go get a wet towel from the bathroom, will ya?
FETCH: “Welcome back, son. Good to see you.”
PANEL 5
Fetch assaulted by word balloons
MORRIGAN: None of your sass! *cough cough hack wheeze*
TARA: Get the towel, Fetch! She’s got bed sores!
FETCH: Holy Christ.
Tara at Morrigan’s bedside. Morrigan sleeps under a blanket. A plate of food sits on an overbed table, mostly uneaten, and a cup of cold tea. And a pack of cigarettes, several butts sticking out of a tray. On the walls are photos of her kids when they were very young, a wedding portrait of Morrigan and Fetch’s dad. Morrigan is dressed in a nightgown.
TARA: Ma. MA! Wake up. You need to eat. And a bath.
MORRIGAN: Muh. Who? Oh. It’s you.
PANEL 2
Morrigan and Tara, Fetch in background
MORRIGAN: Hand me a cigarette and pour me a shot.
TARA: Later, Ma. Listen, I brought Fetch with me.
PANEL 3
Same shot, Fetch waving with a nervous grin.
FETCH: “Prodigal son”, haha?
PANEL 4
Morrigan grumbles, Tara annoyed, Fetch rolling his eyes
MORRIGAN: Still the wise ass, I see.
TARA: Go get a wet towel from the bathroom, will ya?
FETCH: “Welcome back, son. Good to see you.”
PANEL 5
Fetch assaulted by word balloons
MORRIGAN: None of your sass! *cough cough hack wheeze*
TARA: Get the towel, Fetch! She’s got bed sores!
FETCH: Holy Christ.
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