> Well, none of the equipment is running and the power is off, so unless you do something to light the place up, a fire seems unlikely. Otherwise it would have caught fire while just sitting there waiting to be renovated. It's apparent flammability is probably nothing to worry about.
"Is that, I mean, is that something you have to worry about?" asks Bina.
"It's not so uncommon!" says Emmie, with far too much enthusiasm for Bina's comfort. "We are, after all, using what amounts to overpriced power tools next to high concentrations of pure oxygen. It is avoidable with proper care but -"
"- but not when your surgical theaters are sixty years old and the oxygen lines were put in by drunk people."
"Yes, it is substantially more difficult under those conditions."
Bina makes a bid to escape this disturbing conversational tangent, "Kendra, what is happening? Why are we here? How are we here? What time is it?"
"Ah, well… it's about 3:30 in the afternoon."
Bina tries to interrupt but Kendra rolls right over her, "And we're here because you're really sick and I -"
"- and she thought she could browbeat me into helping you without asking too many questions," says Melissa.
"Which, I have," says Kendra.
"Oh I'm going to ask questions, it's just that questions can wait. I'm practical, unlike some people I know."
"Perhaps," says Emmie, trying to defuse what looks to be another lecture, "We should be practical and check on our patient, yes? I know I was not expecting her to be up and walking about so soon."
Derailed, Melissa seems to pull herself together, "Right! Pull up those terrible track-pants young lady. You'd better not have torn your stitches."
Bold text is Kendra, right? She probably isn't supposed to be addressing herself.
Ah! Merci. Thank you.