I could use a fresh beginning, too

[crowsicle]

Who: The Striders and anybody coming to visit them over the first week of sickness
When: Wednesday, May 16th to possibly around the 23rd
Where: The Strider apartment
Summary: Bros get sick together. Catch-all log post for guilt plague at the Strider apartment: will include movies, feelings jams, and lots of babying.
Warnings: Almost certainly language, and definitely gross sickie stuff.

[It hits Davesprite first. A little dizzy, a little stuffed up, but obviously it's not a big deal (even if he didn't know sprites could get sick--should he be worried?) so he just shrugs it off like it ain't no thing. Probably serves him right for picking random shades off the ground, who knows whose weird gaunt face those things have touched?

And then it doesn't get better.

Better is a thing it spectacularly fails to get.]

[[OOC: Will be posting comments for different days/events below, not necessarily in chronological order because not necessarily everything has been plotted out yet! Make sure you add your character to the tags when you tag in. And let me know on AIM or Plurk (asherdashery on both) if you want in on any of this.]]

Comments

[plushrumpus]

[See, this is why he demanded keeping the door cracked. This is why he's staying vigilant, because things have gone from bad to worse, and he can't afford to let it continue like this. This isn't a normal flu, he can tell. He can tell from his own symptoms, can tell from how much more severe Davesprite's are...

He's starting to wonder if soup and tissues and over-the-counter medicine is enough anymore.]

Yeah? [Bro makes his way from the bathroom, downing his own few pills—maybe a few more than he's really supposed to take, but they don't seem to be doing jack shit otherwise—and taking a gulp of water before poking into the darkened bedroom.]

[crowsicle]

[Okay. Okay. Bro's here, so Davesprite lets himself collapse back onto his side, shivering.]

Didn't know where you went.

[Because the last thing he saw before shaking himself awake was the blue stone, the green flame, the red. The white shirt. Another bout of bone-chiling dizziness crashes into him with the weight of the whole ocean and he turns his head into the mattress, trying to steady himself and his breathing until it passes.]

Sorry. 'time is it?

[plushrumpus]

[Yeah, he's coming in here, closing the door most of the way behind him, leaning over and quietly offering his glass.]

Almost 5.

[crowsicle]

Mmh.

[He accepts the glass and takes a tiny sip--the less he puts in his stomach, the less it'll notice and try to heave it all back up--and then puts it down quickly before he does anything embarrassing like drop it.]

In the morning?

[He's so disoriented, he's not even sure he knows what day it is. Some former Hero of Time he is.]

[plushrumpus]

Evening.

[Yeah, not so good at that anymore, huh champ? Well whatever, it's not like Bro can fault him for that, with how he is now.]

You ain't sleeping too well, are you.

[crowsicle]

Like a baby. Or an angel. Angel baby.

[An angel baby with fucking colic or something. No, he doesn't even want to play this right now, he feels like too much shit.]

No.

[plushrumpus]

[Didn't think so.

Goddamn, this isn't normal. It's not the worst either of them have suffered, but it's getting there. Especially since it's hit everyone in the house. And yeah, waiting this shit out and drowning themselves in cough syrup is what they've usually done to cure their ills in the past, but right now, Bro just has a really bad feeling. Like it's just not enough this time. And usually when something feels off around here, his instincts are right.]

Wanna try knocking yourself out with Nyquil again?

[crowsicle]

[He looks up Bro's face for a while like the right answer's written there, then closes his eyes and breathes in. Even his lungs are tired and achy, if that's a thing that can actually happen.]

Nah. Maybe later.

[Sleep is one thing and he knows he should, knows it's at least a slight respite from everyone's worrying, but he hates being dragged under like that. At least for a little, he wants a breather from his fever-scrambled dream memories.

Trying to maintain normalcy, he mumbles:]

Might take a shower.

[plushrumpus]

A'ight.

[Might as well start helping Davesprite disentangle himself from the mess of blankets around him. Because he can't just let himself stand there uselessly.]

But if you stay in there for longer than an hour, I'm dragging you out.

[crowsicle]

[That Davesprite just quietly lets Bro help probably speaks volumes about how shitty he feels. There isn't much that can make him accept help with anything remotely like grace, but having his face shoved endlessly in his own uselessness is almost as wearing as the illness itself.]

No way, you're the one spends fuckin' days in there.

[He can feel the heat roll off when Bro helps remove the blankets and is silently, dizzily impressed that his body can get that hot. Kind of scared, too. Jesus.

Okay, anyway. Slowly. Trying not to set his stomach off. He manages to push himself all the way to sit up, mission accomplished, Houston--

Standing is a completely different story. Before he even knows what's happening, he's swooning like the slenderest princess in Hell's corset club.]