Prompt Post: ROUND SEVEN
ROUND SEVEN IS CLOSED
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<< ROUND SIX | ALL ROUNDS | ROUND EIGHT >>
Rules post.
Posting Guidelines.
Flat view.
Updates Post (WIPs only)
Fills Post (completed Fills only)
damalur's firstclasskink on Delicious.
Volunteers always welcome.
There is a delay on comments appearing when there is a URL in the message body. This is due to an LJ anti-spam ( Read more... )
The sound came again, and he looked over to his left. Huh. He’d been wrong. Charles wasn’t in bed like he’d thought. The other man was in the bathroom, sounding very much like he was vomiting what little he’d had to eat recently, or at the very least trying to bring something up. The distinct acidic smell of scent that burned at the edges of his senses confirmed this theory. Something had definitely come up while Charles had been in there.
Erik flung an arm over his eyes and tried to focus on the soft buzz of the fan in the corner. Charles was sick. On their mission. And he was the only one who could find the asshole who’d decided to make somewhere as awful as this his hiding place. It was just his luck.
He tried to let the dark wash over him, to let sleep overtake him once more, but he couldn’t get his mind to slow. He removed his arm and stared up at the blank ceiling above him. There was a stain hovering over the end of his bed, and he grimaced. There was no telling what that was.
The hard edge of an old spring in the mattress beneath him jutted painfully into his side. He shifted it with little more than a thought. Charles was still coughing and sputtering in the bathroom; the fan buzzed softly in the background. Erik sat up once more and flung the thin sheet covering his legs to the side. He couldn’t take this anymore. He needed to calm down, relax, find something to do besides lie there and listen to his companion vomiting up everything he’d eaten this past week. He desperately needed a smoke. And that meant braving the bathroom. Fantastic.
He pushed himself up off his bed and shuffled over to the tiny bathroom, his feet catching on the thin carpet covering the floor. The door was just barely open, and the lights were off inside. He slowly pushed the door inward, not sure exactly where Charles was situated inside. As frustrated as he was with their situation, he didn’t want to somehow hit Charles on his quest for cigarettes. That would probably just end up making things worse.
When it was open enough for him to get his head through with minimal difficulty, he peered inside and grimaced as the smell hit him full force. From the moonlight seeping in through the window above the shower he could make out the faint outline of Charles hunched over the toilet, his hands gripping the porcelain rim like his life depended on it. His hair was dangling in sweaty clumps off his forehead, shifting about with his every ragged, panting breath.
Erik sighed. This was not what he’d had in mind when he’d agreed to stick around for this.
“Hello, Erik,” Charles mumbled, turning slightly to grace him with a quick, pained smile. “Lovely night we’re having.”
“Says the man with his head in the crapper.” Erik wormed his way inside, careful to avoid Charles’s legs.
“Yes, well I-” Charles suddenly went white as a sheet and turned back to the toilet, coughing up stringy bits of bile and saliva. When the bout passed, he leaned forward so that his forehead rested against the tank. His eyes were wet, and his chest was heaving. “Damn.”
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“Probably not. Unless you have some sort of latent secondary mutation that can rid one of migraines.” His voice was tinged with humor, and Erik simply shook his head.
“Unfortunately, I have yet to perfect that ability.”
Charles smiled briefly before his face screwed up into a grimace once more, his breath catching in his throat. The shorter man’s eyes squeezed shut, and Erik braced himself for another round of unsuccessful attempts to bring back yesterday’s lunch. But after several tense moments, nothing came. Erik shifted back and forth on his heels, the skin of his feet sticking a bit to the linoleum as he moved. Charles’s harsh breathing filled the small room, bouncing off the walls in endless repeat. “Erik?” he huffed out, his eyes still screwed shut. “Erik, I don’t think he’s here anymore.”
“What?”
Charles winced at his volume, and Erik retreated a bit, though his heart was racing now. “The mutant we’re after. I don’t think he’s here anymore.”
Erik ground the heel of his palm into his forehead and tried to suppress the well of anger bubbling up in his chest. “And why do you think this?” he grumbled impatiently.
“I can’t find him anywhere. He was here,” Charles lightly tapped his temple before moving back to grip the toilet seat,” bright as day this morning, and I could sense him this afternoon, but now there’s nothing. I think he’s moved on us again.” He grit his teeth and fought back against another wave of nausea.
Erik wanted to scream. Here he was stuck in a dingy hotel with a man who was currently so sick he could barely go three minutes without heaving his guts out, searching for a mutant who was no longer around. It was almost as frustrating as figuring out Shaw’s location.
Calm yourself. The words echoed in his ear, and Erik wasn’t sure if he’d heard them aloud, or if they only existed in his head.
“And how do you expect me to do that?” he snarled at Charles, who’d gone rather pale once more.
“Please, Erik, for god’s sake, calm yourself down,” Charles ground out. “I don’t give a damn how you do it, but my control isn’t very good at the moment, and I can hear everything you’re thinking right now as loudly as if you were shouting in my ear.”
Erik got the hint. He wasn’t helping. If anything, he was probably making things worse. He threw his head back and breathed out a heavy sigh. The package in his hand crinkled a little, and he gripped it a little tighter. “I’m going outside.” He stepped over Charles and made his way out of the bathroom.
The night air was warm against his skin, and he was grateful that he hadn’t bothered to stop for shoes on his way out the door. The sharp cut of pavement and loose gravel against the skin of his bare feet was calming in its own way. He propped himself up against the wall of the building and let the smoke of his cigarette waft over him in a cloud of billowing white. He didn’t smoke often, but it did wonders on the nerves. They’d start again tomorrow. Maybe move on to the next mutant on their list of coordinates, or perhaps just head back to New York so Charles could recover and be of some use again. It was probably for the best anyway.
He flicked the still smoldering butt of his cigarette to the pavement and watched as the last wisps of smoke faded away into the night sky. They could figure everything out in the morning.
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Erik shifted back and forth on his heels, the skin of his feet sticking a bit to the linoleum as he moved.
^ I love this little detail. It's the sort of thing that tells me exactly what kind of motel this is, and eeeeuuugh that can't be helping Charles' stomach!
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Thank you so much for reading this. ♥ I'm really flattered that you're following my story.
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Thanks for reading. ♥
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