Closed RP: The Day After the Day After
((Backdated to the afternoon of November 2nd - couple days after Halloween, of course.))
He'd finally lost.
His hands were moving of their own accord, the armored fingers curling around Paco's throat. Through the blue haze that locked him away, he could only watch his own hands try to choke the life out of his best friend. He struggled to remain, to not get swallowed by the blue fire that was trying to consume him, pull him out of his own head. The scarab - what personality it had developed in the months it was part of him - had already been consumed by the Reach programming. It had sacrificed itself to buy him some time. But that time was running out, and he could feel it wearing him down, feel it erasing him--
"Jaime!" he heard his mother scream, and Paco was dropped, and his body lunged, and Jaime's own scream could only be heard in his mind.
"GAAAAAAH!"
Jaime sat up in bed, shaking, wrapping his arms around himself as he leaned forward, gasping for air and trying to calm his racing heartbeat. Wiping his bangs out of his eyes - they were damp with sweat - he blinked as he took in his surroundings. Just a dream. Another dream. What was this, the fifth one since breakfast?
He grabbed his watch off the bedside table and groaned. Twenty minutes. He'd only been out for twenty minutes. That light Lola had sent yesterday had helped, but while his own nightmares had gone away, they were replaced by nightmares that made no sense - although he suspected that they might not be his nightmares the way the scarab was freaking out. Not that it could tell him while it was quietly panicking in the back of his head. He suspected that it didn't know what was going on either, and it did not like that one bit. Hence, the generalized freaking out.
Burying his face in his hands, Jaime groaned. This had to stop. He'd been trying to rest, trying to take it easy, but nothing was working - and he was actually feeling worse. Felt like between the fatigue and headaches and nightmares, he'd caught a cold or something; he was pretty sure he was running a fever at this point, and he hadn't been able to stomach much in the way of food. He needed to talk to Lola, he really did, but he needed to be able to think first. He needed to get some sleep. As much as he didn't like the idea, a trip to the Hospital Wing was probably in order. He didn't have to mention the scarab, just the sleeping patterns. There had to be some way to get an uninterrupted night's sleep.
Despite generally feeling like he'd been through the wringer, he managed to get up, get dressed and head out of Gryffindor without any assistance. It was slow going, but he managed it. The problem presented itself when he reached the moving staircases. He remembered the pattern, and when to hop on and off, but the problem was the moving part.
Which was why, when one of the stairs ground to a stop at a landing, he lost his balance and pitched forward, unable to catch himself or stop his plunge as he fell - right smack into the person who was about to come up the stairs.
He'd finally lost.
His hands were moving of their own accord, the armored fingers curling around Paco's throat. Through the blue haze that locked him away, he could only watch his own hands try to choke the life out of his best friend. He struggled to remain, to not get swallowed by the blue fire that was trying to consume him, pull him out of his own head. The scarab - what personality it had developed in the months it was part of him - had already been consumed by the Reach programming. It had sacrificed itself to buy him some time. But that time was running out, and he could feel it wearing him down, feel it erasing him--
"Jaime!" he heard his mother scream, and Paco was dropped, and his body lunged, and Jaime's own scream could only be heard in his mind.
"GAAAAAAH!"
Jaime sat up in bed, shaking, wrapping his arms around himself as he leaned forward, gasping for air and trying to calm his racing heartbeat. Wiping his bangs out of his eyes - they were damp with sweat - he blinked as he took in his surroundings. Just a dream. Another dream. What was this, the fifth one since breakfast?
He grabbed his watch off the bedside table and groaned. Twenty minutes. He'd only been out for twenty minutes. That light Lola had sent yesterday had helped, but while his own nightmares had gone away, they were replaced by nightmares that made no sense - although he suspected that they might not be his nightmares the way the scarab was freaking out. Not that it could tell him while it was quietly panicking in the back of his head. He suspected that it didn't know what was going on either, and it did not like that one bit. Hence, the generalized freaking out.
Burying his face in his hands, Jaime groaned. This had to stop. He'd been trying to rest, trying to take it easy, but nothing was working - and he was actually feeling worse. Felt like between the fatigue and headaches and nightmares, he'd caught a cold or something; he was pretty sure he was running a fever at this point, and he hadn't been able to stomach much in the way of food. He needed to talk to Lola, he really did, but he needed to be able to think first. He needed to get some sleep. As much as he didn't like the idea, a trip to the Hospital Wing was probably in order. He didn't have to mention the scarab, just the sleeping patterns. There had to be some way to get an uninterrupted night's sleep.
Despite generally feeling like he'd been through the wringer, he managed to get up, get dressed and head out of Gryffindor without any assistance. It was slow going, but he managed it. The problem presented itself when he reached the moving staircases. He remembered the pattern, and when to hop on and off, but the problem was the moving part.
Which was why, when one of the stairs ground to a stop at a landing, he lost his balance and pitched forward, unable to catch himself or stop his plunge as he fell - right smack into the person who was about to come up the stairs.