Vig: Fever
Who: Jekzith, P'draig
What: Paddy's got the plague. Jekzith stays close.
Paddy woke in a daze, unsure of the day or the time, legs tangled up in the sheets, sheets that alternately felt too heavy and hot or not warm enough to stave off the chills that wracked his body.
When had Mic last dropped off a mug of tea? He couldn't remember, but he rolled over and searched for it with one hand anyway. There it was. Stone cold. It had been a while.
His fever-addled brain reached out to Jekzith who pressed close to him at least mentally. He was just outside with his head resting on the porch, stuffed between the rails, but he couldn't get any closer. Downside to a cothold rather than a weyr and Paddy wasn't about to go out there. He didn't think he could stand right now anyway.
<< Should I get T'mic for you? Do you need that stuff hot? >>
No. I'll be okay. I'm just thirsty. I don't care if it's hot or cold.
He took a few shaky sips from the mug, winced at the pain in his throat and set the mug down again, flopped down on his stomach with his face hidden in the pillow. He hadn't been this sick since he got food poisoning ten turns ago. A vague memory of Persie changing his sheets and cleaning up wandered through his fevered brain and he smiled just a little, remembering how she'd sung to him. He should've been ... something. Better. Better to her.
Groaning, he pulled his pillow over his head to shut out the light that insisted on peeking in through the blinds. It made his head pound. Only under the pillows was it safe in the dark. He hoped the kids were okay, that Dharia wasn't coming down with this. Josian's words about kids under three kept tripping through his brain in his more lucid moments and he would get scared, his heart would race and that just couldn't be good.
He took a few deep breaths.
Made himself cough and wearily reached for the bottle of tussilago again. He didn't bother measuring, just took a healthy swig from the bottle, put it back on the table.
This damn bug /sucked/.
He hoped Raveki was all better already. He'd probably caught from the day he'd tucked her in. No good deed goes unpunished? At least he thought he remembered someone saying that once you'd had it you didn't get it again.
Boy was he ever looking forward to being /over/ it already.
In the meantime, the Beach House stayed closed and the kids stayed up at the Weyr with Miara.
Paddy didn't think about all the lost profits from the closed days though deep down he knew he was probably going to have to work really hard to make up for it.
<< Are you sure I can't call anyone for you? >>
Jekzith, trying to make sure everything would be okay.
Briefly, Paddy's thoughts flickered to another someone, but he pushed that thought firmly away.
No. I'm going back to sleep. Stay with me?
<< Always, P'draig. Always. >>
What: Paddy's got the plague. Jekzith stays close.
Paddy woke in a daze, unsure of the day or the time, legs tangled up in the sheets, sheets that alternately felt too heavy and hot or not warm enough to stave off the chills that wracked his body.
When had Mic last dropped off a mug of tea? He couldn't remember, but he rolled over and searched for it with one hand anyway. There it was. Stone cold. It had been a while.
His fever-addled brain reached out to Jekzith who pressed close to him at least mentally. He was just outside with his head resting on the porch, stuffed between the rails, but he couldn't get any closer. Downside to a cothold rather than a weyr and Paddy wasn't about to go out there. He didn't think he could stand right now anyway.
<< Should I get T'mic for you? Do you need that stuff hot? >>
No. I'll be okay. I'm just thirsty. I don't care if it's hot or cold.
He took a few shaky sips from the mug, winced at the pain in his throat and set the mug down again, flopped down on his stomach with his face hidden in the pillow. He hadn't been this sick since he got food poisoning ten turns ago. A vague memory of Persie changing his sheets and cleaning up wandered through his fevered brain and he smiled just a little, remembering how she'd sung to him. He should've been ... something. Better. Better to her.
Groaning, he pulled his pillow over his head to shut out the light that insisted on peeking in through the blinds. It made his head pound. Only under the pillows was it safe in the dark. He hoped the kids were okay, that Dharia wasn't coming down with this. Josian's words about kids under three kept tripping through his brain in his more lucid moments and he would get scared, his heart would race and that just couldn't be good.
He took a few deep breaths.
Made himself cough and wearily reached for the bottle of tussilago again. He didn't bother measuring, just took a healthy swig from the bottle, put it back on the table.
This damn bug /sucked/.
He hoped Raveki was all better already. He'd probably caught from the day he'd tucked her in. No good deed goes unpunished? At least he thought he remembered someone saying that once you'd had it you didn't get it again.
Boy was he ever looking forward to being /over/ it already.
In the meantime, the Beach House stayed closed and the kids stayed up at the Weyr with Miara.
Paddy didn't think about all the lost profits from the closed days though deep down he knew he was probably going to have to work really hard to make up for it.
<< Are you sure I can't call anyone for you? >>
Jekzith, trying to make sure everything would be okay.
Briefly, Paddy's thoughts flickered to another someone, but he pushed that thought firmly away.
No. I'm going back to sleep. Stay with me?
<< Always, P'draig. Always. >>