[action!text] Fail Snowangel
in response to this
[Alfred had been spending more time than usual at Liberty University's libraries. Dewi always confiscated his laptop when he returned to the Myrtle House and usually to get it back it involved a lot of sneaking around but the Welshman had taken to hiding it under his pillow at night and that wasn't exactly easy to get back. So Alfred had given up entirely and simply used the school's computers, slow and lame as they were.
Stupid Dewi, wanting him to learn lines. He was Alfred F. Jones! The lines would just come to him on opening night!
Sitting there on hours for end, either surfing the internet, attempting to read through the motorbike handbook or failing slightly through his Spanish homework (Emi had cancelled a few of their sessions, and he was probably going to fail the class... Oh well, foreign languages were lame anyway) Alfred eventually had to move and he packed up his things quietly, stretched before sliding his bag on heading outside.
The snow was thicker thanks to the gentle snowfall all day. He huffed, sinking lower into his jacket and shoving hands into his pockets after pulling the hat over the tips of his ears. His boots crunched and he paused, seeing a rather large something in a snowbank a little ways off. He looked around, not seeing anyone nearby and quietly walked over.
Immediately, he noticed the brown, wavy hair to be Emi's and he grinned. "Hey, Emi!" he called, hurrying over, and noting that she was curled up in the snow, "Man, you suck at snowangels." He laughed, preparing himself for the snappish response he usually got.
The only answer was the quiet settling of the snow. Alfred knew something was wrong from that silence. He gently knelt beside her, shaking her shoulder lightly. "Emi- hey, wake up... Emi?" A little more frantic shaking and his voice got a little louder. "Emi! Hey, this isn't funny or anything-" Oh God. The only reason she wouldn't respond to his comment was because she was-
"Y-You can't be dead-" Alfred said, scooping her up quickly into his arms, "You can't- No, no, no- We still need to make churros with me- A-And I need Spanish help!" He stared at her, fully prepared to start wailing his head off, his eyes already uncomfortably warm.
Then noticed the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the clouds of breath floating from her parted lips.
Oh not dead.
Dying?
Yeah, she was probably dying. In his arms. Romantic? Yes, except this was Emi and it wasn't a romantic scene. It was 14F and who knows how long she'd been in the snow. So if she wasn't dying before, judging from the hotness on her brow, she was definietly going to die from the cold.
Alfred wasn't good with death. It made him squeamish and panicked and something akin to a chicken with its head cut off. Which was made clear by the way his 9-1-1 call went.
"S-She's dying and we're at Liberty University and I don't know what to do-"
"Sir, just calm down-"
"DON'T YOU GET IT!? SHE MIGHT BE DEAD! O-Oh God, she's going to die and we haven't even made churros and- OH GOD, I-IS THIS EVEN THE NUMBER FOR 9-1-1?!"
Eventually, the dispatcher did calm the American down long enough for more details and Alfred stood there in the cold, holding Emi close, still panicking and pacing worriedly, shaking her every few second as if he could get her out of this dying thing- She wouldn't die, he was a hero, he had to save her.
The ambulance arrived and Alfred was allowed to sit in the back with her, watching as the paramedic hooked her up to all kinds of machines and he felt sick to his stomach. What if she did actually die? A-A funeral? That would be a great way to end the school year. And this thought haunted him until they arrived at the hospital and he was in the waiting room, pacing more still, holding his phone in his hand, not quite sure who to text or even what he would text.
Finally a doctor arrived and without even waiting, Alfred demanded if she was dead. When the doctor laughed at the American's near teary eyes, Alfred knew that Emi was alright (or that this was some really fucked up doctor). He was led to her room and he walked inside after the doctor told him that under no circumstance should he wake her up. She'd collapsed from exhaustion and had a flu and all she could do now was rest.
But she was alright and that's all that really mattered to Alfred.
Settling down in one of the chairs, he pulled out the script booklet, deciding that the quiet hum of the machines and the warmth of the hospital would be the perfect place to read them. Before opening the book, however, he sent out a text message to those Emi was close to. Or at least those he knew who would be worried about her.
After sending the text, he curled up in the chair, quietly reading through the lines, occasionally humming under his breath and eventually falling asleep.
to: Ivan, Jared, John
sent: November 21st, 3:14pm
Emi's in the hospital. Collapsed in the snow from exhaustion. Room 214. She's fine.
[Alfred had been spending more time than usual at Liberty University's libraries. Dewi always confiscated his laptop when he returned to the Myrtle House and usually to get it back it involved a lot of sneaking around but the Welshman had taken to hiding it under his pillow at night and that wasn't exactly easy to get back. So Alfred had given up entirely and simply used the school's computers, slow and lame as they were.
Stupid Dewi, wanting him to learn lines. He was Alfred F. Jones! The lines would just come to him on opening night!
Sitting there on hours for end, either surfing the internet, attempting to read through the motorbike handbook or failing slightly through his Spanish homework (Emi had cancelled a few of their sessions, and he was probably going to fail the class... Oh well, foreign languages were lame anyway) Alfred eventually had to move and he packed up his things quietly, stretched before sliding his bag on heading outside.
The snow was thicker thanks to the gentle snowfall all day. He huffed, sinking lower into his jacket and shoving hands into his pockets after pulling the hat over the tips of his ears. His boots crunched and he paused, seeing a rather large something in a snowbank a little ways off. He looked around, not seeing anyone nearby and quietly walked over.
Immediately, he noticed the brown, wavy hair to be Emi's and he grinned. "Hey, Emi!" he called, hurrying over, and noting that she was curled up in the snow, "Man, you suck at snowangels." He laughed, preparing himself for the snappish response he usually got.
The only answer was the quiet settling of the snow. Alfred knew something was wrong from that silence. He gently knelt beside her, shaking her shoulder lightly. "Emi- hey, wake up... Emi?" A little more frantic shaking and his voice got a little louder. "Emi! Hey, this isn't funny or anything-" Oh God. The only reason she wouldn't respond to his comment was because she was-
"Y-You can't be dead-" Alfred said, scooping her up quickly into his arms, "You can't- No, no, no- We still need to make churros with me- A-And I need Spanish help!" He stared at her, fully prepared to start wailing his head off, his eyes already uncomfortably warm.
Then noticed the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the clouds of breath floating from her parted lips.
Oh not dead.
Dying?
Yeah, she was probably dying. In his arms. Romantic? Yes, except this was Emi and it wasn't a romantic scene. It was 14F and who knows how long she'd been in the snow. So if she wasn't dying before, judging from the hotness on her brow, she was definietly going to die from the cold.
Alfred wasn't good with death. It made him squeamish and panicked and something akin to a chicken with its head cut off. Which was made clear by the way his 9-1-1 call went.
"S-She's dying and we're at Liberty University and I don't know what to do-"
"Sir, just calm down-"
"DON'T YOU GET IT!? SHE MIGHT BE DEAD! O-Oh God, she's going to die and we haven't even made churros and- OH GOD, I-IS THIS EVEN THE NUMBER FOR 9-1-1?!"
Eventually, the dispatcher did calm the American down long enough for more details and Alfred stood there in the cold, holding Emi close, still panicking and pacing worriedly, shaking her every few second as if he could get her out of this dying thing- She wouldn't die, he was a hero, he had to save her.
The ambulance arrived and Alfred was allowed to sit in the back with her, watching as the paramedic hooked her up to all kinds of machines and he felt sick to his stomach. What if she did actually die? A-A funeral? That would be a great way to end the school year. And this thought haunted him until they arrived at the hospital and he was in the waiting room, pacing more still, holding his phone in his hand, not quite sure who to text or even what he would text.
Finally a doctor arrived and without even waiting, Alfred demanded if she was dead. When the doctor laughed at the American's near teary eyes, Alfred knew that Emi was alright (or that this was some really fucked up doctor). He was led to her room and he walked inside after the doctor told him that under no circumstance should he wake her up. She'd collapsed from exhaustion and had a flu and all she could do now was rest.
But she was alright and that's all that really mattered to Alfred.
Settling down in one of the chairs, he pulled out the script booklet, deciding that the quiet hum of the machines and the warmth of the hospital would be the perfect place to read them. Before opening the book, however, he sent out a text message to those Emi was close to. Or at least those he knew who would be worried about her.
After sending the text, he curled up in the chair, quietly reading through the lines, occasionally humming under his breath and eventually falling asleep.
to: Ivan, Jared, John
sent: November 21st, 3:14pm
Emi's in the hospital. Collapsed in the snow from exhaustion. Room 214. She's fine.