[Sloth] Titles Are Largely Things That Happen To Other Posts
Yellow light flickers in the soft, blue fields and two figures appear. Releasing Gabriel, Hastur staggers and weaves a few steps. The yellow light around him dies down completely, fading into him or wicking away in thin plumes and trails into the air until he is nothing more than a beaten-looking man in tattered yellow-gold robes
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Coughing, ignoring the black, chunky shit that he's just expelled, leans back and looks up.
Through the leaves, the sky is blue. Not blue, just blue. Time passes, and he feels like lying down. All of this running and... where are they, exactly? Who cares, it's--
He feels another wave of nausea hit him and he decorates the flowers again. There's dark red in it this time, and he stares at it.
can't die here. things to do. see Allen again.
who the fuck is 'Allen'?
He wipes his mouth with his hand, rubs his hand in the grass, stares at the poppies. So tired. Just a nap. Just for an hour.
can't die here. keep moving.
Gabriel stands, slowly. It feels like there is a nine-hundred-pound weight balancing on his shoulders, pulling him down, dragging him into sleep.
can't die here."Flavius?" His voice is rusty. He ( ... )
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Other than that, things don't seem to look as though they're going to improve anytime soon, as Flavius (and that is what he seems to be, now, moreso than anything else, as the faint glow he'd had ever since he'd returned from the Dreamlands is now completely gone) remains unresponsive. He still breathes, his heart still beats, but he does not wake.
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Only one thing for it, then.
He drinks at the stream, retches again in the weeds, finishes his drink and a bit of washing up later he drags Flavius over. He washes the man's face, takes a look at any wounds, and tries to rebandage them the best he can. His own shoulder gouges have stopped bleeding a while back, but they're swollen and hot. He carefully cleanses them, then removes his shirt and rips it into strips that he tries washing as well, before applying them.
Now. He wonders how far this place is across, what might be beyond. If they'll make it there. If it isn't just better to lie down and sleep. Sleep and sleep.
i won't die here. i refuse. [you have no choice in the matter. things are wrong here, and you know it, and you also know there's a crack in here that's widening, don't you? things are spilling out, and somewhere in here are spiders--]Spiders. Like memories. Fragments ( ... )
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He still does not wake during all of this, though he makes a soft sound once or twice.
He is very light--terribly thin, really, and flops bonelessly over Gabriel's shoulder. And there he hangs, for many many steps. A very long time, until the blood in his head causes him to twitch, a slight myoclonic jerk of his legs, but it's strangely enough to wake him where all that washing and prodding and hauling about had failed.
He splutters and coughs and makes a few incoherent sounds.
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