...diseased...

[qsilver_lab_rat]

Darien walks in.

Darien... looks utterly foul. He's sniffling, his hair is completely undone, and he's shivering every few seconds. He makes his way to the bar, get a bowl of soup and a cup of hot coffee and a comforter and toddles towards the couches and the fire and becomes something more like a
lump of pathetic.

Comments

[bloody_rockgod]

Charlie is on his way down to play piano for a bit . . . and then sees the lump of pathetic.

Swoop! "Hey, you."

[qsilver_lab_rat]

He pulls away.

"Nno. Nno, bwab. M'all stubbed ub."

[bloody_rockgod]

"You're wot? Speaking in tongues?" He lays his hand on Darien's forehead. "Feverish, too." He makes soothing sounds as he pulls the blanket closer around Darien. "Poor baby."

[qsilver_lab_rat]

He pulls away again, weakly.

"Dohn wanna geh you sick too..."

[dead_comrade]

It's a nice evening. Krauser's sitting by the fire, because sometimes you just have to remind yourself to put up with the flames. It smells like woodsmoke, like heated brick--wait, did it just get miserable in here?

Krauser looks over, startled. "You all right?" He regrets the question as soon as he asks, since it looks (and now smells) like a simple malady. His senses amplify some things. He's still trying to get used to that.

[qsilver_lab_rat]

It's anything but a simple malady. This malady, as he'll find out in a little while, was specially cooked up for him.

"Do I woob awighb?"

[dead_comrade]

Neither Krauser nor his sense of smell are trained in medicine.

"I've seen worse."

[qsilver_lab_rat]

He gives Krauser an utterly discusted look before finally sneezing... and out comes this blacksilver stuff that covers his hand, goves metallic, and then crackles off of him into dust.

"Aw cwab."