Cold and Flu Season my a**

[sluttylyingliar]

Who gets a cold on a tropical island? Hello, tropcial island? And what kind of decently sized tropical island has weed and dinosaurs but no readily available cold medicine? Rachel's supposed to be on the pole in like, eight hours and lap dances just aren't as sexy when she's taking a break to blow her nose every five minutes. She looks like one of

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[denounces_evil]

James was hungry. He was pretty much always hungry. Or at least he could eat nearly all of the time. Likely a side effect of not always having a meal when on the road and having to fight Jessie and Meowth and usually losing, or pretending to lose, in those fights. Which meant he was headed to the kitchen... where a box of tea was headed for his face.

"OOOOWWW!" James exclaimed, noting the object as it landed on the ground. "Who's throwing ... tea?"

For a moment, he hoped to hear Jessie or Meowth give a shout and then in the next instant be squeezed to death in a group hug. However, as the moment continued forward, there was markedly a lack of hugging. Though a look of mild satisfaction coming from one of the dancers from the club. What was her name? Rachel?

"I believe you dropped something," James said with a bit of a pout and an annoyed look.

[sluttylyingliar]

"Oh no, I kicked it. Deliberately," she says pouting right back. "Sorry about the face, though. I was trying for maximum tea destruction."

[denounces_evil]

"Oh," he replied surprisingly brightly for someone who'd just caught a box of tea with his face. Especially after the party who had thrown it, admitted it had been on purpose. But to James there was a huge difference between wanting to be destructive and aiming for his face.

"You look terrible," he stated the obvious. "And why the tea anger?"

[sluttylyingliar]

"Because it's tea," she points out, no real ground to argue on. She does look terrible.

"And I want drugs. You're supposed to take drugs when you're sick so you don't notice that you're sick. And it's giving me stupid tea."

[angriestman]

He has noticed that she's sick. Raylan isn't enough of an asshole to be pissed at the lack of anything resembling a sex-life (his Aunt Helen raised him better than that), so he's been trying to figure out a way to make Rachel feel better. He can't cook, so it's no good offering her soup. What he can do is offer her a little something to warm her up, though.

"Here," he says, stepping in behind her, no hat but a jar in his hand. "I scared you up some moonshine."

[sluttylyingliar]

Rachel whirls around, strangely choked up at the gesture. Probably a combination of the fever and the fact that he might be the only person who would have thought of it.

"Oh God," she moans, making grabby hands at it. "Your eventual reward will be great."

Just the fumes from the stuff are enough to start clearing her sinuses and the first sip goes down like fire, warming her chest. Fire laced with Drain-o.

[angriestman]

"Oh, I bet," drawls Raylan, leaning back on his hands against the counter and watching her, corner of his mouth tugging with a smirk. "Don't drink too much of it at once, sweetheart. Long way to carry you home."

[sluttylyingliar]

"Not my fault you're skinny," she mumbles, pushing her forehead against his chest as the booze burns in her stomach. "I bet you've always had women trying to force feed you. One of those fuckers with crazy metabolism."

[first_pink_lady]

As good a story it was that she got clipped by a piece of a bomb to explain the few stitches in her forehead, the damn things were itchy and, while they were supposed to come out soon, the band-aid on her temple was not the most appealing of accessories. Still, her curly hair was long enough now to somewhat hide the bandage, and as she walked into the kitchen finger-combing her bangs she wondered if that was a sign that she needed to search out an island hairdresser. The box of tea that then whacked her in the arm, however, even if it did not leave much of a lasting mark, was not nearly as good a story.

She leant and picked up the offending box, and looked over at Rachel - Jesus, she looked rough - the obvious culprit with a raised eyebrow. "That personal, honey?"

[sluttylyingliar]

"If it was, I suspect you could take me," she answers, eyes narrowing on the bit of hair Rizzo is fiddling with.

"What the hell happened to you? Is that a wound?"

[first_pink_lady]

"Today, maybe." She said, tossing the box on the counter and giving the gal a once-over. That wasn't the look of recovery after a big night of kicks and giggles, but of honest-to-god being under the weather without an umbrella. "Ain't feeling too good, hey sunshine?"

She grinned delightedly at the mention of her cut, because she was a gal who'd been raised on war stories and gang rumbles. She didn't want any disfiguring scars, of course, but a few here and there were just fine with her. "You hear about that wackjob and his early fourth-of-july over in the scrap heap?"

[sluttylyingliar]

"I have a cold," she mutters, angrily swiping at her nose. Ugh, so gross.

Rachel does remember hearing about it. The island's not that big and explosions tend to attract attention. "Yeah...shit. Did you get like, hit with debris? That's actually a little bit bad-ass."

[brookesmart]

Brooke steps over the flying box, then pauses to go back for it. Blueberries are rich in anti-oxidents, after all.

"Stop rooting around in here like a rhinoceros and sit down."

[sluttylyingliar]

"I hate you," is all Rachel can muster up as she kicks another box out of her way and plops down. It probably should be disturbing how readily she'll obey Brooke sometimes, especially if she plans are making her drink the stupid tea.

"I don't want that," she whines, pointing at the box. "I want real medicine. I want the restricted stuff."

[brookesmart]

"Tough cookies," says Brooke, moving past Rachel's huddled form to the fridge. "What we need is some orange juice, and...hey. How do you make a hot toddy?"

Sickly or not, Brooke has no qualms with knocking a cranky Rachel out if the situation calls for it.

[sluttylyingliar]

"Whiskey," she lies, having no idea what's in a hot toddy. "Probably if we just mixed a bunch of whiskey with the orange juice, it'd be the same."

She slumps even further over in the chair, picking morosely at a blue spangle. "I'm supposed to work tonight, but I dressed up and I still look like shit, huh?"