Collette (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
whatsupcroc) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
exsiliumlogs2013-06-07 11:05 pm
whatsupcroc) wrote in exsiliumlogs2013-06-07 11:05 pm
(open) days go by and still i think of you
Date & Time: June 4th - 9th
Location: Initiative Hospital
Characters: Collette & Open!
Summary: Shenanigans while ill at the hospital.
Warnings: Hospital gowns, illness, trauma, silliness.
[ June 4th-7th ]
Her fever spikes the most during her first few days in the hospital. Collette hesitated to tell anyone; there was little to do but wait it out, and she was more preoccupied with the coughing when she was awake and aware of her surroundings than she liked.
She's even abstained from using the network that often, having difficulty concentrating on the bright screen.
What she didn't expect took her, and several nurses, and any potential visitors, by surprise. When the fever ran too hot, and her delusions started edging toward frightening territory, Collette reacted.
Once, where there'd been a sick girl, there appeared a crocodile. Mouth opened, it hissed and growled at everything that moved in the room, one lash of its tail taking out the IV pole. The privacy curtain is doomed to be half torn down while Collette isn't taking charge of the reptilian brain: it was one very frightened crocodile reigning over a disheveled hospital bed.
[ June 7th-8th ]
She had the crocodile under control when she found herself having episodes of coming to while morphed golden retriever or coyote, hiding under chairs, or wandering the hall with her hospital gown trailing awkwardly between her legs.
Twice she ended up in the cafeteria. Collette really didn't quite understand how she got there.
[ June 9th: after this ]
On the 9th, the fever broke, but it wasn't something she noticed. Not after everything else that happened after she escaped to the hospital roof.
Collette was shaking from something entirely unrelated to her illness, even if the shivering could have been attributed to it. She was scared to close her eyes, scared of coughing because it left her vulnerable, tired and sick and scared all around.
This, she decides, Takes the award for royal suckage.
Location: Initiative Hospital
Characters: Collette & Open!
Summary: Shenanigans while ill at the hospital.
Warnings: Hospital gowns, illness, trauma, silliness.
Her fever spikes the most during her first few days in the hospital. Collette hesitated to tell anyone; there was little to do but wait it out, and she was more preoccupied with the coughing when she was awake and aware of her surroundings than she liked.
She's even abstained from using the network that often, having difficulty concentrating on the bright screen.
What she didn't expect took her, and several nurses, and any potential visitors, by surprise. When the fever ran too hot, and her delusions started edging toward frightening territory, Collette reacted.
Once, where there'd been a sick girl, there appeared a crocodile. Mouth opened, it hissed and growled at everything that moved in the room, one lash of its tail taking out the IV pole. The privacy curtain is doomed to be half torn down while Collette isn't taking charge of the reptilian brain: it was one very frightened crocodile reigning over a disheveled hospital bed.
She had the crocodile under control when she found herself having episodes of coming to while morphed golden retriever or coyote, hiding under chairs, or wandering the hall with her hospital gown trailing awkwardly between her legs.
Twice she ended up in the cafeteria. Collette really didn't quite understand how she got there.
On the 9th, the fever broke, but it wasn't something she noticed. Not after everything else that happened after she escaped to the hospital roof.
Collette was shaking from something entirely unrelated to her illness, even if the shivering could have been attributed to it. She was scared to close her eyes, scared of coughing because it left her vulnerable, tired and sick and scared all around.
This, she decides, Takes the award for royal suckage.
no subject
Hey, Nate. Better say hi to Drift, and Caesar. Not sure if he's awake. Her eyes were already closing. They've been here ever since... stuff.
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Nate glances over - but it looks like neither of them are in any state to be disturbed right now.
::Yeah, I know - Caesar was the one who told me you were here. Sort of missed this whole thing starting.::
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He could feel the guilt and the worry, and he knew if he were in her position, he'd probably be feeling much the same. With a massive side of frustration, to boot.
::Just checking up on a friend. And Caesar said you were having problems with morphing while you weren't lucid - still an issue?::
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And that thing, that woman, was still out there.
Her eyes fluttered open, seeking out a familiar face. God, and she didn't believe in God, but God, guard the people she loves from the things she can't while she's recovering. Please.
It's not a problem. There's a conviction of quiet honesty behind the confession. It wasn't a problem again after the last time. If that was because her fever broke, or because it was enough to give her subconscious mind something to shy away from, she didn't know. But it wasn't a problem anymore.
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That sharp spike of fear was so clear it was almost painful, and Nate frowned. Something - clearly - had happened. But now wasn't the time or place to ask her about it. Instead he sent back gentle reassurance, and made a mental note to himself to scan the area for any minds with untoward thoughts later.
::Alright. I was going to offer to do what I could to help with that, but not much point if you've got it under control::
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He nodded, though the expression on his face grew a little more somber.
::I probably can - it's your subconcious mind triggering the shift, right?:: That was true for the other shifters he knew, but they were mutants, and he was fairly certain she wasn't. ::Because I'm a telepath, I can... rewrite people's minds. From small things to... big things.::
There really wasn't a way to keep that from sounding invasive, was there? And he could remember the times he'd used his skills selfishly, without thinking, and reaped the consequences for it.
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She curls away from him, further into herself, that fear and disgust mingling with the fear that crawled like glinting darkness at the edges of her mind. She doesn't want to be rewritten. Not at all. She does her own rewritting.
Her trust in adults is fractured, and her faith in her friends strong enough -- but that sort of trust, it comes attached to a loss she's as tightly curled around as she's holding the empty space of her belly close. No, no rewriting. I can do it on my own, I can make sure it doesn't happen, don't rewrite me to make me pretend to be better. I'm not an essay! Her eyes were screwed shut. Breathing was difficult as she felt herself wanting to cry.
I don't need to be written into something better, the bad's part of me too! The bad and the good, what I remember or don't, if I'm alive or dead or both-- The memory of two pains, one all encompassing, another a streak of fire down the nape of her neck toward the tail she didn't have. She tucked her chin in to her chest and concentrated on breathing hard enough to make it a mental mantra.
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The emotional feedback hit him hard enough to almost feel physical. The fear there - he felt guiltier by the second. This had been a bad idea - it was always hard to say, with powers like his. There were reasons people didn't like or trust telepaths, and while he didn't know Collette's past, he knew it probably wasn't all happy. Nothing to do but try to salvage the scrap of trust he had.
::Collette, no. Never without your permission.:: He put all the emotional conviction he could behind those words. ::I would never change you to be anyone other than who you are. Ever.::
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It's a fierce protectiveness and joy at contrast with how ill and gross she felt. Sure, she was sick, and sure, horrible things did happen sometimes, but she was alive. That meant so much more than bearing with the burdens of Exsilium, for all the attached guilt at living when her friends did not.
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::I know:: he replied. ::You can't take the good and get rid of the bad, it's not how people work.:: And there was pain in his mental voice, that he couldn't quite hide. In some ways, it had been the bad memories that had played the largest part in shaping the path he took, making the good ones shine all the brighter, and making him fight more fiercely for them.
::I won't touch any of your memories. I promise:: And Bright Lady help him if he ever was forced into a position to break that promise.
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But she doesn't like being here, and doesn't like being helpless when that can hurt, nigh on kill, people who are important to her. Or get her killed without knowing what she's doing, the same thing she accused Barnaby of doing while he'd been here.
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He sends wordless reassurance along the temporary link he's made between them. ::I'll do what I can to help - hauling supplies, looking for the people who released this - whatever they need.::
That was the most frustrating part about this - he was a soldier, but in the face of disease? That meant nothing. All the skills he had were useless here. He tried to mask that frustration as best he could, though.
::Anything I can do for you?::
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It made her answer looser, something helpful in protecting her, redirecting concern away from the aches and pains and scary things that curled in tight at the back of her mind.
Make sure Caesar eats something like real food, will you? If he's still around. Hospital food really hasn't gotten better in the last few thousand years.
An undercurrent of warmth, concern, and amusement is all tangled up in what she thinks; along with a series of images of Caesar, the cafeteria, and cafeterias of years past. There's also reassurance past what Nate's been providing -- with connotations tying it to Caesar and to Drift, her silent, watchful robotic companion.
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Nate gives her a wry smile in return. ::If hospital food actually good better, I think world would end. It's one of those universal constants. I'll get some real food into him even if I have to cook it myself.:: He brushes her shoulder lightly, sending another pulse of reassurance, and the tiniest subconscious suggestion against nightmares. ::Rest - you need it.::
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