[OPEN]

[bloodspeaker]

Date & Time: June 9th - June 15th (with the clinic becoming increasingly crowded and chaotic as days pass)
Location: Transport clinic
Characters: Clinic staff, possible clinic staff, sick people, ANYONE AT ALL
Summary: Clinic happenings during Stage II of the epidemic
Warnings: maybe someone's gonna vomit idk


Adrasteius moves through the halls with purpose, seeing to as many people and as many of their needs as he can. He administers medicine, soothes the fever-related aches and pains with the Light, checks supplies, and even tries to handle some of that growing paperwork mountain, albeit to very little avail. He knows from the network--and direct observation--that the Initiative's medical facilities are filling up quickly, which means that even Exsilium natives are starting to pour in.

The scene in the waiting room is particularly chaotic at any given time of day; nearly every chair is filled by someone requiring attention. Meanwhile, supplies of all kinds are running low, they're understaffed, and the disease everyone seems to be suffering from won't respond to anything, magical or otherwise.

But everyone's doing their best--right?

[OOC: FEEL FREE TO MAKE YOUR OWN THREADS EVERYONE; if it's open, Adra may or may not pop up.]

Comments

[scornful]

Enjoyably, I should hope. [ Cat purrs this, though the effect is somewhat ruined by how hoarse his voice is. Not even a sexy sort of hoarse. FAR FROM IT.

He pauses to breathe in, deeply. And he crosses his ankles, still keeping his legs pinned over Kirian's. ]

But this would not be a particularly pleasant place to die in, my friend.

[dawningsun]

Given the present company, I can think of worse ends.

[It's smooth until he starts coughing again. He shivers and pulls his blanket closer around himself.]

I've a bit of a chill. I don't suppose you'd be willing to warm me up, would you?

[Can't you see he is SUFFERING, CAT He shivers again, though it's not really for show and because he's actually running a nice fever right now.

Sniffle.]

[scornful]

Ooh. [ Catsovi draws one leg up, digs his heel into Kirian's thigh. ] Would you like that? You're sending mixed messages, Mr. Kirian. Our last conversation did end quite abruptly.

[dawningsun]

[He winces and frowns, though it doesn't hurt as much as he had expected.]

Perhaps I would.

[He shrugs.]

I assure you, our last conversation was hardly personal. I've shown you no specific ire.

[scornful]

[ Still smiling, Cat digs his heel in harder. ]

Unfortunately, I may have taken it as specific ire. May have.

Am I less obnoxious in person?

[dawningsun]

[He hisses and coughs, reaching for his cane. He had a high pain tolerance, but even that hurt.]

Not at the moment. You were, a few minutes ago.

[He glares at him.]

[scornful]

Not at the moment? I take it this doesn't bother you at all, then.

[ Cat doesn't outright dig his heel in this time, but he does start to steadily increase pressure. He feels the shift as Kirian reaches for his cane (and he sees it, too), but chooses not to respond to that. He wants to see how Kirian will respond. ]

[dawningsun]

[There's a slight sound and Kirian tenses against the pressure. It's starting to hurt.]

Remove your foot.

[The words are clipped as he takes his cane in hand.]

Unless you'd rather I remove it for you.

[scornful]

Mixed signals, my friend.

[ Catsovi stops increasing pressure, but he keeps his foot right where it is. He grins, opening his eyes wide, staring at the wall and not Kirian. ]

What have you picked up there? A blade?

[dawningsun]

My cane.

[Same thing.

How could Catsovi not tell? Unless...he glances to his face. Ah.

He shifts, wincing. If Catsovi's foot was a few inches lower, he'd be able to laugh the entire thing off. There a slight creaking sound as he moves, the telltale sound of leather being stretched as Catsovi's foot pins him in place.]

I thought, perhaps foolishly, that I might enjoy your company. In the interest of no longer giving you these "mixed signals" you enjoy claiming, I'll strive to be more direct with you:

Leave me be.

[scornful]

[ Catsovi laughs, the sound silver and clear for all of two seconds before he starts coughing again. Oops. Bad idea.

Reluctantly, he swings his legs off of Kirian and stands. ]

If you insist, sir. [ He bows with a incline of his head, as if slightly (and properly) ashamed. ] I'll be on my way -- but may I ask for just one more thing from you?

[dawningsun]

[He gingerly rubs the sore spot in his thigh, thankful for the leather that surrounded the socket of his prosthetic leg. But that was still a lot of pressure, and still hurt.

He nearly glares at Catsovi.]

What is it?

[scornful]

Your cane. [ Cat holds out a hand. ] May I see it? I won't hit anyone with it, I promise.

[dawningsun]

I'm afraid I cannot agree to that. You may very well run off with it.

[He looks away, glancing to the catch on the handle.]

[scornful]

[ That gets some rolled eyes. ]

I won't do that, either. I promise that you will have your cane back, all in one piece, within five minutes.

[dawningsun]

Your words mean very little at the moment, I'm afraid. You've given me little reason to trust you. Quite the opposite, if anything, in the last few minutes.

[scornful]

[ Cat's annoyed now. He's sick, he's tired, he hasn't been getting what he wants, and quite frankly -- that's just unacceptable.

He snaps his fingers. His magic whips out, an invisible force felt only by him-- and by Kirian, of course, as Cat forces the hand holding the cane to jerk upwards. Kirian's arm soon follows, bending stiffly at the elbow to swing the cane towards Catsovi, who holds his hand out. He forces Kirian's fingers to unlock, slowly, one by one, bending each one back just a bit further than necessary to make the cane drop neatly into Catsovi's hand.

Only then does he release control of Kirian's body.

Having seen Kirian glance towards the catch, Cat only makes a brief show of searching before his fingers alight upon it. He casually flicks it to reveal the blade. ]

Tsk. I thought so. [ With a smile, Catsovi hands the cane back. ] Thank you, Mr. Kirian.

[dawningsun]

[It starts with a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach, that something was very, very wrong.

Then his arm moves, and he doesn't realize he's not breathing as he realizes what it happening. His blood almost runs cold, and he takes a shaky breath. He can't stop himself, much as he might try to, and he barely chokes back a frustrated scream.

His arm (can he call it his at the moment?) holds the cane out toward Catsovi, and that's about when the cursing starts. In Thalassian. Very loudly, but even to a native speaker, as he's wishing for the sun to not even shine on Catsovi's dead body, he's almost tripping over words.

There's a bit of pain when his fingers are bent back, and he muffles a scream.

He snatches the cane back and his eyes are fiery when he glares at Catsovi this time. If there were any easy way to do so, if he knew he could trust his own hands, they'd be around Catsovi's neck right now.]

[scornful]

[ Catsovi drinks in Kirian's reactions, but otherwise pays them no mind except raise an eyebrow. He thinks Kiran's overreacting a bit, here, and that's without knowing any of the thoughts running through Kirian's head.

He stretches, feels a bit woozy -- damn this sickness -- and turns sharply on his heel to walk away. ]

Have a good day, Mr. Dawningsun.

[dawningsun]

[Not even the shadow priests he had encountered ever dared to do such a thing to him, but to have his own flesh and bone betray him so easily... He shuddered as Catsovi left. That was dark magic, indeed, and he now knew it would be better to keep his distance from Catosvi. A shame, he wasn't unpleasant to look at.

He pulled the blanket close, watching Catsovi silently as he left.

Catsovi was to be avoided, then. Or he would simply have to deal with him much the same way he'd deal with someone who was so clearly broken somewhere on the inside:

He would kill him, if he must.]