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snowblindrpg2017-01-05 11:02 pm
exequies) wrote in snowblindrpg2017-01-05 11:02 pm
Entry tags:
[Log] The man who discovered copper died penniless. [closed]
Characters: Undertaker and Death the Kid
Location: House 67
Date: Early evening, 195
Summary: Two reapers run into each other a second time.
Warnings: None aside from a deathly ill Kid.
67: A standard single-story house with a kitchen, living room, dining room, bathroom, and bedroom. The house is decorated with items from various nations on Earth. Whoever lived here probably liked to travel. The bed in the bedroom has been dismantled. The metal frame remains, but some of the screws are gone. The mattress has been torn up, with the fabric removed from it and the foam inside having pieces missing from it.
Location: House 67
Date: Early evening, 195
Summary: Two reapers run into each other a second time.
Warnings: None aside from a deathly ill Kid.
67: A standard single-story house with a kitchen, living room, dining room, bathroom, and bedroom. The house is decorated with items from various nations on Earth. Whoever lived here probably liked to travel. The bed in the bedroom has been dismantled. The metal frame remains, but some of the screws are gone. The mattress has been torn up, with the fabric removed from it and the foam inside having pieces missing from it.
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So instead he nibbled at a few crackers--he'd promised Claire he'd try to eat better--and taken a dose of the cough syrup he'd been instructed by Dr. Watson to actually use instead of just tote around with him throughout Norfinbury.
Kid doesn't stay awake much longer; he nods off tucked into a corner of the old sofa and beneath his coat, head resting on an open palm. He's so soundly asleep that movement around the house is likely not to rouse him initially, either.]
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Leaving him to the not much warmer interior of the house. His breath creates small puffs of fog here and there as he silently makes his way into the living room. Well, at least this one was mostly intact and almost cozy. He reaches out, plucking at an old and faded postcard tacked to the wall.
He hasn't noticed the ball of a body tucked against the couch's arm, or more likely he just can't see it. Absentmindedly, he unshoulders the messenger bag full of rations off his shoulder and tosses it onto the cushions, not really minding where it goes.]
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It should take him at least half of the time it does to notice Undertaker looking at the postcard, but considering his position on his right it takes a few seconds longer. And while Kid would have some irritated quip about having something thrown at him, he's too busy trying to breathe.
So instead, Undertaker is getting the most irritated glare the teen can muster while simultaneously trying to stifle his coughing.]
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Oops~ [The non-apology is half singsonged as he turns around, stepping over to the fallen death god. Without even asking, Undertaker reaches down and picks Kid up beneath the arms, hefting (or well, too easily lifting him) back into a sitting position on the sofa.
But he doesn't linger, and once he has the other righted again he cocks his head while folding his hands back beneath his long sleeves. The low lighting makes it hard to see, but there's also a small, metallic clinking as he moves from a new chain of lockets fastened about his waist. A sound that's barely audible beneath the coughing.]
Would some water help? [It's unlikely, but he might as well offer.]
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[A few moments later and the coughing does eventually settle, Kid with an arm wrapped around his chest and pressed up against the side of the old sofa til the room stops spinning.]
Doesn't usually. Need a minute. [The wheeze is audible as he catches his breath.] Maybe--do not throw things. Can't know who's hiding.
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You've been hurt again? [Because that's the only explanation he can think of. He doesn't know, of course, that it was an injury Kid had been sporting for over two weeks.]
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[His breathing slows, less erratic and uneven, until he's quiet again.]
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Are you sure you haven't loosened a rib or two with all of that coughing? [His tone is almost conversational, but he's suspicious.]
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Kid settles into the small couch, starting to pull his coat closer around him as if it were a blanket. His movements are still tense, tight. Careful.]
No, I am not sure. [Though Kid hadn't made the connection that the frequent coughing could lead to injured ribs. Allowing himself a sigh, he closed his eyes.] I wouldn't be surprised.
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[He giggles slightly at that, standing again with a slight smile at his own pun. This time when he tosses the messenger bag it's at the other arm of the sofa before he slings his pack off. He plops it down a couple feet to Kid's side, facing himself as he unzips it and pulls a blanket from the top opening.]
I'm going to guess that you're still making it on your own? [No one else had come barging in from the commotion. It was a safe assumption.]
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[Kid is back on the left corner of the couch, leaving Undertaker on his right side. He turns to see the other reaper, careful to hide the wince as he moves too quickly. He's gotten better at using sound--and something keeps quietly tinkling whenever the older moves. It's new.] What is making that sound? [Kid blinks once, rubbing his eye and quickly scanning the room. He'd assumed earlier that the other man was alone, and perhaps that was a mistake; with his limited field of vision he had simply trusted that he'd be told and not have to look.] Is there someone with you now?
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It shouldn't be, at least.]
Hmm? [Taking the blanket by its corners, he unrolls it and gives it a shake before Kid's question attracts his attention again. At first, he isn't sure what Kid's talking about, and it takes him a short pause to connect it to the sound of his lockets.]
Oh, these? [He lets go of the blanket with one hand and reaches down to thread his pointer finger underneath the chain at his hip. Raising it a few inches, the seven ovals glint a soft gold in the low light.] I found them this morning, waiting for me when I woke up. It seems everyone was gifted with something judging by the talk on the network.
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Kid leans closer to look at the chain and pendants that Undertaker is displaying, his coat falling to the ground as he does so. It takes a moment, and then:] Mourning lockets. It has been a long time since I have seen anything even resembling mourning jewelery.
[Innately understanding that the pieces of jewelery are deeply personal, Kid makes no move to touch them. He can't see exactly how many there are, but nods slightly at the detailing of each that he can see.] They are beautiful mementos.
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[He would have commented that they're not all that uncommon in his era, but he leaves it at that as his expression subtly softens. His thumb rests beneath the center locket, pointer finger gently holding it from above. They give it's frame a habitual little rub, before he eases the chain back down to where it was resting, before.]
They're very important to me. [For once, he actually sounds serious. But in the next moment he's brushed it off. Turning, he plops himself on the opposite cushion between his messenger bag and backpack.]
What did you get, then? Anything interesting?
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I haven't been on the network much today, so didn't realize that several people got items from home.
[Pulling his legs up onto the couch, he leans against the backpack that's sitting directly beside him. It's easy to miss, considering Kid and the bag take up just a single cushion.
Undertaker's limited vision may make it difficult to catch, but the hand closer to Kid's torso grips the strap of the backpack protectively and he pulls it just a bit closer--an action potentially just so he can lean easier
no it isn't it's so you don't touch or even think about touching this backpack.] Nothing terribly interesting.no subject
[He can't see the movement, but he does hear the almost inaudible creak of Kid's hand tightening over the backpack's strap. Which just makes Undertaker grin as he turns the attention away from his own returned item and onto the smaller reaper's.]
No death scythe for you either, hm? [Reaching over, he pokes at Kid's cheek with one finger in a taunt.] But I'm sure it isn't as boring as you're making it out.
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Considering that a deathscythe would be a person and even your poor vision would have noticed them by now, then yes--you are correct in your assumption.
[Just because Kid is typically too polite to point it out does not mean he hasn't noticed that your vision is shit, Undertaker.] I believe we had a conversation before about this. Besides, any deathscythe from my home would be unable to access their Weapon form. [Kid hesitates, before allowing himself a quiet sigh.] And I would not want the Weapons I work with to be here, under any circumstances.
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[But he pulls his hand back and takes his hat off, setting it on the back of the sofa with a little toss. The blanket's pulled over him with the other, legs folding themselves up before him with his feet resting on the very edge of the seat. With his height, it looks a bit odd but he seems to be as comfortable as he can be.]
I would have liked my own scythe back, but it isn't also a person. I do miss it some, all the same. [Dropping his head some, his bangs shift forward and partly out of his face. Half of one yellow-green eye peers at Kid in profile, still glowing faintly.]
And how did you know I'm near sighted?
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He tilts his head slightly, turning so his remaining eye can see the older reaper.]
Mannerisms. Primarily however, when you have wanted to see something clearly you have leaned in close. [Kid coughs weakly, clearing his throat.] To the tablet screen, or in person.
[Rubbing his eye, he mumbles:] I was sure of it when I realized my ability to see distance was evidently better in my right eye and I was doing the same thing.
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[That's all he says about it for a moment, hand tapping lightly on one knee. He was cold, too, but the longer he huddled most of his body beneath the blanket the less he felt like shivering.]
How's your own eye doing?
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[Grump grump grump.
He might eventually feel warmer, but constantly running a fever left him feeling frozen. He curls tighter beneath his makeshift blanket.] It is healing as best it can. No worse for wear, anyway.
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[And seeing how Kid is still shivering, he leans over to the opposite side and unties a throw pillow from his messenger bag's strap. Which he then plops onto Kid's lap, along with the stuffed triceratops he unpins from his backpack.]
Insulating helps. I have a clown hat as well, if you'd like it.
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[Just because he's never been able to warm up doesn't mean he's not going to try. It might be the definition of insanity, but he'll try to get himself some extra heat regardless.] It's never warmer. Claire reminded me that running a fever leaves one feeling cold despite being warm.
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[He would've liked to see how ridiculous it looked on the younger reaper, but he'd figured Kid wouldn't go for it. Nevertheless, he just settles further into his own side of the sofa.]
But that's true. They still might make you a bit more comfortable, at least. Have you been taking your medicine?
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[He tilts under his makeshift covers, frowning. He's not in any rush to wear a clown hat, but the idea of having covered ears, even for a little bit? Sounds nice.]
You sound like Dr. Watson, asking about medicine. I don't take the cough medicine during the daytime usually, and I had nothing with me in the maze. But I took everything when I got out...didn't have a choice. [The just-audible wheezing is indicative of Kid's point, but he doesn't complain too much. Altogether, he's trying to follow instructions. The aggressive doctoring is something Kid isn't used to: a quick trip to the infirmary and being left to his own devices is how he's handled being sick or injured most of his life. Needing much more attention than that is really more than he'd like.]
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[It would do both, and also look fairly amusing on the naturally somber teen. Rifling through his backpack again, he finds the hat buried nearly at the bottom and pulls it out.
It's made from felt and adequately ridiculous">. Gripping either side of the brim with his fingertips, Undertaker momentarily leans over to fit it onto the smaller death god's head. At the very least, it's slightly warmer than nothing and it mostly covers up those vexing lines in Kid's hair.]
Dr. Watson is a good doctor, that's why. It'd be best to follow his example, don't you think? [Once the hat's settled, he leans away again and resituates himself.]
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Dr. Watson is an excellent physician, but he is not the best at taking care of himself--it may not be best to suggest I follow his example. And I believe the saying is that doctors make terrible patients.