[004] For want of soup and general care

[tristranthorn]

[recap: After playing in the snow, Tristran gets sick.]


When Tristran wakes up the next morning, he feels like he hasn't gotten nearly as much sleep as he would have liked. Not that it matters very much anymore, however, as his stomache is growling very, very loudly in protest.

He is motionless for a long moment, his wide eyes staring at the objects across from him blankly, while no single coherent thought runs through his head. In fact, the only thing currently running, is his nose, and he sniffles in order to do something about it. When he turns over a little from his stiff side-position, he finds a series of loose-leaf papers strewn about the bedspread, filled with strange sketchings -- mostly stick figures that scarily resemble him in some rather disagreeable situations (such as the one of stick!him getting hit with a rather large rock of some sort).

He shifts a little more and turns his sore head to his other side, noticing the star looking very much asleep, and very much unconscious to her surroundings. Watching her for a moment makes him forget about his own predicament, filling him with an odd (and increasingly uncomfortable) sense of peace, but it is soon rudely interrupted by the growling of his stomache, and that overwhelming discomfort as he feels his face growing warm once more.

This warmness is obviously due to the fact that he is sick. Obviously.

Comments

[an_evening_star]

The star sleeps rather peacefully, cheek pressed to her shoulder, hair a white-gold mess, and fingers tangled possessively in the blankets by his side. An elaborate swirl traces onto the back of that hand - curing up and around her wrist - and the other loosely holds a black marker.

It had been in the top drawer of the bureau - exactly where their extra clothes weren't, given that they were rather lacking in extra clothes – and was found sometime after trying unsuccessfully to open the window with her mind and before wondering if, in the absence of anymore paper, mapping out constellations on the headboard would be rude.

It hadn't taken too long for her to run out of room on her own hand and so there are stars penned onto his fingertips and a tiny angel in the center of his palm – it reminded her vaguely of one of her sisters, Maea, who probably would have handled this entire situation more successfully than she had. (A thought that only served to make Yvaine frown – and scribble in a set of horns under the angel's halo. Maea always was a suck-up anyhow.)

There are, after all, only so many elaborate and creative deaths one can think up before growing bored of that game.

[tristranthorn]

When Tristran brings his hand up to his face to yawn, he does, in fact, notice these...stars inked over the surface of his hand, as well as the rather...interesting angel. He half-wonders whether these markings are washable, while another half of him wants only to chuckle at the doodles, but...his stomache truly begs for his attention.

He sniffs again, and looks around for something to eat around the general premises, finding nothing suitable after a long sweep of the room.

Oh, dear.

[an_evening_star]

The angel deserved it. As would her sister. Insufferably cheerful people should not be allowed - it's just not in any way healthy, or mentally stable for that matter.

Yvaine lets out a sleepy mumble when Tristran shifts, nose pressed to his shoulder and fingers curling tighter at his side.

[tristranthorn]

He is partly startled by this action, his attention torn from the top of the room's dresser and back to the star.

He looks down at her sleeping figure, at her fingers practically grabbing his sleeve now. That uncomfortable feeling returns, and he shakes his head.

In a rather sad attempt to wake her -- without touching her -- Tristran clears his throat.

[an_evening_star]

"Oh," comes the hazy murmur, eyes open to slits, bright under pale lashes. "Still alive - very good."

A slow, small, lopsided smile and she settles again - back arcing slightly, breathing slow - eyes fluttering closed once more. Warm and comfortable and still breathing. Very good.

[tristranthorn]

Ah, well. Thank goodness he did not have to involve poking or touching of any sort.

He nods awkwardly, mumbles a polite 'Good morning' and shifts a little in his position so her fingers are no longer in contact with his side.

"Yes," he replies, rubbing his nose a bit. "Quite alive, though...quite hungry." He lets out a short cough.

[an_evening_star]

Mmmr? Wait - we are awake? Oh! Oh, shit.

WELL then.

The girl starts in a rather sudden manner - eyes blinking almost impossibly wide and fingers retracting, curling back to her chest as though they had been burned.

"I - um," her hair tumbles sloppily across her forehead and into her eyes. "Hungry?"

[tristranthorn]

Tristran nods once more, letting out another cough. Quite oblivious to the fact that Yvaine had nearly fallen asleep once more without his knowing. He might have gone on speaking nevertheless.

"Yes," he replies. "I'm afraid I didn't exactly...have anything to eat yesterday."

[an_evening_star]

Yvaine blinks back at him, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, "You were rather resembling death yesterday."

Her gaze sweeps up, down, and then up again - assessing lazily.

"You are not vastly improved."

[tristranthorn]

He looks down at himself, then gives a slight shrug.

"Well, I certainly feel a lot better," he says, cheerfully. Even though his voice is quite plugged up, and rather nasal, the fact of the matter is -- at least he can speak. Last night, he could barely move, let alone speak.

He coughs again.

[an_evening_star]

Her lips twitch upward in response, at the very edges and just barely long enough to be noticeable.

"Well enough to make it all the way downstairs?" she asks dryly, propping herself up as one eyebrow arcs in a show of skepticism.

He barely looks well enough to make it to the door.

[tristranthorn]

As though to answer her question, Tristran lets out a rather loud and startling sneeze.

Sniffling and rubbing his nose once more, he shrugs. "I...I could try," he offers.

[an_evening_star]

"And then back up?"

The look only increases in intensity, head tilting to the side and eyes rolling.

She brushes her hair from her eyes and replies primly, "I am not getting you back into this bed, Tristran Thorn."

[tristranthorn]

"I'll...manage," he says, shifting his weight so he can swing his legs over the side of the bed.

Except he's feeling extremely woozy, now. Oh, how strange. The room appears "...to be spinning," he mutters, clutching the side of his head.

[an_evening_star]

"Nothing is spinning," she says, glancing back and forth (just to check) before shifting herself to sit next to him, balanced on the heels of her hands.

"Soup, yes?"

Granted she has no idea what soup is, but she rather figures that the Lady Bar has that sort of thing covered.

"I will just -" her hand waves dismissively and she pauses, eyes catching on the glint of the chain and letting out a huff. Okay, she'll just nothing. But Tristran sure as hell isn't anythinging either.

[tristranthorn]

At the mere mention of soup, Tristran's stomache flips in a sort of agitated glee, as though to kick his brain into 'get-me-food' gear.

Except his head isn't cooperating at the moment, still getting over the previous dizzy spell.

"Perhaps you can..." He stops short, mumbling, "...never mind." She can, what? Help him to the bar with her broken leg? What sort of ignorant dunce was he anyway, to make an injured lady do something like that?

He groans, leaning back once more and collapses against the pillows, still clutching at his head. "This isn't working at all."

[an_evening_star]

"I could," she pauses again, biting down on her lower lip uncertainly. "Go get something?"

She sighs, quietly resigned - it's stupid, almost, to ask. Stupider still that she is worried enough to ask.

"I would come back."

[tristranthorn]

He turns his head a bit to glance in her general direction -- a little curiously. The chain catches his attention, slinking and sliding along the covers in a most peculiar way, and he weighs the options in his mind.

"...You promise you will come back?" he asks.

[an_evening_star]

A simple nod.

"I will do no running anywhere for quite some time," the star answers pointedly, smiling almost ruefully down at her broken leg.

"It would take me a good ten minutes to get down the stairs on my own – and twice that long to get back up," she says, tilting her head in return. "You promise not to die while I am away?"

[tristranthorn]

Tristran almost laughs at that, at her seeming innocence when it comes to death and the like.

"No," he says, shaking his head a bit, "I hope not to die any time soon." It is at this point that he would usually explain why -- which would involve much woe and tales of Victoria Forester -- but this time he doesn't. Perhaps it is because he is far too ill to make long-winded declarations of love.

Nevertheless, Tristran sits up momentarily, his hand slowly grasping at the silver chain.

"A promise for a promise."

He reaches for Yvaine's wrist, feeling the familiar tingle upon contact, then begins to loosen the chain.

[an_evening_star]

She blinks - eyes wide and cheeks dusted pink - flexes her fingers and turns her wrist, peering at the pale skin in some sort of surprise, almost out of her depth for a moment.

It has been quite some time since she has been all by herself. Even the slightest bit.

A quiet sigh, shoulders straightening, chin tilted grandly and once again self-possessed.

"Very well then," she murmurs, eyes a clear and bright blue when they meet his. "Downstairs."

[tristranthorn]

Tristran nods. "Downstairs," he repeats after her, his heart pounding in his chest.

He's put a great amount of trust in the star. Let her not disappoint him.

[an_evening_star]

It does take a while - quite a while, if one was to be honest - between the time when the door closes behind her and a familiar voice, biting out phrases not exactly suited for polite company, pauses outside the door once more and a rather bedraggled star makes her way back into the room, tray balanced precariously against her hip and breathing heavy.

Her heartbeat is loud in her ears and she is relatively certain that people hadn't seemed half as loud and just plain everywhere before.

She hobbles over to the bed - dropping her crutch and still muttering curses - slides the tray onto the dresser with a clatter, and fairly collapses back onto her side, fingers pressed to her chest and eyes shut.

"Downstairs," she echoes a short while later, after the throbbing in her leghiphead has settled.

[tristranthorn]

Sadly, the food is all the way by the dresser, and Tristran Thorn is still...in bed, half-asleep. Dozing, really.

"I take it things didn't go too well?" he asks carefully, turning to look in her direction.

[an_evening_star]

"It is very loud," comes the (slightly-muffled) reply. "And I am not terribly fond of stairs. Up or down."

There was no one to lean on. This was more problematic than she had anticipated.

A few more seconds of quiet and she sits up again, leaning over to pick up the tray and offering it out, peering at him for some sort of confirmation.

"Soup?"