Tristran Thorn (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
tristranthorn) wrote2007-02-04 10:00 pm
tristranthorn) wrote2007-02-04 10:00 pm
Entry tags:
[004] For want of soup and general care
[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.
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.
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"There are so many of them."
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"You were asleep for quite some time."
A hand waves vaguely, lines of black trailing up her fingers.
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He sniffles quite suddenly, then lets out a yawn.
"I feel a little sleepy, even now."
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It's avoidance, perhaps, but she rather feels she's owed it. Even if it's only for a little while.
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"Thank you," he murmurs, his voice low, "for the soup."