[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]

She grabs one of the pillows - clutching it close, tucking her chin, and feeling rather spectacularly sorry for herself.

"You are a dimwitted oaf," she mutters, heel of her hand rubbing high on her cheek again. "J-just so you know."

[tristranthorn]

He nods, slowly closing, then opening his eyes. "I know," he says, his voice low. He stares blankly up at the ceiling.

[an_evening_star]

"Good," she replies and her voice doesn't waver half as much this time. "You are lucky, perhaps, that I do not have any large rocks."

Stick-figure!Tristran had suffered in a number of much more creative ways, but she figures it is best not to mention those at the moment.

"Also, that I have wasted far too much time assuring that you continued breathing to kill you."

[tristranthorn]

Tristran swallows, sitting up quite immediately upon her last statement. Admittedly, it's a little frightening to say the least.

Usually he is quite good at ignoring that sort of thing, but now it's not so easy.

"Yes, well..." How do you respond to something like that?

[an_evening_star]

Yvaine jumps herself at the abrupt motion, eyes on his for the first time in quite a while - bright and still nearly hazy.

She looks rather small, arms curled around the pillow (525 flowers) and lower lip bitten scarlet.

"You are supposed to be laying down," a slow blink. "It was one of the things sick humans do so as not to die."

[tristranthorn]

He nods, lying down once more, hands crossed on his chest in an eery sort of pose.

"I have a promise to keep," he says, his voice soft as he closes his eyes for a moment. "I cannot break it for whatever reason..."

[an_evening_star]

A huff of air through her nose - a dismissive sniff - and she watches him breathing for another few moments.

Some promises, she finds, are rather stupid when it comes down to it. One shouldn't need to move worlds - others shouldn't want whole worlds.

"Whatever reason," she repeats, fingers twining habitually along the length of the chain.

[tristranthorn]

He nods again, folding his arms across his chest for a moment, and looks blankly at the ceiling.

"Though I doubt any amount of apologizing would help, I...I really do mean it."

[an_evening_star]

"I have already told you not to apologize," she murmurs, voice subdued - something dim, like lights turned off.

But I came back, she wants to say. I promised.

A slow blink and she peers at him impassively, "And it is of little matter now."

[tristranthorn]

"I...suppose," he agrees, closing his eyes for the moment.

He isn't sure what else he can say anymore. Oh, how awkward...

[an_evening_star]

"It is never the same amount, you know?"

Yvaine's not precisely certain why she's still talking, but the silence is heavy and she isn't sure what else to do with it. Isn't sure what else to do at all.

"The links. I tried to count them before - when you were sleeping," she's fairly certain she liked him better when he was sleeping. "But they never seem to stay the same."

It's degrees, perhaps. She wonders what they measure.

[tristranthorn]

Tristran opens his eyes once more. "I've never tried," he says, turning his head to stare at the chain snaking its way around the sheets between them.

"There are so many of them."

[an_evening_star]

Her arms loosen the desperate clutch on the flowered pillow and it's something like a smile - the ghost of one - only for a moment and just at the very edges of her lips.

"You were asleep for quite some time."

A hand waves vaguely, lines of black trailing up her fingers.

[tristranthorn]

"Yes," he says, letting out a breath, "I was, wasn't I?"

He sniffles quite suddenly, then lets out a yawn.

"I feel a little sleepy, even now."

[an_evening_star]

She hums a quiet agreement and lies down herself - back to him and arms still wrapped around the pillow, chain flowing over the curve of her hip and along the empty space.

It's avoidance, perhaps, but she rather feels she's owed it. Even if it's only for a little while.

[tristranthorn]

Tristran watches her for a moment, then turns his head back to the ceiling, closing his eyes shortly after.

"Thank you," he murmurs, his voice low, "for the soup."