driftfleet | JULY PLANET MINGLE

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JULY PLANET MINGLE

Who: YOU. ME. EVERYONE.
Broadcast: IF YOU WANT
Action: YEAH!!!!!
When: July!

[Congratulations to the crews that did not get themselves blown up! Welcome to the Blue Planet, a planet full of charming islands and even less charming weather patterns! Are you going to take the time to enjoy the beach? Help out with the local Nunnilis population? Get caught in a storm with another person and have a rating boosting sexual tension moment? The world's your oyster!]

[Yeah in other words: ITS A MINGLE GET IN HERE]

[July Planet Info!]

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[you know, Zhas used to entertain the thought of getting Coil drunk, sometimes. he got a little tipsy that one Halloween. it was kind of fun. now, though? he might just swear him off of the stuff forever. Zhas can drink without making a complete ass of himself (not true at all), why can't Coil?

ugh. he keeps dragging him. he's carried heavier, but... his shoulders are going to hurt, come morning.

at least he can finally see the ship, now. he'll drag him as close as he can get.]

[the ship is just up ahead now... and so is the sea.

a distressed breath wheezes out of him when he can hear how close it's getting, but he's not picking his head up away from Zhas' shoulder. he keeps his eyes crunched tight and face buried... but that is the extent of his fighting.

this is what he'd fucked himself up for, after all. his brain is too soaked and heavy to wind up into the high, heady panic that it normally would. it's a messy way to go about it, but it at least works.

Zhas can get him all the way up to the hatch before Coil finally stops him--one hand suddenly flailing out to catch himself on the doorway and jam the whole process up before they can actually make it inside.]

[he isn't comfortable around the ocean, but at least he isn't flying into a panic about it. he would have given Coil some credit for not winding up into a blinding, anxious mess... were he not the one still having to carry his heavy ass home.

so the grunt is not as frustrated as it could be when Coil suddenly flails and Zhas has to wobble around to stay with him... though he still doesn't exactly sound pleased about it.]

It's the ship. [he tries to nudge him inside, through the door.] Come on.

[nope. he's not going.

in fact, he disengages from Zhas' shoulder entirely--waving his newly-freed hand at him like he's shushing him or shooing him away. he also kind of falls to the side without the support, and knocks several joints into the metal of the hull.

that's fine though. he doesn't crumple all the way down. he just ends up with one hand braced on his knee and the other against the ship.

...he's not looking great.]

[he doesn't immediately understand why he's being shooed away, but at least he gets the hint... the gesture gets him to back away a couple of steps, trying to figure out what could possibly be going through the boy's head now.

but when he's far enough away to see his whole posture (or lack thereof), he suddenly realizes what's probably going on--and he quickly steps around Coil, towards his back, to pull gently on one of his shoulders and aim him even further from the ship.

because boy, of all the things he doesn't want to clean up...]

[it's a good move. and Coil is luckily taking an intentional minute to deal with this outside of the ship, instead of waiting until the last dire moment, so Zhas has the time to move him.

Well done. Coil retches up all the poison in his stomach onto the sand, instead of against the hull of the ship.]

[Zhas is not exactly a sympathetic, caring person... but that sucks, buddy.

Coil's misery is enough to put his "dumbass" status momentarily on hold. Zhas sticks around to make sure he doesn't puke up anything important, or fall over into the sand... and he'll still be there when he's done, ready to drag his sorry ass back inside the ship.]

[you know what is really useful to have when you're getting sick all over the ground? a tongue.

the coughing is pathetic, choking and gagging when he doesn't want to be, and he certainly can't spit properly. everything burns. there's nothing he can do about the drooling. he's a mess.

he might have successfully dodged the agony of his phobia, but he's definitely paying for the rest of it now.

he's just lucky that the only thing in his stomach had been booze and acid. small blessings, maybe.]

[...yep. that's pretty disgusting. he kind of feels like gagging on Coil's behalf.

but he waits patiently, makes sure he doesn't choke. when he's breathing clearly enough, maybe when Coil finally un-hunches a little, Zhas takes his arm and gives him a stern nudge in the direction of the ship.]

Come on. [time to go inside...]

[he follows along, but he's weaker now. the retching has emptied him of strength and energy, and has thrown off whatever momentum he'd had going. he stumbles all the way into the ship, weaving badly on his feet while he's half-distracted by wiping his mouth off on his arm.

too many limbs, too loosely connected to his body. he still has sand all over him.]

[Zhas will help guide him in, keep a good hold on him, keep him upright. they can go slow. if Coil can just make it to the kitchen, they'll be all right.

he sets him in a chair, gestures for him to stay, and quickly busies with getting a rag wet in the sink.]

[once he's been dropped into a chair, he continues to crumple until he's pretty much laying out on the table.

and while Zhas looks around for a rag, Coil rolls his head to the side and works on clumsily rubbing sand off of his face and out from his eyepatch.]

[he's back soon, and taps the table... which is Coil's only real warning before he's got a warm cloth being smeared in his face. it helps get the sand off, at least.

it's not long at all until he's telling him to sit up. 'Up, up. Straight.'

he needs to get to the other side of his face. as bossy as he is in their day-to-day, he continues to approach this task with incredible patience.]

[he's slowed but still obedient--now that he's not throwing a fit about being picked up and bodily hauled somewhere.

with loose-boned overexaggeration, he slinks right up in his seat, hitting the back of it with enough momentum to shake the chair a little. he doesn't feel it, though.]

[Coil's a better patient than their moth--master was, some days... so he doesn't mind. at least this is something he knows how to do. makes sense.

he gets the other side of his face. he takes up one of Coil's hands to try and wipe his fingers off, too--for whatever spit or sand is there. same with the other one.

it's quiet. kind of nice. it'll probably get ruined any moment, but hey.]

[especially when floating along on an intoxicated cushion, bottled up safe in a little ship instead of out in the world, the routine is soothing. this particular scenario might be new, but the rest of it, when you look at it without focus, is familiar enough to be nice.

he looks even more drunk up close, though--the way every small motion bobs, the dull, delayed blinking. he's useless like this.

even the task of untying his eyewrap, which is something he rarely volunteers to do in the first place, seems like too complicated of a task right now. he'll get it in a second, but it will take a couple of tries.]

[he... thinks of offering, or just doing it for him, but Coil never talks about it, or shows it, and even if he's not going to remember a second of this tomorrow, Zhas would still feel odd if he breached this particular mutual understanding of theirs.

so he lets Coil mess with it himself, and goes back to the sink to run more water over the rag for a second pass.]

[by the time that Zhas refreshes the rag, Coil has his eyewrap off and wadded up on the table, and is scrubbing a hand over the featureless knot of scarring that marks where his eye used to be.

however he'd normally feel about having the old wound out where anyone could potentially see it, he doesn't seem bothered by it now. he brushes the sand off, and then moves right into clumsily combing his fingers into his hair, trying to shake the sand out of that too.]

[Zhas looks on the way back, but not for long. once he's in front of him, he picks up whichever hand of Coil's is least occupied, puts the rag in his hand, and guides it towards the scarred-up side of his face.

he wants Coil to do that part. it'll help pick up the rest of the sand. if he seems like he's not just going to drop the thing, Zhas will wander away again to get a glass.]

[he's got it. he even nods in unnecessary reassurance as Zhas relinquishes the rag. now that he's sitting down and only has to focus on one little task, he can manage.

even drunk, he's systematic about things--working from his forehead down to his neck, wiping himself down. the wet cloth feels nice, cool and clean, making him feel just a little less grossly poisoned.]

[that'll do. they'll get Coil cleaned up in no time.

he comes back with a cup, half-filled with water... offers it to Coil to either get him to drink something, or to have him clean some of that gunk out of his mouth.]

[well, it probably starts out as him taking a drink... but he takes a sip and immediately makes a face around it.

so, he leans forward and just... lets the mouthful of water drool back into the cup.

yuck.]

...Hm.

[so that's still gross. he will... maybe take that cup back. when he's done drooling.]

[after wiping his mouth off on his arm, he clumsily pushes the cup back in Zhas' direction. he doesn't want it anymore.

he also almost knocks the thing over in the process, so... watch out.]

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JULY PLANET MINGLE

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