(no subject)

[parkinglotangel]

Who: Michael, Robin, Riku, and Rin
Broadcast: No
Action: Aboard the Bloodsport
When: Today -> until the plague is cured?

[After centuries of existence, having seen atrocities and having battled devils, including Satan himself, Michael has never felt anything quite like this.

Namely, being totally, utterly, helplessly sick. And much like many of the not-entirely mortal on the fleet, the angel has absolutely no idea how to deal with this admittedly novel experience. As the plague worsened, he's given up his usual cheerful attitude and any pretense of functioning.

Probably much to the chagrin of his healthier crewmates.

For now the miserable angel can be found slumped facedown over the arm of his couch, moaning dramatically into the upholstery. He'll be sure to moan extra loud if someone not sick happens to pass by.]

Comments

[birdsbirdsbirds]

Haha, my eyes look like blood. The color, anyway. Robins have red breasts because their feathers have been stained with it...

[he rolls over onto his side, because ever staying comfortable for any amount of time with this damn sickness is impossible.]

Robins are prideful birds. Sometimes they warn of death, sometimes they bring springtime... My siblings thought it was soooo funny...

[parkinglotangel]

[Michael considers and crosses his arms a bit, mostly because he has another shiver coming on and not for any judgmental reasons. At least, not towards Robin]

I don't think that's how robins got that way. I would have remembered that...

[birdsbirdsbirds]

Maybe your world is different. Maybe your robins are weird.

[yep. that's the only explanation he's got.]

[parkinglotangel]

Our robins are as God made them [Not weird :|]

[birdsbirdsbirds]

Our Robins are as the Godssss made them, so I don't see what the big deal is.

[he attempts to shove at Michael's arm. he regrets his decision. it is not a very hard shove. uuugh his skin hurts this is terrible.]

[parkinglotangel]

[It's not a big deal, really, it's just a fact]

Gods, huh?

[He thinks about shoving Robin back for about two seconds and then decides against it. He flaps the edges of his coat instead]

Are you hot or cold? [Because he's having trouble telling what he's feeling right now. It's distressing]

[birdsbirdsbirds]

Godsss. The whole indescribable mass of them...

[he, somehow, flops over.]

Ugh, hot. Except my feet.

[parkinglotangel]

How d'you know who's in charge?

[He considers Robin's feet as if they were a complex puzzle of some kind, pauses to push hair away from his sweaty brow, and then lamely gestures from Robin to himself. Or, more exactly, at Robin's feet.]

C'mere.

[birdsbirdsbirds]

You just know, okay, what do you want with my feet.

[he just squints irritably at Michael, not moving his legs in the slightest.]

[parkinglotangel]

[God, does he have to do everything around here?]

You're cold. I'm hot. Simple.

[He manages the titanic effort of bending over enough to grab at Robin's pant legs and begins to haul them into his lap]

[birdsbirdsbirds]

Aaaaugh, I'm not into this...

[he whines as his feet are dragged.]

[parkinglotangel]

[Robin's feet get about as far as his knees before Robin's complaint makes him stop, and he kind of drop them there, but doesn't go as far as wrapping them up in his coat like he's planned. He gives Robin a look]

No?

[Because making Robin uncomfortable would be the opposite of the goal here]

You sure about that?

[birdsbirdsbirds]

Yeah I'm sure.

[give him his feet back. B/ ]

[parkinglotangel]

[He holds up his hands in surrender]

It's your cold toes.