driftfleet | Eleasis 13 1370 dr

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Eleasis 13 1370 dr

Who: Syeira and YOU
Broadcast: N/A
Action: Red Fish, other ships, Iskaulit
When: Beginning 8/10 and ongoing

[Red Fish]

Hello Red Fish. Here she is. Again. Clean as a whistle, in her clothes that should be less than dust, all neat and tidy. Even her hair is brushed. But somehow she still looks like a wreck. Probably due to the all over flush and the sweating due to her raging fever. And also the fact that she feels as weak as a newborn kitten. She stumbles, leaning heavily against walls when she can't keep to her feet.

[On your ship, her first week back]

Somehow, she's there. Feverish, very likely still dressed for bed. Because that's where she ought to be. But no, she's on your ship. Wandering around, maybe looking for someone, or something. Talking to herself softly, deliriously. How did she fly a shuttle in this condition? Probably very poorly.

"Here...Here? Wrong place. Or the right place?"

[Iskaulit, first week]

She has a stick of charcoal in her hand and she's chosen some spot, a wall or floor, perhaps in the garden or the gym, or one of the bars or even a hallway, and she's furiously drawing. It's just lines and smudges in black on black. The more she tries to make it make sense, the less it seems to, and the more her obvious frustration grows.

"I saw...I saw but it won't come out..." There's black streaks across her face, her hands and on her shift. She's still a weak, feverish mess.

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She doesn't resist being picked up, and her head flops onto his shoulder. "Arthur," her voice is a tired rasp, as if she hasn't used in a tenday. "You're okay?"

Arthur smiles softly, an edge of despair to it. "I'm okay. I'm just amazed you're okay."

He pushes her door open, carrying her inside. It's just the way she left it, except that the bedsheets are changed. He sets her down on the bed gently, tucking her in. "Hold on. Wait here."

Dashing out of the room, he's back in a minute with an arm full of things: Extra pillow and blanket, a wet cloth, a container of food, and a glass of water. He goes to work setting everything down. "Are you thirsty? Hungry?" Don't mind him as he puts that wet cloth on her forehead, frowning over her.

The cloth is a balm; she groans gratefully at the contact, settling against the pillow. She closes her eyes, clearly exhausted.

"Don't feel right." She's never been sick before, so this is a novelty. One she could have done without. She reaches for him blindly, one handed.

"You're not hurt?"

He goes still for a second, surprised that she noticed until he remembers she's talking about that day, not the fight with Zhas.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

Taking her hand, he sits beside her, rubbing his hand over hers. "Do you get sick? It feels like you have a fever."

She hasn't focused long enough to actually notice his bruises. Or maybe she has no idea how long she's been gone. Probably both.

"No. Everyone got sick on the cold planet but me." Well, at least she remembers things before she died. That's a good sign, isn't it? "I made soup, but I'm a poor cook."

He nods. "Ah, yeah... I think you're sick. I have no idea if your body regenerated itself or what, but it probably took a hell of a lot of effort on its part. Give it a week and I bet you'll start feeling better."

That would be great if it were true. He takes the washcloth and adjusts it on her forehead, ever worried about keeping her comfortable. "Do you want to sleep?" He'd like to ask her a million questions, but she might be tired.

"Can't regenerate." She frowns under the washcloth, which is already getting warm from her head.

"I'm always tired." So many questions already, and they're all hard ones when she has such a crazy fever. "Don't go. I need to make sure you're safe."

A pause, and then his face softens. "I won't go, I promise."

He settles down on his knees beside the bed, quiet for a moment before - "I can't believe I almost lost you." His voice has turned rough and his brows have knit with emotion. There's just... no way he can hide this from her. The raw pain from her dying.

"You were gone." His voice cracks at the end, and he gives up, letting his head loll onto the bed beside her, turned so he can look at her and memorize every feature again.

She can't deny the pull of that pained look on his face, the sound of it in his voice. She turns on her side, washcloth sliding onto the pillow, and her hand, far too warm, touches his cheek.

"I'm sorry. I didn't want to." Didn't want to die. Didn't want to leave. "Why are you on the floor?"

"I know," he answers softly. Because he'd have to be crazy to not realize that was for him and Maglor and Finrod. He swallows and reaches up to touch the hand touching his cheek, a small, soft touch that's still as exploratory as it is loving.

"I don't want to crowd you." But, really, he'd hop in that bed in .2 seconds if she wanted it.

That response gets the most clear eyed look, mostly consisting of a wry turn of her lips, that she's been able to make since she showed up. Enjoy it while it lasts.

"I never thought I'd get to see you again. Crowd me."

He blinks in surprise before a smile crosses his face. There she was. He nods once, pausing only a moment to toe off his shoes, and then he's slipping in bed beside her, his eyes slipping closed as soon as he's got his arms around her.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers as his grip tightens around her, his throat tightening. "I'm sorry."

She immediately curls into him, even though her body is uncomfortably hot, for both of them most likely, she feels better to have him there. Close and real. She's always felt safer when she had her companions close when she slept. With Arthur, it's relief and safety and a thousand other things she's ill equipped to deal with at the moment. So she'll just snuggle into him, tucking her head up under his chin.

"Shhh." She hushes, drowsily. "Just hold me...." She breathes softly, deeply, a few times. It's clear she's falling asleep. And then she stirs, just a little, body feeling heavy with sleep settling in on her. "N'run next time I say. 'Kay?"

It's a relief to feel her relax against him. His grip on her loosens comfortably, and he just breathes for a few seconds.

"Okay," he whispers back. He's not sure if it's a wise decision, but maybe he'd listen now. Maybe she wouldn't have died if he had.

He runs his hand over her back soothingly, listening to her breathing slow. His eyes are open now, watching her with concern.

She falls into sleep rather hard and fast, but her arm stays looped around his waist, and her head stays tucked into his shoulder. She's clearly exhausted, sick. Why? She obviously doesn't know, but they'll have to deal with it anyway. Along with other side effects.

She's out for maybe two hours, when the nightmare hits. Her breathing starts to quicken, and her hand flexes into a fist, balling up his shirt, and releasing a few times. She feels hotter than before, sweat beading on her brow enough to dampen her hair at the roots. She jerks and twitches in his arms, moans softly in distress in her sleep.

He doesn't sleep, just stays with her, occasionally stroking along her back. He's still not sure what they are to each other, but at least he's confident he's doing something for her, that he gives her comfort.

He's startled when she starts acting out from her nightmare, though he shouldn't be. This probably happens way more than he even knows. Still, he doesn't want her distressed. He strokes a hand over her cheek.

"Syeira. Shh, it's okay. You're okay," he murmurs, trying to get her body to calm down with soft strokes down her back. He'll wake her if he has to, because he knows how distressing a nightmare can be.

His attempts to soothe don't appear to do anything, but make her burrow closer. She shivers, as if cold, and trying to find warmth and shelter in his arms.

Well, okay, soothing doesn't seem to be working. Plus, he wants to get some water in her (and some food, too). He shakes her shoulder lightly, his voice soft.

"Syeira. Wake up. Hey."

She does wake up. Abrupt, with a sharp intake of breath, her eyes open. They're wide and unseeing, irises blown wide, but the thin circle is gold for a long set of heartbeats. Her hands push at him, unrecognizing, and then she focuses in. Takes in the memory of her surroundings, of who is there with her. Her eyes fade back to green, and she starts talking, fast and distressed.

"I saw it! I saw it! It was- It was-" She breaks off, mind racing, because she could just see it, and now, awake, it's fading so fast from her memory. She can't find the words. "I don't- I don't know..."

"Syeira," he says quietly when her eyes look strange. He hesitates when she pushes at him, keeping back.

When she starts to lose the memory, he touches her hand with his. "It's okay. Just try to relax."

He gives her a few moments before asking - "You can't remember what you saw?"

"Yes! Yes!" She says it emphatically, but the look on her face is clear. She's trying but she can't remember. Can't pull it up right in her mind.

She's not half as lucid as she was when she'd fallen asleep. The fever has spiked, muddling her ability to think, to communicate properly. Her gestures are heavy, as if her limbs weight suddenly more than they had before. Even her words sound thick, like she has to work to get them out.

"No? I- I don't. I was there. I know....I know it was there with me..."

He takes her face in his hands, concerned.

"What was there?"

He feels around for the washcloth. It's warm, but still a little wet. He dabs at her face to wake her up a bit more.

"Lie down. It's okay."

She lies down, but more because she doesn't have a choice, than to follow his direction.

"Dark and cold. I can't think-" She makes a frustrated sound, letting her hands fall to the bed beside her. She closes her eyes again, her head turning toward him.

"It's hot." It's a complete change of topic.

"It is," he agrees, feeling her forehead. "And you're burning up. Here, drink some water, at least."

He leans off the bed and grabs the glass of water he left there earlier, holding it out for her. He's hesitant to ask her anymore about the thing that was there, so he just remains quiet.

She has to sit up a little to drink, and she'll need his help with that. But she does drink, in little, noisy sips. It's not cold water, but it's cooler than she is and it washes the dust from her throat.

"Better..."

Eleasis 13 1370 dr

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