how much do you know about plant cycles ( closed );

[ecad]

( if you happen to have noticed anything off about him recently, no, you most certainly have not.

he's never claimed to understand much about plant cycles, just that they always seem to come about at the most inconvenient of times, and have gotten increasingly more uncomfortable over the last few years. decade, maybe, but he hasn't been paying that close attention, because at the end of it all it's just one giant inconvenience and he would really rather not have to deal with them in the first place.

but he can always tell when it's coming, because it isn't exactly subtle and generally doesn't leave him with a whole lot of wiggle room to prepare; it begins with an altogether restlessness that overshadows his general skittishness, something that could easily be overlooked or blamed on something else. an itch beneath the surface of his skin that he can never manage to scratch well enough, figuratively speaking, and that's before the low-grade fever sets in. chills and all! because it can't just be a tip of his temperature in the wrong direction, no, because nothing has ever and will never be easy for him, if his track record in all things life are anything to go by. flushed cheeks and the tips of his ears and chills that are more annoying than anything else, but at least that's less embarrassing than the nesting instinct.

which … unfortunately for him is where he's at right now, because he can never have anything nice, but at least … they'd been able to stop at an actual inn, able to afford that sort of thing for a night or two, and if he's lucky? ha?? this whole nonsense will be over before they have to pick up and carry on again.

the only problem with that is that he isn't the only occupant of the room he's currently holed up in. wolfwood had only gone out in search of a new pack of smokes, he'll probably be back any freaking minute, and what is he going to find when he crosses that threshold again? one ( 1 ) humanoid typhoon curled up in the middle of the singular bed, buried beneath what linens he could find — of which there weren't many, because there never are — shivering and hugging his knees and praying to whatever god that is still around to listen that he could just get it over with already.

how many are there going to be this time, hm? )

Comments

[louboutinjudas]

[ With a guy like Vash, who can tell what's off? Wolfwood stalks through town, Punisher a solid, familar weight against his back, chewing mindlessly on an increasingly soggy lollipop stick. Blondie's been extra twitchy the last few days -- again, not that anyone who wasn't professionally invested in watching the guy would notice, given how much of a flailing, apologizing mess he usually is. If it was anyone else, Wolfwood would just chalk it up to a cold, something picked up in a crowd easy as a knife sliding between ribs. It certainly looks like a cold, or a flu, maybe -- something to make him squirm because his joints ache more than they already do, something that's put some color in that pale face and a little more of a gleam in those big dumb eyes.

No, he's been watching. Too much depends on Stampede here making it to Julai in one piece, and as Wolfwood stomps back up the stairs to their room -- their room, because he's going to keep an eye on the asshole! -- he's got more than just cigarettes in the sack at his side. ]

Oi, Spikey, you still up?

[ He announces himself even before unlocking the door, as though that could have been anyone else hauling three hundred pounds of machine gun up the stairs. Vash is sick (which is surprising) and not taking care of himself (which is in no way surprising), and sWolfwood doesn't want to have to dodge in case the dummy is out of his mind with fever. He'd shoot anyone who tried to come into his room when he was sick, after all!

Door unlocked, he shoves it open gracelessly, eyes narrowing at the sight of Vash, curled up in a fever-sweaty ball. At least, that's what he assumes is happening in that pile of bedding. Looks like he was right to stop at that shop on the way back, huh?

He turns just long enough to shut the door, leaning Punisher against it as an added level of security, before dumping the contents of his shopping bag out on the little table by the bed. If Vash is sick that'll slow them down, and they can't slow down... no matter how much he might want to. ]

You look like shit.

[ Nicholas the Punisher might be a piece of shit assassin, but once upon a time Nico knew how to care for brats with fevers. The bottle of juice is the biggest they had, the soup sounded like mostly broth when he shook the cans, and the sleeve of plain crackers is just what it says on the tin, simple to eat and easy to keep down. Don't say he never did anything for ya, Blondie. ]

You even alive in there?