boy wonder. (
staystraught) wrote in
rekindleme2014-04-27 12:33 am
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Entry tags:
(no subject)
Who: Dick and y'all thar
Where: Shopping district.
When: 04/27, morning
Summary: Dick is two days into stage three withdrawal, and faking health because the show must go on.
Warnings: will update if necessary, but he does have some nausea. I'll avoid it in threads, but he might mention it.
It made him a little angry at himself-- you know, you can do complex trapeze routines after literally having your acrobatic ability taken away, but you can't walk to the mall with a fever without stopping to vomit? Get a grip.
It was the choice -- stay at home sick or walk around sick -- that made him go. He found a small radio and a pair of walkie-talkies for his project, but nothing more useful than that. For all that he was flushed and sweaty and walking at roughly the pace of a sloth with a ball and chain, he was trying to juggle the two walkie-talkies and the radio. Trying to force himself to ignore the dizziness and the queasiness by focusing, focusing on the way the three objects would leave his hands, each in revolution, and it required a lot of concentration, a lot of concentration that would be hard to muster if he wasn't trying to figure out if that dark-haired girl he'd glimpsed at the market before a dizzy spell the other day really was Piper or if M'gann was in withdrawal, too, or if Barbara was or if there wasn't a walkie-talkie falling out of the air because he hadn't used enough force and it just bounced off his skull.
Wow. Okay. That distracted from the queasiness, but he staggered-- it exacerbated the dizziness. He had enough wherewithal to dodge the other walkie-talkie and the radio, but the day he was going to let a little trifling illness bring him to his knees is--
--apparently this one. He pinched the bridge of his nose, and reached for his purchases with a tired sigh. He'd thought about going to visit M'gann, but her stupid little white lies required more tiptoeing than he could really care about, between the fever and the dizziness and the sense of unbalance he'd felt after the first anniversary of his families' deaths he hadn't been able to mark or adequately distract himself from. And, sick or not, he knew what they'd say:
The show must go on, if only back home and straight to bed...
Where: Shopping district.
When: 04/27, morning
Summary: Dick is two days into stage three withdrawal, and faking health because the show must go on.
Warnings: will update if necessary, but he does have some nausea. I'll avoid it in threads, but he might mention it.
It made him a little angry at himself-- you know, you can do complex trapeze routines after literally having your acrobatic ability taken away, but you can't walk to the mall with a fever without stopping to vomit? Get a grip.
It was the choice -- stay at home sick or walk around sick -- that made him go. He found a small radio and a pair of walkie-talkies for his project, but nothing more useful than that. For all that he was flushed and sweaty and walking at roughly the pace of a sloth with a ball and chain, he was trying to juggle the two walkie-talkies and the radio. Trying to force himself to ignore the dizziness and the queasiness by focusing, focusing on the way the three objects would leave his hands, each in revolution, and it required a lot of concentration, a lot of concentration that would be hard to muster if he wasn't trying to figure out if that dark-haired girl he'd glimpsed at the market before a dizzy spell the other day really was Piper or if M'gann was in withdrawal, too, or if Barbara was or if there wasn't a walkie-talkie falling out of the air because he hadn't used enough force and it just bounced off his skull.
Wow. Okay. That distracted from the queasiness, but he staggered-- it exacerbated the dizziness. He had enough wherewithal to dodge the other walkie-talkie and the radio, but the day he was going to let a little trifling illness bring him to his knees is--
--apparently this one. He pinched the bridge of his nose, and reached for his purchases with a tired sigh. He'd thought about going to visit M'gann, but her stupid little white lies required more tiptoeing than he could really care about, between the fever and the dizziness and the sense of unbalance he'd felt after the first anniversary of his families' deaths he hadn't been able to mark or adequately distract himself from. And, sick or not, he knew what they'd say:
The show must go on, if only back home and straight to bed...
no subject
In fact, all she said was-
"Short for Richard, right?"
Look it has been established that both of them are a little out of it, at least what she's blurting out now actually makes sense and isn't painfully obvious like earlier.
Obvious, just not painfully so.
Maybe.
Also the hand holding was... strange. Thinking of it as strange was strange. But she was holding hands with a stranger. In fact, she was thinking about doing other things with this stranger if it just meant getting totally back to normal and staying that way. He'd likely be the first person she called if she needed some help again, just because he was the first person she'd let get this close.
"They're the ones that brought us here, right? Maybe they did something to us."
Not buying the whole "withdrawal" bit being natural. Her money is on them MAKING them sick.
"Some kind of human testing? Maybe they're just really, really strong willed."
Fingers curling around the edge of his hand, but she's not quite there returning the hand-sandwiching yet. Instead- "... Do you feel like you can walk again? Maybe we can go someplace less open to talk?"
Wow that was a lot of words for someone usually so antisocial. ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED.
no subject
By way of answer, he tugs her along, not breaking contact but approaching his room. It's most less-open place he can think of, and a fairly short trip, all considered.
"Not a bad thought to consider," he acknowledged, approaching the elevator. "But I think we should both be firing on all cylinders before we go making ourselves paranoid. I've heard of this thing causing delusions."
Hasn't he? He thinks he has.