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rekindleme2014-04-27 12:33 am
staystraught) wrote in rekindleme2014-04-27 12:33 am
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
Compared to what happened last time.M'gann feels her shoulders knot up, as she tries to stretch out her focus properly. No backlash this time, she promises herself. Of all things, Robin's weight helps her focus, or at least gives her a potent reminder that she can't afford to mess this up.
So when she feels that first surge of levitation, M'gann's thoughts give a quick, elated flicker as she pulls her head up.
"Your place. It's closer." Plus, she already has the shortest route from here to the balcony memorized.
no subject