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 Posted: Sun Aug 02, 2009 7:27 pm
It was the fifth day, and everything broke.
Sometime around noon, his body started rejecting everything. All the medication, all the intravenous feeding, all the food and drink, even the blood donation that had come from his very own twin.
The machinery had gone wild with beeping - that he remembered. Murphy had flown out of his chair and started yelling things, yelling for the doctor, but Seamus hadn't been able to make out what he was saying. The world had gone dizzy and strange and fuzzy, and there was that beeping noise.
A shock to his chest had brought the world back into some focus (when had he left?), back to his twin screeching like a howler monkey, and nurses and doctors over him with what looked like a pair of hockey pucks with handles held in their hands.
Why the hell would they be playing hockey at a time like this?
He didn't care for it - not at all. He was stuck watching golf, but the doctors got to play hockey?
They hovered over him and yelled more things, but he'd already gone back to sleep.
A few hours later (he thought, he couldn't tell) he was woken, groggy again; he didn't think anyone had noticed, but he could hear the mutterings of his twin, and his mum, and his sisters, and there was Valeriu there too he thought. It was hard to mistake that accent, as much as he tried to hide it. He sounded pretty concerned, talking with Murphy, but his voice soon faded as he presumably left.
Strange.
But then he was asleep again, so it didn't matter much.
The final time he woke up, he was a bit more conscious. Conscious enough to squint his eyes open, and conscious enough to realize it didn't matter; he was laying in nearly complete darkness, except for the now-quietly beeping machines. No one was in the room, now; it was late, dark, probably too late for visitors. But he could see shadows flickering through the window of staff close on hand.
He frowned, and was surprised to feel the sting of the air conditioning wafting against open wounds. He looked, and saw his bandages removed; freshly stitched (which probably matched the similarly open cuts on his face from what he could feel).
Strange. It wasn't often they left him un-bandaged for very long.
What'd gone on?
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Posted: Sun Aug 02, 2009 7:56 pm
good sign.
Quinn made his way up to the bed, stepping quietly.
"Seamus?" He whispered, "Vale said-- I came to--Oh, god, Seamus, are you alright?" He pulled a chair up right next to the bed, so he could sit on it and look at the man laying down at eye level.
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Posted: Sun Aug 02, 2009 8:07 pm
For a second, he thought it was his older sister in the doorway; shadowed, but he could see the blonde hair, and he was about to scream holy hell, begone ye demon! The power of Christ compels thee!
That always got her out of a room.
Words failed him, though; stuck in a curiously hoarse throat and coming out as nothing more than a strangled, dying whimper. He cursed.
She could smell weakness, and the noise he'd made sounded akin to that of her normal prey of innocent virgins and baby bunnies.
But it wasn't his sister after all, but a similarly blonde-haired demon. In his room, after hours -- he tried to wiggle over to the other side of the bed, but he was stuck fast. There were more things hooked up to him now; many more, and he wasn't anywhere near strong enough to move them.
So he frowned, and squinted at Quinn in a what in the world fashion, watching the man sit down and startled to find he was actually goddamn relieved - because here he'd woken up after something happened, and nobody else was here, and he didn't know what was going on or why he had all these contraptions hooked up to him.
"Dandy," he finally managed to croak out, and he tried to wet his lips because he was so ******** thirsty. His eyes left Quinn, and instead sought out water; he saw his abandoned bottle of ginger ale, and inched his hand towards that, but his body didn't want to move that hand more than a few inches before exhaustion stopped it in its tracks. His face scrunched in frustration, slowly - "Could'cha han' me tha'?"
He didn't like having to ask Quinn for it, but he swore up and down he would die of dehydration right here and now.
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Posted: Sun Aug 02, 2009 8:17 pm
Quinn grabbed the bottle and handed it to him. "Look, Seamus, it's been five days. I'm here. You're going to need some poison, and I bet you didn't even touch the apple, did you?" He sighed. "I'll do it, if you want. I'll give you some poison. I'm not leaving until you let me."
He was serious about it, too. This was important. He was not going to let Seamus die.
"So, it's your choice."
Quinn's hair was still wet. He hated this. Being...being dressed so sloppily. It felt rude. Disrespectful. He wasn't sure. He just didn't like being so drab.
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Posted: Sun Aug 02, 2009 8:32 pm
Oh, god. Why hast thou forsaken me? Seamus demanded of the bottle when he couldn't even bring it up to his lips; his hand was shaking too much, and it nearly slipped from his weak-as-it-is grip.
He decided to act as if he'd wanted to just hold it. For moral support. Because Heaven knew there was no other moral support in this room.
"I'm doin' fine," he grumbled, frowning at the younger boy and clutching onto his ginger ale like a skeleton found holding onto its last earthly treasure. There wasn't much of a difference; his skin was stretched tight, too tight, too pale, and he could make out the thick bones of his hands and wrist clearer than he ever had before. The wounds probably looked ghastly compared to his skin; a dark and angry red splashed against whites and browns and the washed out blue of his eyes. "I think'm over it."
This was it, wasn't it? The withdrawals were over. He was over the hump. He'd survived, here was proof that it wasn't a deadly addiction.
His eyes caught the lights of the machines, momentarily distracted, and watched numbly as the numbers slowly dropped lower, right before his eyes. Watched the machine that displayed his heart rate declaring that, by all rights, he should be in a coma right now.
Explained why he couldn't move, at least.
"Mebbe not," he muttered, and looked away, shame twisting his features; this stupid addiction was killing him, no doubt about it. The machinery didn't lie. His wounds weren't even a passing concern compared to the havoc those withdrawals were wreaking on his system. "I jus'--"
He swallowed, and his lips were still dry, and he realized that ginger ale would've done no good.
"Please," he finally asked, though it was really more of a demand: right now, just get it over with.
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Posted: Sun Aug 02, 2009 8:39 pm
Quinn just watched him. Watched his changes in expression, watched his protests slowly dissolve away. He pried one of the man's hands away from the bottle (it wasn't that hard, with his strength so sapped) and brought it up to his mouth. Too much could hurt more than it helped-- and the way his wounds were still slowly bleeding, he would have to do several small doses. For a while. Until it got all the way through his system.
The neck...Quinn was afraid. It seemed too dangerous. There was a good vein on his wrist, though, and Quinn sinked his fangs into it, instinctively knowing where to aim. He released a very small amount. It was hard-- like starting to pee, and then stopping. He had to really force himself to not keep pushing in venom. It would be a waste, and he didn't regenerate it that fast. He pulled his fangs out as softly as he could, and set the boy's hand back on the bed.
He raised an eyebrow at the bottle, and smiled. He decided to take the request for help to apply to that too, and picked up the bottle, lifting it up to Seamus's mouth. "Drink."
It might distract him from the problems. Quinn sat up straight to hold the bottle up well.
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Posted: Sun Aug 02, 2009 9:00 pm
Seamus was honestly expecting him to go for the neck, like he had before. Had tensed, prepared, only to be surprised when the warmth started flooding in from his arm instead. It was slower, much slower, and not nearly enough to satiate his burnt out system, but he could feel what it was doing, this time. No instantaneous change, but a slow and progressive infiltration of every vein and nerve, re-energizing and repairing. It didn't do very much for now, but his body soaked it up like a sponge.
Perhaps the most disturbing is that it didn't hurt as much as the other bites. Quinn wasn't exactly a gentle person.
Quinn offered the drink, and Seamus couldn't help but think there was a pod person in their midst. He scowled at Quinn, utterly suspicious, but the minute he took his first swallow - it was warm, and flat, and he choked and coughed because even swallowing was hard - he was desperately trying to drink more without spilling it (and without breathing). After this, he was determined to send Quinn out for ten more cold bottles of water so that he could glut himself on precious H2O.
He did finally have to breathe, but not before he'd completely emptied that bottle, gasping in breath in a decidedly relieved way.
"Hahh, damn," he huffed in air like he'd gulped down the drink, licking his lips again and pleased to be able to actually wet them this time. "Didn't realize I was as thirsty as that. Makes warm an' flat ginger ale seem like an oasis in the desert."
Not that he would know anything about that.
Only idiots would try and brave the barren wasteland around the City. People died that way.
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Posted: Sun Aug 02, 2009 9:55 pm
Quinn smiled at him, and set the bottle down once he had drank all the rest of it. "I know you're going to hate me for this, but I'm going to have to stay. With your wounds, the poison will leave your bloodstream much, much faster. I'll have to give you small doses every hour or so. You can sleep if you want. I'll stay up and keep watch. And don't worry, I'm good at dodging nurses." He grinned, remember the few nights before.
"And that isn't a suggestion. I am staying, and you are going to sleep. You need rest, alright?" He ran his fingers through his damp hair. It was frizzing. At least it was clean.
"Oasis in the desert, huh? Yeah, I guess. I guess you're right."
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Posted: Sun Aug 02, 2009 10:16 pm
"M'not tired," he snarked right back, although the subtle warmth warming his chilled body made him just a little bit drowsy. "Plus, yer a creeper. Ain't no way I'm going to sleep easy."
One-eye-open was not enough when it came to Quinn.
"Already rested 'nough as it is," he rubbed at the marks on his face, gingerly. He hadn't even felt the nurses take off the bandages, and usually that always woke him up right quick. "Can't make me."
Oh, his nose. His poor nose. He could feel the indentation that cut horizontally across the lower part of the bridge, now that the nurses weren't there to slap his hands away from the freed area. One had cut straight through to the corner of his lip, too, and he could trace the claw marks back towards his cheek. One rip dipped right next to his eye, and he realized with chilling certainty that he had very nearly escaped losing it. Not even half an inch away. There was a clip in his ear, too - a solid notch, taken right out.
The marks on his chest, although worse, did not upset him so much as the ones on his face. T-shirts could be worn, worn to hide such things.
No one had had the heart to show him a mirror yet, and he was willing to bet that Murphy was currently throwing out each and every single mirror they had in the house. Every reflective object was going to be tossed out the door.
He shook his head, and scowled, and flopped back as devil-may-care in the bed as he could considering he was already leaning back against it.
"Yeah, you'd guess. Never been out there, have ya? Yer pasty white a** would fry like an egg on a skillet not even a mile out."
Seamus might have been pale too - but at least he could tan.
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Posted: Sun Aug 02, 2009 10:24 pm
"Alright, then I'll just stay here 'til you fall asleep." He grinned. He wasn't going to back down on this one. This man needed someone to watch him, and it had to be Quinn. He watched the man trace his face, and got a pained look on his face when he saw Seamus's silent reactions.
"Once," Quinn mumbled, his face looking sadder. "After my dad left. I was really young. Seven, I think. I ran away, thinking I could find him. For some reason, I thought I could find him out of the city. I walked for a long time, I remember. Nothing else. Just walking. And hoping I'd see anything. A clue. I always imagined he'd leave me a treasure map to him, or something. A set of clues, so I'd know where he was." Quinn leaned back against his own chair.
"I didn't find him. I collapsed. I woke up in bed. My mother said someone brought me back home and left me on the porch, rang the bell, and left before she got there. I thought it was my father, but that was just childish fantasy. I drew a little picture book of the story, as a kid. I don't know if it still exists." He shrugged, then blinked.
"Honestly, I don't know why I told you that. Sorry. You don't care about the strange life of the Moreaus."
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Posted: Sun Aug 02, 2009 10:37 pm
"You're right, I don't." His lips tightened at the name Moreau though. It was familiar, in a not-so-good way. "Sure explains why you're so ******** up, though," he scoffed.
He'd never known Quinn as a kid, so it was harder to imagine him than it was to remember Valeriu back then. Players, and the Game, they were all just kids - which was hard to match up with the jackass before him.
Still, no matter what their real age might've been, they were adults in their own right. The mind might never catch up with their bodies, but it moved along fast enough. Fast enough for them to shoulder responsibility like adults.
And Seamus had very little sympathy for men like Quinn.
"Look, brat," he started, and the serious tone said that he, the adult, was going to give Quinn some adult advice, and that he had better damn well listen. "You lost your father, yeah. Valeriu told me you lost your mum, too. That's a damn shame," he admitted, and had to at least give Quinn that. "But we all lose people. For a while, me an' Murphy weren't the only twins Mum had. But it happens."
He frowned, contemplated his empty bottle.
"Yer an adult now, I s'pose, so someone's gotta tell you this. Ya can either let it drag ya down and haunt you yer entire damn life until you turn into the complete a*****e that you've been, hopin' people will feel sorry for you all yer life, or you can make somethin' better out of yourself to spite that crotchety ol' great-uncle that's right now burning in hell." He glowered at the floor.
He was pretty sure he'd been going somewhere with that, had some magnificent sentence to end it, but the empty bottle was bothering him.
"Now go get me some water."
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Posted: Sun Aug 02, 2009 10:47 pm
Quinn gave Seamus a wierd look. "While I won't even pretend to understand the nonsense you're spewing about a great uncle, I'll go get you some water." He took the bottle that previously held ginger ale, and went out into the hall, sneaking over to a water fountain to fill it up. Right outside of Seamus's door on his way back, though, a doctor stopped him. He had to think fast.
"Getchur hands offame," Quinn exclaimed, even though the doctor wasn't touching him. "I'm a payin' customer. Room 612. This is the only floor with any good goddamn water, though. I'm heading back to my room now. Move along." He waved the man away, who was too stunned to protest. Once the hallway was clearer, he dodged inside the room, and shut it behind him.
"If I go to jail for this, or something, you better remember I did it getting water for your ungrateful a**." He sat back down in his chair next to the bed, and held the bottle up to the other man.
"Drink."
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Posted: Sun Aug 02, 2009 10:56 pm
"You're going to jail anyway," he responded blithely (and a bit too knowingly for a man who was had the tendency to know certain things), but drank, and was pleased that the water was cold. He didn't down it all this time, but left some for later, pacing it out. Drinking water too fast wasn't very good.
"Hey," he prompted, considering Quinn more speculatively.
Murphy and Vale and Tepin and his entire damn family had denied him-- and forbidden the doctors and the nurses, too.
"Got a mirror on you?"
He just - he just wanted to prepare. Because, inevitably, the first time his family let him see would be the time when everyone was gathered around. Valeriu would be there, for sure.
And he didn't - he had to prepare - he didn't want to be surprised. He wanted to be able to laugh it off when they did.
He didn't want them to see the horror on his face, or whatever expression he may have.
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Posted: Sun Aug 02, 2009 11:13 pm
Quinn shook his head. "I don't. There's one in the bathroom, but you can't get up." Quinn sighed. "So, barring ripping it out of the wall, I don't know how I could get one. They don't exactly keep hand-mirrors around, because most of their patients have ugly mugs like you, with or without huge gashes." He smirked.
"So, the answer is no. I'll get one tomorrow, though. If you're better by then."
If, and only if.
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Posted: Sun Aug 02, 2009 11:16 pm
"I'll have you know that I'm the pretty one," he groused back, looking at the bathroom contemplatively.
He had a bed pan, and he hated the bed pan.
He looked at the edge of the bed, and the floor, and the distance to the bathroom.
"Wanna make a bet?"
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