Illnesses, even things as simple as a cold, always went over as good as you could expect in a community of desert-dwelling rebels with limited food, drink, and medicine, along with a bunch of less than healthy habits. Sometimes it was easy enough to deal it, other times it could spell danger - one less pair of eyes, a downed pair of legs, one less gun held up against the Dracs. Then there were the times it just meant someone might end up a ghost.
Maybe that's a little over dramatic, here, but all things considered, this isn't ideal. In fact, this fucking sucks.
In just 24 hours, Party, already usually sporting a tired and grumpy demeanor, gets hit with sneezes and sniffles, and a nasty old cough. The quality of his health is already debatable on a good day, but it seems like something caught up with him...
At home, in the stores, wandering around the street, he might often be noticed thanks to, honestly, his gross-ass cough.
And, if you own a shop or are simply visiting? Yes, he definitely is touching things. You're welcome.
----
💊25th - Pink Panther up in this b
(Insert skulking music here.)
Fuck this. Fuck this whole place. Fuck this, fuck you, fuck them. He can see through all of this bullshit and this isn't even real.
Leaving the house was easy enough. Good thing his room - that room, fuck you, that's not his room - is on the ground floor. They didn't even hear him. Nobody's gonna know he's missing for at least...15 minutes? Half an hour, a full hour if he's lucky.
Pale, sweaty and wide eyed, bright yellow gun in hand, this small slight young man is sneaking through the city. Keeping hidden, peeking through corners. He needs to find the way out. He needs to find who's in charge, she-- she's watching. She has to be watching from somewhere. This isn't a mask - he tried, he really did - so maybe--
God, fuck, what if he's not even awake? What if it's all in his head? Can they do that?
This is a sick game. He should have expected it, is it-- is this where souls go? Is this where your brain takes off to, when you're bleached?
Who wants to take a chance? Mind the gun. His aim isn't great, but he's willing to try.
----
❌26th - Home [CLOSED to Killjoy cast]
That was...what the fuck was that?
Oh. Oh god. What?
He jumps out of bed, still for a moment and looking around at the dark. Where--door, yes, that's a thing.
Don't mind if he slams his door open. Or, should it be locked, slams against it as he scrambles to open it, then yells and bangs on it.
What, who, why. Why is this a thing? Why can they get in your brains? W h y.
Party Poison | OTA
God-fucking-damn it. Damn it!
Illnesses, even things as simple as a cold, always went over as good as you could expect in a community of desert-dwelling rebels with limited food, drink, and medicine, along with a bunch of less than healthy habits. Sometimes it was easy enough to deal it, other times it could spell danger - one less pair of eyes, a downed pair of legs, one less gun held up against the Dracs. Then there were the times it just meant someone might end up a ghost.
Maybe that's a little over dramatic, here, but all things considered, this isn't ideal. In fact, this fucking sucks.
In just 24 hours, Party, already usually sporting a tired and grumpy demeanor, gets hit with sneezes and sniffles, and a nasty old cough. The quality of his health is already debatable on a good day, but it seems like something caught up with him...
At home, in the stores, wandering around the street, he might often be noticed thanks to, honestly, his gross-ass cough.
And, if you own a shop or are simply visiting? Yes, he definitely is touching things. You're welcome.
----
💊25th - Pink Panther up in this b
(Insert skulking music here.)
Fuck this. Fuck this whole place. Fuck this, fuck you, fuck them. He can see through all of this bullshit and this isn't even real.
Leaving the house was easy enough. Good thing his room - that room, fuck you, that's not his room - is on the ground floor. They didn't even hear him. Nobody's gonna know he's missing for at least...15 minutes? Half an hour, a full hour if he's lucky.
Pale, sweaty and wide eyed, bright yellow gun in hand, this small slight young man is sneaking through the city. Keeping hidden, peeking through corners. He needs to find the way out. He needs to find who's in charge, she-- she's watching. She has to be watching from somewhere. This isn't a mask - he tried, he really did - so maybe--
God, fuck, what if he's not even awake? What if it's all in his head? Can they do that?
This is a sick game. He should have expected it, is it-- is this where souls go? Is this where your brain takes off to, when you're bleached?
Who wants to take a chance? Mind the gun. His aim isn't great, but he's willing to try.
----
❌26th - Home [CLOSED to Killjoy cast]
That was...what the fuck was that?
Oh. Oh god. What?
He jumps out of bed, still for a moment and looking around at the dark. Where--door, yes, that's a thing.
Don't mind if he slams his door open. Or, should it be locked, slams against it as he scrambles to open it, then yells and bangs on it.
What, who, why. Why is this a thing? Why can they get in your brains? W h y.