hadriel_logs | Event Log: Flu Season

Entry tags:

Event Log: Flu Season

Who: All characters
What: The event log for the Flu Season event
Where: All over the city
When: March 20th-March 30th
Warnings: Gross sneezing, sick people, and paranoia

It starts with a cough, a sneeze, a sore throat - something small and simple, easily ignored. But then your symptoms get worse. It's probably been awhile since you've been sick, that sort of thing doesn't usually happen here. You might be able to raid the shops for some tissues and tea before it gets too bad, and hopefully you've got a friend to help out until you get better. Surely it'll be over soon, right?

Until the fever sets in, and you start to understand why your friend is really there. They don't want to take care of you. They want to make sure this is the last anyone will ever see of you. They want to learn all your secrets. They want to steal your most precious possession. You know they're plotting against you, you know they're keeping something from you. What will you do to find out what it is?

Then, as the sickness fades, you realize it was all in your mind. Let's hope you didn't do or say anything too awful. But that friend of yours... they seem to have picked up your cough. Maybe you should help them out?

► This log covers March 20th-March 30th.
► Feel free to make your own logs, as well
► Please tag headers of threads with content warnings where they apply
► Please put your character's name and open/closed in the subject line of your starters!
► If your paranoia ends in murder, please let us know here.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

As Glacius' rambling continues, what he says sounds more and more... familiar. Carlisle is no stranger to paranoia; his own mind turns on him so often that there are times when he cannot discern reality from delusion, when he is positive that his curse has finally swallowed him whole and left nothing more than a madman in its wake. Such troubling moments have become more prevalent as the years have passed, but he has learned to cope with them. He first turned to study, burying himself in his notes and his books; when that no longer drowned out his doubts, he drank. That dulled them for a time, and when it no longer sated his fears, he drank more. There are times he still wants a drink -- that's when he confides in Glacius, lets his partner be his bulwark against his inner turmoil.

But who could shield Glacius himself from such troubles? Carlisle knows it's up to him, as he is certain that this all must be a scheme of the gods. Why else would so many fall ill all at once? Was it just a mere infection, or did the sickness extend to the mind, as well? It's not just the paranoia laced within the alien's words that troubles the clergyman, but the way he says them, his cadence as he voices his concerns, his tone and the look he casts upon Carlisle himself.

It's too familiar, indeed. He paws at his sweater, feeling his talisman beneath as he steels himself.

"I am not just any human, Glacius," he insists. "I am you friend, your partner."

Edited 2018-03-31 02:16 (UTC)

It should be a relief that Glacius doesn't have an immediate retort to that simple, honest sentiment. He doesn't have the room to try and argue it or come up with some reason why it might not be genuine, because deep down he knows it is; like virtually every other time his mind has been warped by the gods, a shred of himself still remains. What is may not be quite as reassuring is that the alien doesn't agree or seem heartened by that response, either. Normally his will is strong enough to rebound on its own; the problem now is that that little fragment is currently stretched too thin to speak out over their booming influence—especially when he's weakened and his mind is scattered by sickness.

So Glacius is still left feeling utterly trapped. Trapped in this room, trapped on what his mind is screaming at him might become his death bed if he lets this human get too close, trapped in his own twisted thoughts to the point that he can neither affirm Carlisle's words or rebel against them. He simply stays tense as a board, chest rising and falling rapidly as he watches every motion of his partner's hand when it fumbles for his talisman—as if he's convinced the cleric might pull a weapon from underneath the garment instead.

"You have not harmed me yet," Glacius reasons, but the influence of the gods stabs at him again. Carlisle will likely need to take a much more active approach if he wishes to break through and reach his partner in the prison of his mind that they have made for him. "But perhaps that is because you are already using me. If I die, then my energy which thrums within you flickers out as well. How do I know that is not what you truly care for? How do I know it is not your plan to keep me here, sick and weak so that I cannot interfere as you sup from me for your own gain?"

Carlisle's nose wrinkles in disgust; his hand at his talisman curls, the fabric of his sweater catching under his nails. His eyes affix themselves somewhere on the frozen bed, the hurt in them so abundant that he would rather Glacius not see.

"You are insinuating that I would siphon energy from you purposefully," he mutters; his voice is forcibly even, barely containing the emotion within. "That I would sustain myself at your expense like some kind of... vampire."

His other hand curls at his side, his nails digging into his palms. Injured as he may be, he cannot walk away from this; he must reach his partner through what is surely manipulation of the gods.

"You have so freely offered this energy to me before. Encouraged me to use it as needed. Was that a lie?"

"No," Glacius replies, this time without much hesitation. He knows that much at least; he tries to think back, to remember, to work his mind at all. "It was... a gift. A gift I gave to you, and a gift you gave to me in accepting. I want..."

The alien tenses, eyes wide for a moment before they scrunch shut and he starts hacking again. The mental stress of fighting back against the god's influence only seems to exacerbate his condition. In the middle of his throes he ends up tossing his head to the side and his eyes, filled with pain and suffering, lock onto Carlisle's—searching them for an answer, for a justification, for anything that might lessen what he's going through somehow.

Glacius looks to him for an answer; Carlisle returns his gaze with quiet determination, doing his best to hide his wounds as he lets the alien's own logic bump against itself. The gods may manipulate them, and he may not trust Carlisle's words, but he has never known Glacius to doubt his own convictions.

"Your people are not the kind to lie, Glacius," he says quietly, his expression softening, the sound of Glacius' hacking ringing in his ears. "You know this as well as I do."

He conjures a globe of water, allowing it to chill in the air of the room before letting it rest upon his partner's chest, spreading across his skin. His eyes flick back to Glacius as he tries another way.

What do you feel through our Bond? Would it lie to you?

With his hand upon Glacius' chest, Carlisle will be able to feel the way the alien's two hearts are beating like jackhammers—scared and overly stressed even when all he can manage to do is lay prone. He'll also be able to feel the slickness of the alien's armor; they might be in a cold room, but his fever is keeping his body temperature high, making it harder for his icy skin to maintain its normal hardness and consistency. His body accepts the cold water readily in light of that; it might not wash the sickness from his body, nor the mucus from his airways, but it does help him feel a little less like he's painfully overheating.

The soothing chill also commands Glacius' attention enough that he doesn't attempt to roll out from underneath Carlisle's palm, nor does he bristle or posture threateningly. While the clergyman's eyes flick over to the alien, the otherworldly being's own eyes have slipped shut as he allows his partner to reach out to them through that bond. A wheezing rattle escapes his chest as he tries to settle somewhat.

No. I feel it... our Bond. It means that we are Bonded, which stands to reason, but picking through things bit by bit and stating the obvious seems to be Glacius' way of trying to orient himself right now. Which means that... we go through things together, that... I do not have to go through this alone. I do not want to go through this alone, Carlisle...

And you won't, my friend, Carlisle reassures, offering his partner a delicate smile. He sets one of the sheets from his arms on the nightstand, pausing with the last one, his eyes flicking from the glyph inscribed on it to the spot on the wall above Glacius' head.

Please, he implores through their Bond. Let me relieve you of some of your burdens. Allow me to care for you while you are sick. I did not betray you in the past while tending to your wounds, now did I? Nor when you have slept near me -- beside me. We were perhaps closer than ever not a month ago. It was just us, with no one to influence how we felt about one another.

He sets the glyph aside, reaching halfway for Glacius' scar and waiting for the alien to reciprocate; the lines on the paper are similar to the one he uses to water his plants. Let me help you, Glacius.

It all makes sense—perfect sense in the alien's mind. With their hearts open to one another like this, linked through the Mote, Carlisle can probably feel his partner's acceptance of his words. It probably makes it easier to understand the alien's reaction in the physical world; though Glacius stays tense and keeps glaring, he doesn't rebel any further or try to escape Carlisle's touch. If he seems practically locked in place, it's because he is; the otherworldly being's true self rebelling from within against the influence of the gods, holding it prisoner now, even if it means holding back the brunt of his reactions. At this point they still would not be his own, anyways, and he can only hope they'll ebb in time.

Holding himself back like this means that he cannot fully reciprocate by pressing his scar into Carlisle's palm, but at least Glacius has made a conscious decision not to push his partner away any more. It's more than he was capable of before, and it's the first step towards fully breaking free; the rest will hopefully come more easily when he's feeling better, which is what the cleric has the space to help with now.

As Glacius restrains himself, Carlisle graces his mandibular scar for just a moment, nodding to himself as he parts. He reaches to the wall beyond Glacius' headboard, tacks up the final glyph, and presses his fingers to the contact point. He's careful to use his own energy rather than expend those of the Mote when activating the glyph, not wanting to give off the wrong impression to his partner, particularly when he's so paranoid as it is.

The glyph lights up as it pulls energy from him, and water begins to spray in a mist from the lines, coating the front of Carlisle's glasses in fine droplets before he can move away. He stops at the wall near the bedside, activating the next glyph, moving around the room until all are activated. Some spray moisture -- others exude a freezing chill, cooling the water before it lands on Glacius' body.

"There we go," he says, backing toward the door, rubbing at his arms to keep warm as water seeps into his clothing. "That sh- should go for a little while. Let's see if that brings your temperature down."

The cold mist continues to settle in the room, freezing droplets drifting onto the bed and the alien resting on it before being soaked into his own icy skin, but it will take Glacius a bit longer to actually relax. The paranoia that the gods have planted in his mind had spiked again when the first glyph sprayed its moisture, causing fears of poison in the water to fill the ice alien's thoughts and making him want to tear from the room despite his sickened state. He had to close his eyes and focus on the soothing feeling of the treatment instead of thinking of what it could be a cover for—it felt good, it was helping, the freezing mist battling with the worst of his fever.

What it was not doing was killing or harming him, and that realization was like a heavy blow to the weakening chains that the gods had shackled Glacius' mind with. He could trust this. He could trust Carlisle, more importantly. The tenseness wracking the otherworldly being's body finally released him with the worst of his paranoia, and his body went limp, limbs resting heavily on in the mattress as his head fell back into the cushions. He'd open his gills to let out a sigh, but they were still stuck together with the worst of the gunk his gills had been generating to try and fight off the sickness, making it hard for them to accept the hydration in the same way the rest of his body was. Maybe that was why his breath was still coming in short, why it was hard for him to address or thank his partner.

One of Glacius' hands twitches slightly as if he might be trying to gesture to Carlisle instead, but his joints still ache as his body is still left weak from his sickness. They still have a ways to go to relieve the alien of his suffering, but at least they've taken their first steps.

At even the slightest beckoning from his partner, Carlisle crosses into the freezing mist of the room, wrapping a hand delicately around Glacius' fingers. He knows all too well the signs of stiff joints, and doesn't wish to exacerbate the situation.

"If this doesn't help you in anyway," he starts, using his free hand to wipe the water from his glasses, "I had considered filling the tub with freezing water and setting glyphs around the bathroom. Since you were already here, I thought trying this first would be, ah. The better option."

He offers Glacius a nervous smile as he tries his damnedest to both stay strong and swallow down a cough he feels itching at the back of his throat. "Or- or I could conjure some water here to help your gills, Glacius," he adds, the idea coming to him belatedly. "Whichever would be better for you. You must trust I want to help you, though."

Edited 2018-04-12 23:23 (UTC)

Glacius offers up a hoarse, broken little chirp when Carlisle carefully clasps his fingers, unable to acknowledge his partner much more as he fights both with the compulsion of the gods and his own miserable sickness. He also can't do much to return that nervous smile. The alien is listening, though; after a few hacking coughs where he tries to clear his gills enough to reply and largely fails, he knows what has to be done.

"The... last one," the otherworldly being wheezes out—once so strong, now enfeebled on the bed, wholly dependent on the care of his partner. That realization actually gets him to squeeze Carlisle's hand back despite how difficult his his; even the strength of his grip is failing. "Just be sure the water is... disinfected. Clean. I—I need to breathe again."

Because he doesn't mean to alarm his partner, but it is getting harder to do that—and even though he's capable of enduring a lot of terrible shit, the feeling of laying on the bed as he slowly suffocates is deeply unnerving—so much so that the worry is currently trumping the paranoia in his mind.

"I don't believe I could conjure filthy w- water if I tried," Carlisle assures his partner, gesturing for an orb of water to manifest in his hand with minor magics; he doesn't know that he couldn't summon something dirtier, as he's never thought to try, but now is not the time for such endeavors as it is.

He conjures another orb, then another, adding each globule to the whole until he has a substantial amount pooled between his hands -- the sphere is nearly large enough to surround Glacius' neck, should he sit up and dip his head into it. The globe remains together in the air, as though contained by an invisible orb, only a few drips of liquid escaping from where the mass touches his fingers, trailing down his pale skin; it does, however, seem fragile, if the delicate way he holds it and the concentration heavy on his brow are any indication. Perhaps the tub would have been a better idea, but here they are.

Well, between the orb and the mist spraying from the glyphs, it's not like the room could get any wetter.

Glacius cracks his eyes open as he detects Carlisle working some kind of magic, that glowing green gaze filled with as much weariness as pain at this point. All he really wants to do at this point is just... to drift off and forget everything for a time... but he's rapidly nearing the point at which that might become dangerous. After all, if he passes out, how much of a struggle might it be to wake up again?

So the ice alien focuses on offering guidance to his partner, as hard as it is in his current condition. "Good. Now..." his gills flutter stiffly again, pushing in and barely out as he attempts to breathe. "Can you use that to clean the film out of my irritated gills? If it remains, it will be harder and harder for me to take in either hydration or oxygen..."

Carlisle nods before adding verbal confirmation. "Right. Of course."

Cleaning Glacius' gills is always a tricky operation, and one Carlisle doesn't particularly feel comfortable doing most days, especially since the alien's double once ruined those gills with Carlisle's own plants. However, he meant it when he said he'd do anything for Glacius, and that includes swallowing his own apprehension to help his partner. Every strained breath Glacius takes is like a knife in Carlisle's gut, taking him back nearly a year in time; his hands shake as he thinks of the blood and mucus upon them, the destroyed filaments and the thorny vine twisted among them telling him exactly whose fault it was that he was suffering.

The watery orb between his hands wavers, and Carlisle forces himself to refocus. He has a task to do, and with a quick breath to steel his nerves, he gets to it.

Edited 2018-04-16 07:19 (UTC)

Thankfully, Glacius' gills are normally perfectly capable of maintaining themselves with aid from his gelatinous operculum; not so thankfully, these are not normal circumstances, and thus they will require more care. At least Carlisle is no stranger to treating them and keeping them clean at this point, given the state of them that he is now recalling; compared to how ravaged they were after his double had attacked him, this should not be too tricky. It takes a few rinses to really clear the worst of the gunk out, and some still plagues the alien's lower airways, but they're not going to be able to do anything about that like this; some of Glacius' recovery will be solely up to his body. At least they are treating the most dangerous symptoms, like his raging fever and his near inability to breathe.

And breathe the alien does once he feels his gills left cleaner than they have been in days; all eight of the biological vents flare open and he sucks in a breath, pushes in out, then pulls in another one. He's not quite able to perform that last exhale without coughing again given that his lower airways aren't clear, but at least the filaments in his gills are now able to receive moisture again, filtering oxygen out of it and passing it to the rest of his body. Glacius finally relaxes a hair more and nods, spending a few moments just trying to reestablish a normal pattern of breathing. It's been some time since he felt like he could do it fairly freely, a testament to how bad his condition was getting as the god's influence forced him to push Carlisle away.

Realizing that is another step towards separating his own will from theirs. The ice alien is still too stiff to do much moving about, but he does muster up some strength to reach for Carlisle's hand despite the protesting of his joints. "Good. Th-that's better. Thank you... my partner."

Edited 2018-04-17 21:28 (UTC)

Eyeing the gunk washed out of Glacius' gills, Carlisle wonders just how much trouble it will be to clean this room once his partner is well. They really should, he supposes, just in case the sickness lingers in the air, clinging to the furniture and sheets. He doesn't get to dwell long on that that thought as his partner takes his hand, drawing his attention. He gently returns Glacius' grasp, his own hands shaking from the chill of the room.

"Of course, my f- friend," he consoles with a soft smile, hoping his partner will think little of how much effort Carlisle is putting into getting him well. He knows he would think far too long on it, himself. "Perhaps now that you c- can breathe, your head will clear, and you will see I was t- trying to help you all along."

That suggestion causes Glacius to tense again, that paranoia trying to trickle into his thoughts once more from the back of his mind. He is cognizant of it now, though, and with his fever being cooled and his gills clear, it is much easier to think—which the alien does, trying to mentally work himself through it. Don't get caught up. Untangle the threads, separate the wills. The only threat to you now is your sickness; he is working against that, not against you... even at his own expense...

That much is for certain because the ice alien can feel the shaking of of Carlisle's hands as he holds his own, and that is what finally pulls Glacius out of his internal struggle. He casts his head back to stare up at the human, his eyes filled with tired regret. "My partner, I am sorry... I have... done us a disservice with my fear and doubt. I-I did not understand it at first, but I should have. Just know that if that had been me, and not the will of some damned parasites, I... I would never have..."

Edited 2018-04-19 13:55 (UTC)

"Glacius," Carlisle starts sternly, his brow wrinkling despite the smile still on his face, "you have no need to fret over this any longer. I, of- of all people, know too well the sight of someone no longer in control of their own will. This is not your fault." He give his partner's hand a pat. "I'm just glad to have helped you come to your senses, as you have done so many times for me."

Another heavy shiver runs through him, his clothes doing little to keep out the mist still spraying from the glyphs at this point. "Now if-f-f you don't mind, I do need to go change into something dry. Perhaps you could join me when you're feeling better? I'm sure being stuck in here hasn't- hasn't done you any favors."

He often prefers the safety of a single room; Glacius, however, is a different story.

Getting out of this small little room would certainly be good for Glacius, but there are unfortunately still a number of obstacles in his way. He frowns at Carlisle's offer, at the shiver he can feel racing through his partner's body—at the knowledge that he is not yet well enough to truly show his appreciation for the clergyman's pardon and self-sacrifice.

"I would like to, but... I should stay in the cold of this room until my fever has broken," the ice alien replies, sighing sadly. "Plus, I am not sure how much strength I have to move around right now. Every joint in my body aches, and the work my immune system has been doing has left me enfeebled. I should probably rest in here for the day, but... hopefully after that, the worst of this will have passed, and I can rejoin you once again."

Glacius frowns, not really wanting to be left alone, but knowing that staying in here with him will not be good for Carlisle's health and comfort. "You should go, though. You have done plenty for me, and I will probably just try to sleep this off... so go get dry and warm. When I wake, then I will make an attempt to be with you. If that is alright."

"Of course," Carlisle agrees readily. Though shivering and absolutely ready warm himself with a hot drink and dry clothes, he can see that Glacius doesn't want to be left alone. He can't blame his partner -- he's spent a couple of nights himself in a heap just beyond Glacius' door, wanting to be as near as possible in case of an emergency. Though leaning against the wall isn't conducive to a restful night in the slightest, and he can still feel Glacius through the Mote, Carlisle cannot help but want to be physically close to his partner, as close as he can be in spite of this sickness. It has been so long since they slept in separate beds; it's starting to feel so foreign to him, unfamiliar to the point where he wonders how he ever lived alone at all.

His dreams are more restless when he sleeps alone. His mind wanders, often into the worst of places. He doubts himself: if he cannot help Glacius get well, what good is he?

Carlisle forces himself to ignore his self-deprecation for now. "Should you need me, I am here." And with that and another squeeze of Glacius' hand, he finally leaves for now. Time for a hot shower, a cup of tea... and then another night's vigil by Glacius' door.

Thankfully, it will be the last night Carlisle has to put up with such lonely circumstances for some time. Though Glacius hadn't noticed such behavior when his mind had been addled by both the gods and his sickness, and he's exhausted enough now to fall asleep fairly quickly after his partner leaves, when he wakes in the morning he cannot help but wonder what the clergyman is up to. The ice alien still has not made a complete recovery—after how badly off he was, that would be a bit too good to be true—he does feel like his fever is diminished and some strength has been recovered, thanks to his solid night of rest. He sits up, tests his limbs—they are stiff and slightly shaking, but they'll cooperate... and Carlisle had been right. After being bedridden for so long, the alien wants to get up and move about.

So Glacius moves somewhat sluggishly to his door, pushing it open to find the clergyman right there. Surprised, touched, and regretful all at once, the bulky ice alien squats down right next to his partner. "Carlisle, you should be in bed..! Ah... but... I understand. I am sorry I keep leaving you to have to deal with things alone." Never mind the fact that it was Glacius who just went through a horrible, agonizing ordeal. "Are you alright?"

The sight that greets Glacius as he exits his room is a lonely one indeed: rather than leaning back against the wall, Carlisle apparently opted to lean forward this time, his legs crossed before him, head propped on his arm, blanket draped over him like a cape. Sitting in front of him are a few papers and a book to write on, as well as a pen that clearly slipped from his hand at some point in the night and was chewed on a few times by Rabbit. Finding it wasn't food, he abandoned it, as well.

As Carlisle is snoozing in that sitting position, Glacius startles his partner as he speaks, his voice, hoarse from coughing, a nearly unfamiliar one. He stiffens reflexively as he sits up, one hand reaching to his papers, the other tightening on the pen that's no longer within his grasp. His eyes dart around for it for a second or two before landing on Glacius, his mind answering the sleep-addled question of What was I doing out here? quickly enough. Right. Notes. Keeping an eye on Glacius.

He runs a hand across his scalp, brushing back his hair. "No no no," he starts in, his voice frenetic as he tries to acclimate to being awake once more, "don't- don't apologize. I just- I suppose I dozed off out here while working." Which he intended to do all night. "No need to worry. How- how are you feeling? Should I get you something? More water, perhaps? Or a- or a cold bath might do you wonders, actually."

"Working there, right by my door, on the uncomfortable floor instead of at the table or desk?" Glacius tilts his head, then shakes it. "No, I do not believe it was just that. You were looking out for me."

Normally the ice alien might not call his partner out like that, but it's important that Carlisle knows that the alien isn't oblivious to what he's been going through—and moreover that the clergyman knows that it is appreciated. The otherworldly being butts his forehead briefly and gently against the human's, then pulls back to consider his offers.

"Both would help, but... later. Unless you don't mind sitting by the bath with me while I soak. I'm feeling stable enough right now, though, even if not completely recovered... so I think we should try and get you comfortable, if you've been sitting like that all night. You've been looking after me for so long... is there anything you need, my partner?"

"I need only for you to be well," Carlisle answers, his attempt at strength a poor one given the bags under his eyes. Regardless of the weight he carries in them, he scrapes up his papers and pushes himself to his feet, continuing: "And if you believe that a soak would help you, then let's do that. As pleased as I am to see you out of your room, you look as though remaining on your feet for too long would do you more harm than good."

And with that, Carlisle puts a hand on Glacius' arm and tries to coax him into the bathroom. His movements have that frenetic quality to them, his hands twitching, eyes darting from object to object as he enters the room and figures out what he must do next; he's the image of a man who fears that if he stops for even a moment to catch his breath, he will be caught by everything he was running from in the first place.

"I can bring some pillows in here," he murmurs to himself, his voice picking up speed. "Make it comfortable so I can remain near you, in case you should need me. The water still isn't working quite right -- hasn't since the Null's attack, really -- but I can conjure plenty with glyphs. It will be sure to be clean then. It's- it's not a vast sea or a snowdrift, but it should suffice?"

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