snowblindmemes | Illness/Injury Meme

*Its just the flu, but he has no idea how to deal with it. What is coughing up stuff that isn't blood???
He's sure that if he ignores it it'll go away.*

[You'd think Beckett would be an expert on this kind of nonsense by now. You'd be wrong.

The mutual ignoring act had been going on all day. It's just about lockdown and they're finally indoors. And maybe he'll be able to stop sneaking troubled sidelong glances at Brian waiting for him to fall over if the man finally sat down. One can't fall over when sitting down, at least, even if it solves no other problems.

He's going to have to chance it.]

There is a bed in the other room, if you want it. You might find you want it.

*That sounds really nice...maybe he could just go to sleep early...
But no. There are things to do and he can't let this whatever it was hold him back. He has to keep moving forward.

He shakes his head. He can rest after searching the house.*

[A hundred percent not surprised. Possibly two hundred.]

We have all night ahead of us. I daresay nothing is going to run away if we rest for an hour. I plan to.

[Perhaps he can set a positive example?]

*He pauses to consider for a moment before shaking his head. No, he doesn't need to rest yet. He's fine. Everything is fine.

Except for the coughing spell and misjudging his step and falling over onto the floor. Its not the same sort of coughing spell, but he's having trouble willing himself to get back up anyway.*

[And here we go. He needn't have bothered with persuasion, Beckett thinks idly as he steps up, crouching next to the fallen man with his backpack already half-unslung to retrieve some water. He could've just waited for the inevitable.]

Have a drink. And keep the bottle, I'm quite done with being ill for this century, thank you.

*He takes the bottle and pulls his mask up so that he can drink from it. That feels...surprisingly good. Not just the water but the cooler air on his skin. That was weird; that sensation usually made him uncomfortable. He coughs again and mutters something. It might be 'I'm not sick' but its hard to tell he said actual words and not just a grumbling noise.*

[Were those words? Now Beckett might be slightly concerned. He can't quite make out what Brian said or not said, but he can take an educated guess, maybe.]

I'm afraid there does seem to be something the matter with you, just at the moment. I've gotten rather good at telling, you see.

*He shakes his head again. Not sick, totally fine.
So don't think anything of him putting his hood down and tugging at his mask. He stops short of uncovering his face, though, and just stares at Beckett. Was it safe? He trusted Beckett but...but he's not sure. But it did feel so much better without the fabric....*

[The truth is, Beckett's first instinct is, indeed, to stare. He's a curious sort, insatiably so, and this chance may well not come again. But then - staring is clearly counter-productive here.

Instead he looks away, not quite pointedly, but perhaps a little too focused on looking through his pack for food than is strictly necessary.]

*He shrugs off his blanket cloak before tugging at the mask again. It helps, but not enough. He hadn't noticed before but its too hot here...how is it even hot here? That didn't make any sense...but it was harder to think that usual. Maybe if he wasn't so hot it'd help.

After a moment's more hesitation he pulls off the mask. He's disheveled beneath it. His hair is messy and clearly cut last by an amateur and his face is pale and gaunt from lack of sun and general malnutrition. He's been eating more regularly here but is still eating less than a normal person. He's also flushed from the fever. All and all its not a pretty picture, and it likely still wouldn't be without the illness.

It felt nice, though. So he's just going to sit here for awhile and relish that. He can put the mask back on in a minute, when he's not so hot anymore.*

[He wasn't expecting anything otherworldly, or even very unusual - but Beckett still can't help but feel a moment of dissociation. Distance. Just a human. Of course he is. But still - he understands the mask from a new perspective. This is not Brian. Whatever it is...

It's what he has to deal with right now. Awkwardly. Should really leave well enough alone. It gets the better of him; he sighs in the usual long-suffering manner.]

You feel hot because you have a fever. It has nothing to do with what and who you are. Plain, boring human illness. Bound to go away with some rest - I hope. So you might as well get that over with.

*He shakes his head. There were things that needed to be done, he can't just lay around and rest!
So then why is he having so much trouble standing up? He should be able to...to...something..?*

[If he could sigh even harder he would. Instead, Beckett just waves a vague hand at the direction of Brian's general condition.]

If you think this is troublesome, imagine me having to carry you to bed after your inevitable collapsed. Take a moment to picture it. And then tell me if you'd rather not do this the easy way.

[If that's how Brian wants to play it... well, he can't be that heavy to carry.]

*He shakes his head again but there's no real force behind it. He doesn't want to feel this way, he wants to have everything go back to normal. Or at least normal for here.

He sighs and tries to get up again. After a couple aborted starts he finally manages it. He doesn't move past that, though, just stands there on shaky legs and tries to will the world back into focus.*

The hard way it is. [Beckett grumbles slightly under his breath as rises to move closer, close enough so that he can catch Brian if the man falls over. It's not meant as hovering, but it can be perceived like that if you're a nervous sort. He's definitely coming close enough to touch.]

Go on, walk. I'll try to stop your head hitting the floor.

*He sighs. This sucks.

He stops himself from flinching away as Beckett comes closer--he's not sure he wouldn't just fall over and he trusts the vampire not to do anything. That was weird, right? He's pretty sure it was weird.

Thankfully moving forward in a straight line took up most of his attention so he can't dwell on it. They were going to...there was a bed, right? He looks to Beckett and cants his head.

Where are they going?*

[Much as he puts himself at the ready for it, Beckett hopes Brian would not actually fall over. Both because it would be a bad sign for his health, and because... well. He's already not sure what they're going to do after bed has been achieved. He knows the technicalities, more or less. He's just at a loss about bedside manner.

First things first.] Bed, remember? [He keeps by Brian's side to guide him to the nearest one, which is thankfully nice as Norfinbury beds go.] I've got a spare blanket. You, ah - [Just sticking to calm authority might be best, he decides.] Sit down. Take a drink. Take the sweater off. Don't get arguing again.

[Not that Brian ever literally argues. He just gives a good impression of it.]

*He shuffles over towards the bed, slowly and carefully and thankfully not falling until he gets there. Then he lets himself just collapse on the bed. He could rest here...that would be nice. Sleep isn't sounding like so bad of an idea now that he's here.

He thinks he should be fighting against this lethargy but he's not sure how much he wants to anymore.

He shakes his head to the blanket idea, though. And he's...not sure where his tablet is. He left it on the floor where he fell, but all he knows is its not with him now.*

hot

*Blanket makes hotter and he doesn't want that. His hoodie, though...it would be cooler without it...but, no. He took the mask off (that, at least, was still in his hand), he couldn't loose the rest.*

I know.

[However bad at sympathy Beckett considers himself - and he doubts anyone is going to contradict him on this count - it's a little easier now that Brian is in the bed, probably not going anywhere. The man looks as utterly wiped out as Beckett can distinctly remember feeling, and he can vaguely remember what he wished someone would do for him when he had. Still calmly authoritative, his tone has gone just a little softer, the same stable and soothing tone he used when he and Brian first met.]

You're not going to have a few good few days, I'm afraid. I can't make it better, but it can be bearable if you do as I say. You do know what fevers are, don't you? That being sick can mean things other than being wrong? You should know better than I did. [He can hope, right?]

*He nods. He knows physical sick, he'll even admit that the coughing and seizures were sick (or would have, before Tim got on his case so much about being sick in the head), but he does not like it. He does not like this. He does not want this sick.

He coughs a bit and struggles to sit up. If he's not stopped he'll manage it after a few tries and, thankfully, will not try to leave the bed. Just sit up and look around.*

Life is ~~pain~~ discomfort, particularly in Norfinbury. Still, she is so tired lately, no matter how long the rest before the next day's push on to the next house, the next supply stop, the next search for answers. Everything is tender, especially her mouth, and her body mass has been dropping as it becomes more painful to eat.

When the morning comes and the doors unlock, she is not to be found preparing to move on. She remains in the closet she selected for a sleeping place, laying on the couch cushions she pilfered from another room and staring at the wall. When she hears her traveling companion coming, she has only one thing to say this morning:

"No."

[If there's one thing England is known for, it's being a stubborn, contrary bastard. He rather prefers not to pay any mind to inconvenient ailments, for they are just that: inconvenient. He isn't the type to laze around merely hoping it will get better. Besides, being a nation, his own physical condition is always secondary to the circumstances affecting his country, since he doesn't contract lasting ailments unless something bad is happening to his nation.

Until now, anyway.

He didn't really pay it any mind when he started feeling feverish and sore. It was annoying, but nothing worth wasting time over. And so he pressed on through the days, ignoring the worsening soreness and the coughing. He ignored the the pressure in his head and the wide, spanning pain in his chest, and the nausea, when he could afford to avoid it...the violent chills, the dizziness from the sinus pressure, the bloody mucous...

Stubbornness is helpful in some aspects of life, but not this. As he and his companion trudge through the snow, an overwhelming, sweltering wave of disorientation overcomes him and he stumbles. Lacking the coordination to right himself, he simply falls face-first into the snow.]

[America wasn't really especially familiar with illness that didn't come and go with a falling and rising economy. So, when England insisted he was fine, America more or less took him at his word. Anyway, England was too stubborn for rest unless America sat on him or something, and he was sure that made illness worse.

But now England has apparently fallen right into the snow. Just right into it.]

Hey, are you okay? Did you trip?

[Perhaps the biggest sign that something is wrong is that England doesn't grumble or bitch or move to get up at all. He just lies there, barely registering the cold and the moisture of the snow except in that it feels nice against his heated skin.

But then America is talking to him. He should get up, right? He probably should, or America will know something is wrong.

With shaking arms, he wrenches his upper body out of the snow and sits up with a swaying motion. Everything is sort of grey and swimming in his vision for just a second, but it rights itself after that, at least just in time for a deep cough to wrack England's body.

This is all quite an ordeal just to answer such a simple question. Eventually, though, he does, in a very distracted manner.] Yeah, I tripped.

[Every moment England doesn't get up is more worry sneaking into the back of America's head. But finally he does sit up, at least. He sits up and coughs, and America frowns at him.] You shouldn't sit in the snow.

[Unsurprisingly, England continues sitting in the snow. It's only partially to spite America. Mostly, it's that he's trying to find the energy to move again despite the awful aching and fatigue in his body. He takes a deep breath and gives a weary sigh.] Idiot. I'm aware of that.

[Still, it takes him a very long moment to start moving again after saying that, and he's rather sluggish and unbalanced as he pulls himself and his heavy rucksack off of the ground.]

[America watches this process of England getting up and, once he's managed it, grabs his hand to drag him toward a house. It might be the house they left from.] Come on, let's take a break.

[England issues a small groan of complaint, but he doesn't even try to resist being pulled along. He feels short of breath just from standing up, so the idea of fighting to get America to let go of him seems like far too much trouble.

Still, he does protest, even if it sounds rather lacklustre.] I don't need a break.

You're totally sick, dude. [It's obvious!]

[Ugh.] It's not that bad.

[Yeah that's totally believable.]

It is that bad. [America will not be swayed! They're going inside, and England is going to sit on the couch.]

No it isn't.

[Still, England doesn't fight America's efforts. And when he's led to the couch, it doesn't take any convincing for him to collapse onto the cushions, head lolled against the backrest of the couch and eyes closed as he tries to catch his breath. He didn't even take off his rucksack.]

Jeez. [America pulls the backpack off of England himself, setting it down beside him.] Do we have a thermometer? [He's pretty sure they don't but he's checking the first aid kits anyway.]

[England doesn't pose any resistance to this gesture, either. He tries to run his stock through his head, but it's not easy when the pressure in his sinuses feels like it's squashing any extended trains of thought.] I don't think so.

[Though it would be easy to tell just from touching his skin that England has a fever.]

[America puts a hand to England's forehead, instead, and--well, okay, that's definitely a fever.] Just stay right there. [Not that England looks like he's moving. But anyway, America is going to use some snow and a cloth to get something cold to maybe help bring that down a little, or at least help England feel a bit better.]

[England manages not to flee the house while America retrieves snow. Good job, England! He does look on the verge of sleep when America returns, though.

He stirs again when the cold cloth is pressed against his face, blearily eyeing America and vaguely considering the colour of his eyes.] You don't have to do that.

[Her own worries aside, Luna had to admit she didn't know what would be different when it came to the health of a literal personification of a country. She'd prodded as she had felt she needed to, just by what she'd been seeing from England over the last few days. He looked awful, after all, and to blindly ignore that went against her nature. But she'd let it be when he'd trucked on as usual. It might be better, then, to trust him to know himself and his health before she took any medical action. Not to mention she didn't want to bother the poor man unnecessarily.

That, of course, all goes out the window when he pitches forward into the nearest drift. She's a few steps ahead of him when she hears his weight hit the snow, turning around with a confusion that quickly melts into alarm.]

A-ah, oh my goodness-- [She nearly trips into the drift herself as she backtracks and messily drops to her knees, a gentle grip on his shoulder.] England? England, are you okay?

[Someone is calling his name. Luna, probably. He's travelling with Luna. But everything is a bit spinny and sore right now, and it's hard to focus on anything but the pain in his chest that lights up when he lets out a heavy cough into the snow.

He can't answer until the coughing spell passes, at which point he tries to at least shift onto his side so he can answer her. He tries a dismissive wave of the hand, but it's a bit more uncoordinated and sloppy a movement than what would usually be expected of England.] I'm all right.

...I'm sorry, but I don't think you are at all.

[It's evident in her tone that she doesn't want to argue over this, her brow knit tight at his fit of coughing and sheer flippancy over it.

But it wasn't in her to scold him for that. She might fuss, but not to the extent of disrespect.

She wasn't Clayton.]

Please, let's get you out of the snow... you're far too pale... [The back of her hand presses against his forehead, checking his temperature.]

1]
[There were a couple things happening-

First being that the exposure effects kicked in on level three pain for Zell.
The second thing is them running into one of those on the most dangerous list.

So, stabbing pains in the middle of a fight? Didn't really go well for the fighter. Zell is now bloodied and tempted to just curl in on himself in the snow. The criminal has been caught at least. Too bad the @Admin wasn't taking medical emergency requests any more.]

2]
[Zell is suffering from a fever, has on and off chills, and is just a miserable mess. He's sore, aching, and moving slowly. He's bundled with a blanket and still trying to move around to take care of Mochi.]

3]
[Your character shows up injured or sick!]

[ Jim's catching Zell before he falls, a shoulder under his arm and a steadying hand on his chest. Even so he staggers a little under the weight as he guides them toward shelter as slowly as Zell needs. He's keeping his mind blank until they're somewhere that it's safe to think again - just keeping an eye on their boots crunching in the snow. ]

-Still with me, Sunshine?

[He's going to lightly chuckle before falling into a coughing fit. There might be internal bleeding some where, or at least bruising. Fun. He doesn't talk until he finally]

Looks like you caught me, Stars. [He sounds tired, but he's still ambling forward. Letting Jim guide him as he concentrates on moving. Just have to keep moving as to not screw them both over. Have to keep going to make sure Jim makes it safe.]

Yeah, I'm still with you. [Finally answering the question. One foot at a time. Issue is, he doesn't even know how long time has past.] How long until lockdown?

Illness/Injury Meme

Brian

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SORRY FOR LATE brain was a bit overwhelmed

s'ok :3

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Ecks, who has scurvy

England

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oh boy oh boy

YEAH!!!

Re: YEAH!!!

With Options

1 - what's responsibility idk u.u

<3