08-09-2008, 05:41 PM
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Nikita was quite aware of their little epidemic — mainly because she had a case of it herself. She had restricted herself to drinking only water once she had gotten sick, and that was powerfully hard to keep to. But she did it. Something disturbing that she had to force herself to do was to eat. She didn’t seem to get hungry anymore — she only went straight to weakness that came from nothing in your stomach. The female coyote was very angry at how her body was betraying her, especially in the threshold of a new life here in Esper Hollow. It wasn’t making settling in any easier. And, as she drained her fifth bottle of water today and considered getting more, she figured that she might as well distract herself with something. She swallowed — the action painful down her dry throat — and coughed a few times before hauling herself to her feet and meandering back towards the main camp.
She knew that Laurel was pretty distraught about the spreading sickness, but perhaps her own illness had shielded her eyes from the full view of it. Now, however, she could really tell. Neither she nor Laurel were really picky when it came to any sort of alcohol — it seemed to disappear at a remarkable rate when they were around — but they normally had the mind to not get completely wasted on it. She could remember that Laurel mostly only got in such a state when he was having a great time with some good friends, or was in a pit of stress. Circumstances now would point, obviously, to the latter option. Steeling herself in to go and talk to him, she tried her hardest to erase all obvious signs of sickness from her face, from her body. She made herself stand up taller, focused her eyes, and set her jaw strongly. If she had to suffer, she could do so herself; him worrying wouldn’t help.
The female were-coyote approached quietly, only announcing her presence once she was close enough to reach up and place a hand on his shoulder. She wanted to get closer, of course, but she was more afraid of getting him sick. Not that that could keep her totally away. “I do not envy you in the morning,” she murmured, her voice rough despite her efforts. It was obvious of his condition, not only from the way he stood and the expression on his face, but his general attitude. Plus the smell of booze helped, too. Nevertheless, sometimes she thought she knew him too well. She smiled faintly. She doubted he envied how she felt now, though. It might be an equal trade-off.
Nikita was quite aware of their little epidemic — mainly because she had a case of it herself. She had restricted herself to drinking only water once she had gotten sick, and that was powerfully hard to keep to. But she did it. Something disturbing that she had to force herself to do was to eat. She didn’t seem to get hungry anymore — she only went straight to weakness that came from nothing in your stomach. The female coyote was very angry at how her body was betraying her, especially in the threshold of a new life here in Esper Hollow. It wasn’t making settling in any easier. And, as she drained her fifth bottle of water today and considered getting more, she figured that she might as well distract herself with something. She swallowed — the action painful down her dry throat — and coughed a few times before hauling herself to her feet and meandering back towards the main camp.
She knew that Laurel was pretty distraught about the spreading sickness, but perhaps her own illness had shielded her eyes from the full view of it. Now, however, she could really tell. Neither she nor Laurel were really picky when it came to any sort of alcohol — it seemed to disappear at a remarkable rate when they were around — but they normally had the mind to not get completely wasted on it. She could remember that Laurel mostly only got in such a state when he was having a great time with some good friends, or was in a pit of stress. Circumstances now would point, obviously, to the latter option. Steeling herself in to go and talk to him, she tried her hardest to erase all obvious signs of sickness from her face, from her body. She made herself stand up taller, focused her eyes, and set her jaw strongly. If she had to suffer, she could do so herself; him worrying wouldn’t help.
The female were-coyote approached quietly, only announcing her presence once she was close enough to reach up and place a hand on his shoulder. She wanted to get closer, of course, but she was more afraid of getting him sick. Not that that could keep her totally away. “I do not envy you in the morning,” she murmured, her voice rough despite her efforts. It was obvious of his condition, not only from the way he stood and the expression on his face, but his general attitude. Plus the smell of booze helped, too. Nevertheless, sometimes she thought she knew him too well. She smiled faintly. She doubted he envied how she felt now, though. It might be an equal trade-off.