checkin | video

[The few days it's taken to adjust have been, well - Sam is not going to use the word 'Hell' because he's actually been, and this is crappy but it doesn't come close. Still, anyone who hasn't seen him yet might be a little alarmed at what's being broadcast: six feet and four inches of sickly sasquatch, valiantly trying to address the network, appallingly pale, sallow-faced and bloodshot-sunken-eyed.]

Hey. Uh - Sam. I'm new. I guess this is a, uh, a thing that, that people do. Is introduce themselves. And I get that - we're all looking for a way out.

[Auspicious beginnings. Who knows if anyone's even getting this? Nevertheless, he continues.]

Okay. So. No promises, but there's something I can try. Kinda like a ward, or a spell. [Magic exists, surprise. The few people he's already talked to have expressed a kind of varied interest in this sort of thing, so caution be damned.] Anyone wants to help, I'll need a couple things.

First is - salt. Table salt, any kind will do. Second? Matches, a lighter, anything that can make sparks, even for a few seconds. And then I'll need something to write with, marker, pen, spray paint - I don't care. Anything along those lines.

[He looks at something off-screen, mouth briefly twisting in what might best be categorized as 'disgust'.]

I have food to trade for it. Heard that's kind of a limited resource these days. Food and, uh. [He squints at something.] Neosporin. If anyone, y'know, needs that.

[Yeah, he doesn't get it either. He jerks off frame for a moment, face buried in his elbow. It's not enough to fully stifle the ragged, fierce coughs that leave his shoulders shuddering. Finally, signs of life trickle back through the feed, albeit muffled and with their subject mostly lurched off camera as he mutters in his more characteristic deadpan, wearily sardonic, 'so-done-with-this-shit' tone.]

Also. If anyone happens to have some aspirin on them, that'd be great.

[There's the rattling of trembling, uncoordinated fingertips trying to navigate the tablet, and the feed snaps off.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Much as he wishes this were an easy fix, somehow he's thinking 'near death by Trials of Hell' isn't fixable, at least not in the conventional sense.]

Well, I don't have a lotta reason to hang onto it. You guys wouldn't happen to have any painkillers to swap for, would you?

If we had any of those, I'd fight people away from them with my bare hands... [There's an inflexion of humour, but haha her life.]

After the first month, pain becomes another bedmate. You get over it.

[He huffs once, bitter and uneven and humorless.]

Don't I know it. [That's like his whole life, right there.]

Neosporin's yours, or the hospital's, or whichever. Any way I can send it your way or theirs?

[What, hers? She's not sure that's how it works -- Raven doesn't just get things handed to her, for no reason. It doesn't feel right, to hog the thing.

After a brief debate with the ugly, hurt side of her conscience, she shakes her head.]

Infirmary's set up in room 202.

[Ugh, stairs. Well, he's had a few days to rest up, so surely he can manage a couple stairs, right?]

I can get it there. Pretty soon, anyway. Walking is still pretty, you know. [He wiggles a hand, vague and noncommittal, the kinesic equivalent of a long 'ehhhhhh' sound.]

[Her eyebrows raise, after which she lifts the device and aims it towards her feet. The left one, from above the knee down, is encased in a sleek looking metalic brace.

And if there's a way to move the camera dryly, she'd be doing that. She comes back on screen.]

I know.

[Ah. Sam ducks his head, almost apologetic.]

I guess you do.

Like I said. You get used to it.

[In some respects, Sam's been lucky. Shot, stabbed, cursed, killed - but he's always bounced back. Well. More or less. Usually less.]

Yeah. That happen here?

Ah, no, I came with it. Here it's just been ghosts, starvation and freezing.

So far.

And the exploding egg, yeah. Good times.

Guess we both got the short end of that deal. [Battling the monster flu's no fun, but at least he's...reasonably sure it'll clear up. Hopefully. Probably? He's gonna say yes.]

I heard about the ghost thing. Salt's a good idea if they come back. But, uhhh. Haven't heard about the eggs. That's a new one.

Only a few of us got hit, so it might be why. [She tries a little smile.] Yeah, what are you in for?

Got pulled at the tail end of pretty much the worst case of the flu imaginable. Right before I was supposed to die, technically. Hence the, uh -

[He gestures loosely at his face, the dark sleepless half moons stamped beneath both eyes and the unhealthy pallor, and resolves the gesture with the barest lift of his shoulders as if to say, 'but hey, what can you do?']

Really hoping it's not permanent, but I have no idea.

Hope it's not contagious, too.

It's not.

[Just no one else try to close the Gates of Hell anytime soon, and everything will be absolutely okay on that front.]

I mean - would you believe me if I said it was magic flu?

[A fake sneeze.]

Sorry. Developping allergies to that word.

[He snorts faintly, but it's more darkly amused than anything else.]

Yeah, no, I actually get that. Almost dying kinda had that effect.

[As opposed to actually dying. Which also had that effect, strangely enough.]

Freezing, starving, going slowly insane with cabin fever...and then people say it could be magic.

[What an eyeroll.] I'll buy it with a pinch of salt.

[He inclines his head, dryly sympathetic.] It's comforting, knowing that 'magic' just kinda opens up more ways to kill you.

Salt's useful, though. Keeps most ghosts out.

I'm still looking forward to the day someone tries to sell me on it being great.

Mostly it sucks. But right now? [He shrugs helplessly.] I'm - not really seeing a lotta other options.

I'll keep a lookout for salt, since you're donating. While you're there, ask Clarke Griffin to give you a check up.

Thanks.

[He makes sure to remember that name - 'Clarke Griffin' - and he'd write it down if he had anything to write it down with. Oh well. Hopefully he's with it enough to remember.]

Unless anyone's got painkillers, not a whole lot to be done.

[He wiggles his fingers, a morbid display of jazzhands.] ~Magic.

[Well that - last thing at least gets a little laugh from her, brittle and bitter.]

I'm Raven.

Sam. [Right. She knew that, because he said that. Thinking through a fever is hard okay.] Nice to meet you, though circumstances, well. [He makes a show of looking around the dismal little room.] Could be better.

[video]

pajarita - 2015-05-13 06:41 (UTC) - Expand

unpurify - 2015-05-13 06:43 (UTC) - Expand

video_001

[video]

[video]

[video]

[video]

[video]

[video]

[video]

[video]

[video]

[video]

[video]

[video]

[video]

[video]

[video]

[video]

[video]

[video]

[video]

[video]

[video]

[video]

[video]

[video]

[video]

[video]

[video]