ArchivedLogs:Rude Awakening

Rude Awakening
Dramatis Personae Lucien, Matt
In Absentia	2015-11-03 "{Luci, what...}" (Part of Flu Season TP.)
Location <NYC> Tessier Residence - Upstairs - Greenwich Village
The upper floor of this apartment holds the bedrooms; one master bedroom and three smaller ones. One has been converted to a lounge, couches and /more/ books and a large desk by its window. The other two smaller bedrooms upstairs, in strange departure from the rest of the house's style, seem decorated more with younger occupants in mind. One of them, styled largely in purples and blues, has a pair of twin beds with matching butterfly-patterned bedspreads and a similar fabric for the window curtains; a wealth of stuffed toys is neatly arranged on both. The other is very green, its bedspread green-and-black striped; the walls are covered with a host of movie posters. Between the two bedrooms stands a bathroom, cheerfully decorated with colourful mosaic fish in its tiles. The master bedroom, in contrast to the paler, earthy scheme outside, is warm and rich, decorated in deep reds. The exquisitely crafted furniture is dark, with reddish undertones to the mahogany wood. The king-sized bed is stocked with an overabundance of pillows, and more cushions rest in the windowseat. One wall holds a spacious walk-in closet. A table, low to the ground, sits on a thick rug between the bed and the entrance, the right height for kneeling rather than chairs; the checked pattern carved into its surface marks it as a chessboard, though the pieces are not in evidence. The master bathroom adjoins the bedroom; it is large, done in black marble, with an overly spacious glass-walled shower and a similarly large jacuzzi bathtub. It's early -- quite early, in the morning. Outside the world is grey and dim, the sun not quite committed, yet, to rising. There's already signs of life downstairs, though; Lucien has groggily emerged from his study, trudged off to the kitchen, brewed a cup of tea. Trudged back to his study. He's settled back, still bleary-eyed, on his futon, pulling a book into his lap, though his eyes don't quite focus on it. Stare. Staaare. It's only after he's been staring at the same page for a good ten minutes that his hand lifts, rubbing at his temple. Then lowering. He takes a swallow of tea. Then, very abruptly, lifts his hand to his temple again. Sets his book and tea both aside, his quiet, "Maudit," swift and harsh under his breath. Still in pajama pants, he hurries up the stairs to Matt's room, fist thumping twice against the door as a precursor to barging straight in. Lit only by a little bluebird nightlight, wrapped in a cocoon of blankets and propped up on a small mountain of pillows, Matt is still half asleep when Lucien enters. A battered paperback copy of Neil Gaiman's /Neverwhere/ lies beside him in bed. He blinks blearily, uncomprehending. "{Luci, what...}" "{Talk to me.}" Lucien sits down on the bed beside Matt, resting one hand lightly on Matt's arm. There's a strain, within him, a shift and flex of abilities currently working rather furiously to smooth over -- /something/, fight back against a churn of unpleasant symptoms unsuccessfully attempting to gain primacy. Lucien's eyes cast about the room, fall to the book beside Matt. "{Here.}" He opens it to a page at random. "{Read this. Aloud.}" "{Is this about the X-Men thing, because I've really been thinking about it and...}" Matt still does not look wholly awake, but he has gotten far enough along to register some alarm. He probes gently at the biochemical storm in Lucien, trying to discover its boundaries, its causes, or its effects. He looks down at the book open in front of him. Squints at it, then turns on the reading lamp on his nightstand. "Richard began to understand darkness: darkness as something solid and real, so much more than a simple absence of light." Pausing, he glances up at Lucien, then continues. "He felt it touch his skin, questing, moving, exploring: gliding through his mind. It slipped into his lungs, behind his eyes, into his mouth..." He continues reading until his brother tells him to stop. Lucien closes his eyes, his fingers curling loosely around his brother's arm. Shifting back, he settles in, leaning his head back against the headboard with jaw slightly set. The churn of activity within him is a constant, his mind fighting back some sort of pain. Some sort of encroaching illness that /tries/ to drag it down into a state of muddled fatigue and disorientation. Outwardly, he certainly seems quite healthy; no fever, to the touch, no sniffling, no anything. Just quiet, as Matt reads. A faint tightening of his grip, about a page and a half in. Once. Then again. Then again. "/Merde/." He sits up, breath sucked in in a sharp hiss. "{We need to get you to a doctor.}" "{A doctor?}" Matt echoes incredulously. "{I know I have been rather dramatic about it, but surely this isn't yet serious enough to demand medical attention? They'll just prescribe rest and fluids. But you...}" He closes his eyes, as if just confirming what he had sensed. "{/You/ are sick...but with no ordinary illness, I have never felt your abilities doing /this/ before.}" "{A doctor,}" Lucien emphasizes, his hand squeezing tighter around Matt's arm. "{Before this /gets/ more serious. You were fortunate enough not to see this disease before.}" His jaw clenches, a tight line hardening it. "{And with swift treatment, perhaps you never truly will. You have already once returned to us from the dead. Once was more than enough.}" Matt opens his mouth, then closes it again, green eyes wide with horror. "{This? Oh gods, /this/ is the zombie plague?}" Then his eyes grow even wider, all trace of drowsiness fled. He twists his hand around to grip his brother's arm. "{And I've infected you, and gods know who else!}" "{This.}" Lucien's muscles are tense. His other arm comes up, wrapping around Matt's back to pull him close. Hug him tight. "{Many people, no doubt. You said there had been many at the school sick -- we should tell them. If you didn't know, they may not either.}" His lips press together. "{But you need to see a doctor. This is the zombie plague, yes. But there is a cure.}" The set of his smile is grim. "{I should know. I made it.}"