ArchivedLogs:Es Tut Mir Leid

Es Tut Mir Leid
Dramatis Personae Pedro & Anette
In Absentia	2015-11-09 Cures are discussed. (Part of TP-Flu Season)
Location <BOM> The Spatters - Ascension Island
The cabin is a little warm today, the fire has been going in the fireplace for a bit. The smell of coffee fills the main room, and the news plays faintly in the background, coming from a small, portable radio. Stretched out on the couch is Pedro, dressed in a new pair of overalls. A small sketchpad rests in his lap, and he scratches away at it with a soft pencil. One of the two bedroom doors suddenly swings open and Anette walks out, a blanket wrapped tightly about her. With a determined gait, she walks past Pedro and aims straight for the kitchenette. She opens the refrigerator door and kneels down, digging around almost violently for a few minutes, grumbling under her breath. "Dammit, we have nothing," she says, not quite slamming the door but closing it with some force as she rises and turns around. It's now she either acknowledges Pedro's presence, her eyes widening and a hand clamps over her mouth. "Es tut mir leid," she says, switching over to German, the only other language she knows. Pedro blinks at Anette as she walks by, and sits up to peer at the fridge while she rummages through it. Her grumble and English have him tilting his ears back, and he shakes his head. He flips the page on his pad of paper, and writes. < I can speak Spanish and French. I know American Sign Language, but it's poor, due to my hand structure. What did you want? I could go to the Lodge and get it for you. > Anette quickly glances over the written note, given a quick shake of her head at the suggested languages. She rushes back into her room, disappearing for a few seconds. She quickly returns with a notebook and pen of her own and begins scribbling down her message, forsaking grammar in the name of speed as she walks across the room. < Only know German. Thanks but probably wouldn't do good. Food not filling anymore. Cravings but don't know what. > Anette plants herself in the furthest chair she can from Pedro before holding up her notebook for him to read. Pedro nods to her after she holds up her note, and he cants his head to one side. He begins writing. < A craving for something but you don't know? > His ears perk straight up and he hastily scribbles. < Are you feeling... extra aggressive? > Anette takes a deep breath at Pedro's message, taking her time with her next message. < Yes. I'm losing my mind. > Strangely enough, her yellow eyes which are usually fierce even on a good day carry a different mood. Fear? Pedro nods to her and begins writing anew. Carefully. < They have a cure. It was said on the radio. The treatment is free, and they will not be asking for insurance papers, identification, or proof of immigration status or registration status. You just gotta walk in. I'll go with you. > An angry growl escapes Anette's pressed lip, her suppressing the urge to speak as a wave of anger rises. She quickly scribbles down another message, taking less time with this one. < Don't trust them. Will wait for Regan to get cure. Or might go with Daken. > 'Might' is underlined repeatedly. The batlike ears flatten to Pedro's head, and he shakes it. < You can't wait much longer, from the sound of it. You're going to end up hurting someone, maybe someone you care about. And even if you don't, the disease you carry will continue to spread. It's just a shot. Why wait? I don't trust them either. But I won't let them hurt you or keep you. Please? > Anette shakes her head frantically as she continues to write. < No. It's a trap, it's always a trap. Regan helped the cure last time. She can bring the cure here. > She holds the page up a few moments before deciding she needs to say more. < I won't hurt anyone. I can protect from myself. I'm fighting this. > < It's not a trap. > The young man lets out a huff of breath. {Stubborn woman.}, he says in Spanish. < Look, Killian is sick. This thing jumped all his forms and he has got it. You need to get this shot. How do you know that Regan hasn't worked on this one? What if I went and got one for you? Like, brought home the needle or whatever? > Anette's eyes widen as gets to the part of Killian being sick. Quickly, she closes her eyes and digs her talons into the chair (likely leaving permanent holes) and she slowly breathes, trying to bring her anger down. Once she's contained herself mostly, she picks up the pen, writing out a message. < I did that. He was here. I gave it to him. > She begins a new page, thinking over her words as she writes them. < Even if not a trap, can't make myself visible. Wanted, videos of me destroying Sentinels. Labelled a terrorist. If you can bring it here, fine. But I can't go out. > Pedro eyes her and rubs his face. < You can't camouflage yourself somehow? > He holds up a hand and shakes his head, < Nevermind. I'll see if they will let me bring it to you. > The young man looks to her again, writing and holding up the next sheet of paper. < It is not your fault. He was visiting places and trying to see how many people are sick, how many of us are sick. He's been exposed many times over, I would guess. That's the only way he could get sick, from how he was talking. > The batty one rips that sheet away once she is done reading. < Is there anything you want or need? Anything at all, before I go? Srs. > Anette begins to write something but that message goes unfinished, quickly torn out and crumpled. She gives a quiet sigh and writes again. < Maybe you're right. Cannibal sandwich sounds good. Or a very rare sirloin. > Pedro stares at her for a bit, before nodding and standing. < I'll see what they have at the lodge. You stay here, please? And what the heck is a cannibal sandwich? > Anette finally cracks the first smile of the evening as she writes out her response. < Raw ground beef on rye bread. German. Delicious. > Pedro makes a face and sticks out his rather long tongue. < That sounds nasty. But I'll make it if we have it. Did you want it heated a little, so it's not cold? > Anette shakes her head, giving a quick look of disgust herself as she quickly writes her message. < No! > Pedro shudders and heads for the door. < Okay, I'll see what they got and I'll get you something, and then go check out the shot situation. You sit tight. > He slips out the door, shutting it quickly to keep the cold out.