Sadness Hurricane log

[9/15/2013 12:03:57 AM] Brofessor: He bears his cross down Mainstreet, slim gold chain heavy against his breast, each step sending pain up his quickly numbing arms as the cat carrier shifts in his white-knuckled grip. Pablo meows at his side, ears pressed flat against the cold rain.

“Sorry…” He mutters, his own voice muffled in his ears. “Just a bit further.” He keeps telling himself, bites his lip until the skin give under long canines as he stubbornly forces one foot in front of the other. If he squints, he is almost sure he can see the street he needs to turn down. “Just a bit…” His backpack feels so heavy and he wishes he could stop and rest, let his stomach settle and the tightness in his chest dissipate so he could at least breathe. One step further, just one more. For Pablo and Valerie did not deserve to be in the rain, Pablo muddying his paws, refusing to be carried for so long.

He’s at Zach’s house before he knows it, vision swimming and head light. His cats are meowing, Pablo scratching at the door. He feels so distant, swaying where he stands. Come on. “S-sorry.” It’s all he can do to slump heavily against the door, knowing if he shifted his grip on the carrier the whole thing would go tumbling. He couldn't do that.
[9/15/2013 12:36:02 AM] WordBird: Chris hadn't been answering his texts. Or his phone calls. Not since he called Zach after getting home from school the day he shifted and scared the shit out of Dedan, the day he was most dreading going home. That call that still makes the hair on the back of Zacharie's neck stand up. He begged Zacharie, literally begged him, to take care of Valerie and Pablo, his cats, were anything to happen to him. Made him promise on the name of the Lord. He didn't want to. He told Chris no, you're not going to die, don't talk like that. We'll see each other on Monday. It'll be fine. But Chris be begged him. He made the swear.

And ever since, Zach has been texting and calling, trying to keep in contact, and now he's afraid. Chris was fearing for his life. He made Zacharie promise. What if he WAS in danger. What if he wasn't answering because he'd died? What if he never saw Christopher Nowell again?

And just as he was starting to panic, there was thumping sound at the door, accompanied by the meowing and scratching of a cat. Zach wasn't in the right mental state to deal with some stupid stray cat making a fit in front of his apartment but if he didn't, it'd drive him insane.

Growling, Zacharie heads to the door, opening it and definitely not expecting to see the exact reason for his fretting slumped on his doorstep with a bag, a carrier, and his hairless pet cats. Zach stares blankly for a minute, before jerking back into movement, bending down beside his friend, shouting "Chris!!"
[9/15/2013 12:53:00 AM] Brofessor: It takes a long moment for Chris to respond, Valerie filling his owner’s silence with panicked mewls. Pablo rubbed briefly on Zach’s leg before darting inside, joining his brother in his noise once safely out of the rain.

“..ss..sorry.” Chris slurs, attempting to stumble to his feet. His legs are shaking, red blotches half removed by rainwater on his sleeves hard to see in the low light. The carrier is temporarily left on the ground. “C-can I come in?”
[9/15/2013 1:03:12 AM] WordBird: "Wh- I-" His hand smacks against the forehead-area of his mask in minor exasperation, "Fucking- Yes! Why do you even have to ask?? Get the fuck inside, Chris!"

He doesn't even wait, getting his hands under Chris' armpits(he's long sincer learned Chris does NOT like to be touched on his forearms), helping to haul him back up to his feet and pull him inside.

"Holy shit, Chris, what the hell happened?? It's past 8 pm, what are you doing out in the streets? In the RAIN? with your CATS??" And then he answers his own questions with his last one, "What'd your parents do, Chris?"
[9/15/2013 1:29:02 AM] Brofessor: "N..not now." Chris said, stumbling inside. "Get Val for me?" He asks softly, backpack dropping to the floor with a leaden thunk. The lanky boy groans softly as his balance shifts and the world takes a dive to the side, nearly dragging him with it. "Shit..." He finds the wall, breath coming hard and heavy. "Uh... Just. Just set him down and open the. The carrier door. I need to... I need a shower." He swallows, gently removing himself from the wall. Ok. He would be ok, he just had to change and rebandage his arms and grab a bucket or something so he could throw up. Fuck. Fuck, he didn't have much time.

Funny, the walk had taken him hours, but it was the distance to the bathroom that seemed impossible now. He forces himself all the same.
[9/15/2013 1:35:42 AM] WordBird: "Yeah. Yeah alright." Zach says, grabbing the backpack and carrier without a second thought, placing them inside. A million questions continue to run through his head. But Chris said Not Now. And he respected his friend's boundaries. He bends and opens the carrier door, gathering the timid cat in his arms as Valerie slinks out. "Go ahead and take a shower, then. I don't mind."

He watches Chris hobble down the hall, every stumble and wobble making Zacharie jerk, wanting to hurry to Chris' side and support him as he walks. But he'd probably deny the help. Zacharie's as good at reading emotions as it is impossible to read his own from his masked face. And Chris needed to be alone. If just for the moment.

When Chris finally makes it to the bathroom, Zach finally gets up to follow him, but just to make sure the door is shut all the way. Through the cheap wood he says "If you need to stay here, that's perfectly okay, friend. You can stay in the extra bedroom."
[9/15/2013 1:51:35 AM] Brofessor: "Thank you." And he sounds so, so tired from where he sits on the bathroom floor. The process is slow, his damp sweater and pants left in a heap on the floor as he drags himself into the shower, turning his open wounds up into the warm spray. He can't quite be assed to properly clean himself, can't be assed to move for God knows how long. He almost falls asleep there, makeup washed away to expose his irritated lower eyes.

But eventually, he does move again. The water off, he roots through Zach's cubboards for a fresh roll of bandages. His fingers are clumsy and shaking, and he curses himself for his weakness every step of the way, but his arms are wrapped and he manages to pull on his underwear and hide his upper body in a towel. Now to get to the spare room. Fuck.

"Zach." He calls, legs rebelling against him as he stumbles back into he living room. "Zach 'm gonna just. Couch."
[9/15/2013 1:56:28 AM] WordBird: By then, Zacharie was in the kitchen, making himself a cup of coffee. When he hears Chris is out of the shower, he opens up the fridge and grabs something from inside, shaking it as he walks into the livingroom.

"How about a drink first?" He asks quietly, almost more of a plea than a question. He approaches the couch, reaching down to lightly press a cold, unopened and freshly shaken bottle of cow's blood against Chris' cheek. "Got this for you. In case you wanted to come over sometime. Didn't think I'd be offering it to you like this."

He nudges it against Chris' cheek once more, "Drink it. You look like you need it. That is, you look like death warmed over. At least have a few gulps before you pass out for 12 hours or something."
[9/15/2013 2:04:56 AM] Brofessor: He flinches away from the cold, groaning into the couch as he curls upon himself. "can't." comes the muffled responce. His long fingers dig into the towel wrapped around him. "feel sick." Chris admits lamely, shutting his eyes against the world. Valerie and Pablo keep their distance, tending to eachother while keeping an eye on the pale teen.

"sorry." He mutters, shoving away that part of him that could just smell the blood, even through the thick bottle. That was not needed, not desired, and he would only throw it up again. No point in wasting it.
[9/15/2013 2:08:50 AM | Edited 2:09:42 AM] WordBird: Zacharie just nods and walks away without a word, returning the bottle to the refrigerator. Maybe tomorrow. Then he walks off into the hall.

A few minutes later he's back at the couch again, a blanket folded over one arm and a pillow in the other. Placing the pillow down for the moment, he unfurls the blanket, shaking it out a few times, before laying it over Chris. Then he nudges Chris's head with the corner of the pillow, silently asking him to lift his head so Zacharie can tuck the pillow under it.

"Do you think you'll be able to handle a breakfast, tomorrow?" He asks, always-muffled voice even more quiet.
[9/15/2013 2:18:03 AM] Brofessor: "mmng." Is all Zach gets out of him, his four eyes slipping open as he raises himself just enough to allow the pillow to slip under him. The movement makes him gag, the dizziness of bloodloss compounding with the purgatives now begining to effect his system. He quickly clamps a hand to his mouth, eyes going wide as he forces himself to breathe and try to keep it down.
[9/15/2013 2:21:27 AM] WordBird: At that, Zacharie's eyes widen behind his mask, and he hurries to the kitchen to grab an old bucket from under the sink, returning as quickly as he can to place it by the couch, near Chris' head, with a murmer that there's a bucket right here if he needs it.

And then he finally fetches his coffee from the kitchen, adding some sugar and a bit of powdered creamer. Zach makes his way back to the living room, slumping into an armchair, taking a sip of his sub-par coffee and staring at his unwell best friend.
[9/15/2013 1:27:16 PM] *** Brofessor has changed the conversation picture. ***
[9/15/2013 1:56:59 PM] Brofessor: He feels bile bubbling in his throat as the bucket it placed before him. Pale hands pull it close as he leans over the side of the couch, stomach cinching as he hacks thick sludge. His throat feels raw by the end of it, tears pricking his eyes. He breathes, coughs, and pulls back only to find himself there again moments later, heaving air and acid. He whines out muttered oaths mixed with hushed curses breathlessly over his own sickness. It was always bad, always, always, but the burn seemed greater this time all the same.

Finally, it seems to pass long enough that he can breathe. He spits the taste from his mouth, collapsing back onto the couch. "merde..." His voice is harsh as he drags his hand across his face. "Sorry, Zach."
[9/15/2013 2:04:11 PM] WordBird: "Don't apologize, friend." Zacharie says, voice quiet, "I put that bucket there for that exact reason." Semi-joke aside, Zacharie sighs, watching his friend heave and groan and mutter and all around be miserable on his couch.

After a couple moments' silence, he speaks up again. "...You know, you're welcome to stay as long as you like. I've got plenty of room. Think of it as an extended sleepover." He clears his throat and takes another long sip of his coffee, "And don't apologize for my offer. You're my friend, Chris. And I'd be one shit friend if I didn't offer you comfort. Forgive my cliche, but, mi casa es su casa, amigo."
[9/15/2013 2:34:53 PM] Brofessor: He's quick to hide his bandaged arms under the sheets as the fact that this isn't his home, his room burns across his mind once more. "I'll be out of your hair soon." Chris's second set of eyes remain closed now that the panic has passed, lids irritated and swollen now that they were uncovered. "Val and Pablo, however..." God his head hurts. He should get himself something to drink. He shifts slowly, trying to push himself up only to wince as his injuries protest hist movement. "ffuuck..." They had cut deep this time. He should have stopped bleeding by now, but he could feel it begin to stain his bandages, though he knew it was not to the point where he would see the marks.
[9/15/2013 2:43:52 PM] WordBird: Questions run through Zach's mind a mile a minute again, and it takes a lot of self control not to let them pour out onto his sickly friend. "I'll take care of the cats, but I'd rather you stayed here for as long as possible. You're not a bother, honest."

He stands up, intended to take his now empty coffee mug to the sink. He stops along the way, by the couch. "You need anything? Water, food? Blood? Perhaps not so much need, but want? Just let me know, friend."
[9/15/2013 2:58:53 PM] Brofessor: "Water." He manages to get out between harsh breaths. "Maybe crackers... Just a few. If you have them." He wouldn't be able to keep them down, but it would prevent him from getting dehydrated. "Er... a warm compress for my... my eyes." Concealing them for far longer than he would have normally really did not help the building infection. He sinks back down into the couch once he hears Zach moving, thankful for the offer. Refraining from getting up himself really did help keep his head somewhat clear.
[9/15/2013 3:32:50 PM] WordBird: Zach nods, heading into the kitchen. He comes back just a minute later with a cold bottle of water and a package of saltines, which he sets on Chris' belly, since that's within reach. And then he's off again, down the hall to the bathroom.

When he returns yet again, he's got a warm, damp towlette for Chris to place over his eyes. He sits on the edge of the couch, by his friend's legs, holding the compress out to him. "Here, friend. Are your... are your eyes alright?"
[9/15/2013 3:40:53 PM] Brofessor: The cold water sooths his throat the second he swallows, taking the edge off his nausea. He even manages to fumble open the pack of crackers, chewing slowly on one when Zach returns. He sets them both aside when Zach returns, immediately pressing the compress against his lower eyes. "Probably infected." He admits with a sigh. The heat feels so nice, the itching mitigated by the heat. "Thank you." He says again, feeling Pablo join him on the couch.
[9/15/2013 3:43:30 PM] WordBird: "You don't need to thank me, but you're welcome." He gently scratches the cat behind the ears, muttering "miaou miaou" to him, though keeping his eye on Chris.

"I doubt there's any chance you want to talk about why I found you on my doorstep in such a state." He says, taking a breath and sighing. "And I won't ask if you're okay, since I don't like it when you lie to me. So, is there anything you'd like me to get you?"
[9/15/2013 4:05:40 PM] Brofessor: Pablo purrs at the affection, licking Zach's fingers before going to curl on Chris's chest, pawing lightly before settling in. Chris whispers to the feline, shifting to put a hand over the furless cat. "You may need to move soon..." But he runs his fingers behind Pablo's ears all the same.

He swallows his words, coughs around thick desire to beg for blood, for a headless pig, a infant calf, a lame dog, anything. He feels sick. He feels discharge starting to stick against the compress. But he's fine. He's fine, despite the weakness in his arms and legs and breath. "A fresh compress would be welcome in a bit."
[9/20/2013 3:55:22 PM] WordBird: Zacharie just watches Chris for a few minutes, watches him interact with his dear sweet cat. He feels guilty. He could've done more, most likely, about Chris' home life with his family. He was suspecting more and more that something bad was going on. But he stayed distant about it, trying too hard to respect Chris' boundaries. And finding out Chris was a monster didn't make things much easier for him, but he should've gotten over it faster, should've been there more for his friend, should've done more. And now it's most certainly too late. But at least he's alive.

At the request for a fresh compress, Zach shifts and stands up. On his way to the hall, he pauses and turns back around, "You sure you don't want a drink of blood? It's just gonna go bad in the fridge if you don't drink it. It's not my cup of tea, so..."
[9/20/2013 4:18:43 PM] Brofessor: He's bent over the trash again by the time Zach turns back. "Can't." His voice is so weak, a slight tremor brought about by his mutual attempts to stay concious and responsive. "Purgatives." He finally managed, as if that one word explained everything. And in a way, it did - certainly in fewer words than Chris could manage right now. Zach would find the logic behind it, he was sure - Chris didn't know how the poison in his stomach would react to the blood, or if he could even keep it down long enough for it to have its desired effect. There was no point in having it, not this early in the night at least. "...Tomorrow." He added, rolling back onto the couch. It should be mostly out of his system by then, if past experience was anything to go by.
[9/20/2013 4:45:13 PM] WordBird: Zach wrinkles his nose behind his mask at the mention of purgatives. He has a lot of choice words about Chris' family and church... but he contains them. Chris doesn't need to hear them right now. "Tomorrow, then."

He vanishes into the bathroom, emerging about a minute later with another damp, warm towlette that he brings to Chris. "Need any more water, instead?" He asks. He's glad he was wearing his cat mask today. He hopes it feels more comforting to Chris. "Whatever you need, friend, just ask."
[9/20/2013 5:09:37 PM] Brofessor: He nods mutely, sighing softly as the compress is replaced. There was a small amount of gunk built up on the other one, not unlike pale yellow mucus and he was deeply sorry for smearing that on one of Zach's towlette. Eyes closed, Pablo slowly returns to his position on Chris's chest, Valerie eventually taking up space on his legs. Exhausted, and stomach momentarily more-or-less settled, he slips into unconciousness.
[9/20/2013 5:16:10 PM] WordBird: Leaning against the couch, Zacharie keeps an eye on him for a few minutes. When he moves, it's to retrieve a fresh bottle of water from the refrigerator and place it where Chris can reach should he wake up. Then he takes the bucket to empty out in the toilet and rinse, before replacing it by Chris' side as well.

Zach bumbles about for a while longer, making himself another cup of coffee and a few snacks, noting that his diet is finally starting to catch up to his waistline under his heavy sweaters(and not really entirely minding), grabbing a blanket for himself, and settling down in the armchair for the night. He's not leaving Chris' side if he can help it. Not right now.
[9/20/2013 5:38:01 PM] Brofessor: His sleep is light and restless, interupted every few hours to allow him to groap blindly for the bucket and take shakey drinks of water before being pulled back under. As dawn approaches he can't even manage that, simply slumping half off the couch, one hand on the floor near the bucket, the other trailing haphazardly. He's managed to spit up on the floor at least once, all water and bile.

The cats, meanwhile, had shifted positions again. Valerie perching on the back of the couch while Pablo paws gently at Zach's mask, trying his best to wake the boy up.
[9/29/2013 12:31:35 AM] WordBird: "Mrrhhh..." Zacharie growls under his breath, a muffled, disgruntled sound from under his mask. He pulls a hand from his blanket to sleepily swat at the cat's paw, like one would a fly.

When Pablo refuses to relent, he stirs, and is a bit startled to find the cat in his face instead of a fly. For a few moments he's terribly confused as to why Chris' naked cat is in his house waking him up, but then the previous night's events come back to him in a flood. Sitting up, holding Pablo against his chest, he turns and sees Chris hanging off the couch.

Sighing, Zacharie groggily stands up, letting the cat jump from his arms, and approaches the couch. He carefully tries to shake Chris' shoulder, trying to wake him. "Hey, Chris. You with me today? Or are you comatose? Blink once for yes, don't blink for no."
[9/29/2013 1:16:15 AM] Brofessor: He wakes easily enough, movements faulty as he pushes himself back on the couch. He blinks, rubbing at his eyes, muttering under his breath as he takes in the mess of the floor and the roughness of his throat. All the same, his blue upper eyes seem a bit clearer as he takes stalk of himself. "Shit.." He sighs at last. "I'll help clean." Frowning at the sound of his own voice, he downs the remaining water from last night. "I should be fine now." A bit weak physically, but fine enough that he could stand to do something to help make up for his sudden imposition.
[9/29/2013 1:24:07 AM | Removed 1:24:13 AM] WordBird: This message has been removed.
[9/29/2013 1:24:20 AM] WordBird: (( i hate the enter key ))
[9/29/2013 1:29:10 AM] WordBird: "No. No no no, amigo you're not doing any cleaning in your state." His voice is kind, but definitely stern. He's still clearly concerned. "You haven't even eaten yet. Besides, you're a guest. It isn't proper host etiquette to allow my guests to clean up. At least not initially."

He gives Chris a couple pats on the shoulder and stands up straight, stretching until his back pops. "How about I make us breakfast here in a minute? After I clean up the floor, of course."

He doesn't even wait for an answer before he's off to get some paper towels and a spray bottle of carpet cleaner. 'Resolve' or something. He sprays the formerly-watery bile mess on the floor, and lets it sit for a minute while the Resolve does its work.

"So while I wait on that, any ideas for breakfast? How about a drink?"
[9/29/2013 1:46:12 AM] Brofessor: "It's fine, I don't-" Chris began to protest, though he bit his tongue after a moment, allowing Zach to care for him momentarily. "Uh...mmh..." He frowns, drawing his legs in so they're out of the way. If Zach insisted on cleaning, he would just have to make himself as unobtrusive as possible and not demand much. It was only fair. "Broth if you have some." Chris could allow himself at least that. "Would like to take another shower first." His own skin felt disgusting, the scent of his sickness and the scent of his own blood sticking in his nose. The bandages needed a change, or at least a rewrapping and a liberal application of disinfectant.

"Yeah, gonna do that." He muttered, hauling himself off the couch. Though careful to avoid the carpet cleaner, he had to brace himself momentarily upon standing as the world span. Shit. Ok. Shower, a small amount of food, thumb through bible, sleep. Simple. It was the same schedual as always, just in a different location. He could do this. He breathes deep and even, and the world sets itself right again.
[9/29/2013 2:28:50 AM | Edited 2:33:32 AM] WordBird: "You go shower, friend," Zacharie said, folding the paper towels so that they'll be easier to scrub with, "By the time you're out this'll be cleaned up and I'll have breakfast going." He wasn't going to just make broth, that was for sure. He intended to make more than that, and hopefully tempt Chris into ingesting at least a little real food. Maybe.

After Chris absconds to clean himself, Zacharie quickly scrubs the vomit out of the carpet. With the Resolve, it's not too difficult, and soon enough he's tossed the paper towels, washed his hands in the kitchen, and gotten started making breakfast.

When Chris returns from the bathroom, it'll be to the sizzling sound of a skillet, and delectable scent of eggs and potatoes and flour and broth. Zach DID do as Chris asked, heating up a saucepan of broth on the stove. But beside that he has a lidded pan cooking diced seasoned potatoes, a skillet with a few eggs being cooked sunny side up, and a griddle on which he's cooking up a fresh batch of tortillas. It only takes about a minute and a half to cook a single tortilla, so he's already got a few sitting warm in a lidded, terra cotta basket/bowl, adding to the pile as he cooks.
[9/29/2013 1:19:12 PM] Brofessor: The scent hits him as he leaves the room, steam spilling out behind him. A growl pulled from his stomach, he presses a hand against his gut. He swallows thickly, forcing himself to turn the other way and seek out his clothes. He finds them in time, and spends a moment fumbling with the button on his jeans before being able to pull on a shirt. He breathes deep and finally, finally enters into the kitchen. He sits, watching Zacharie cook as he ignores the continued gurgling of his stomach.
[9/29/2013 1:24:50 PM] WordBird: "Sooo," Zacharie starts, not even glancing at Chris as he talks, not daring to take his eyes off his cooking, "You still just want broth? There's eggs and potatoes here, too. And tortillas, at least have a couple of those."

He emphasizes that statement by taking another tortilla from the griddle and slipping it into the terra cotta bowl with the others, before slapping another flattened wad or tortilla dough onto the same griddle.

"There's that bottle of blood in the fridge still, if you want it. When was the last time you had any? It might be a good idea to start your day with some. Or at least some milk or juice. Good morning, by the way." He just keeps it casual, like Chris was just here for a sleepover. Keep it comfortable, keep it casual, and maybe Chris would feel less awkward and uneasy being here. It's the least Zacharie can do, make things easier for his friend.
[9/29/2013 2:10:43 PM] Brofessor: He pressses his stomach, bites his lip. "If.." He begins, swallowing. "If the broth stays down well, eggs. Eggs would be nice. The rest too." God he was hungry. He felt so terribly empty, the effort of keeping yesterday's events from overwhelming him robbing him of the ability to deny himself fully, to think properly. He was /supposed/ to take nothing but broth and simple, basic food. Maybe a bit of fruit, but nothing more.

But the scent was overwhelming. "A.. half glass of blood. Just. Just that. It's been.. a few days." He keeps his voice low and his eyes down, ears burning in shame. "Just a bit should be fine..."

"N.. no, nevermind. Just the broth." He sighs after a minute, fingers digging into his arm. "Just that."
[9/29/2013 2:20:54 PM | Edited 2:21:30 PM] WordBird: Zacharie pokes at the potatoes and eggs with a spatula, before turning the heat down to low. He fetches a bowl to ladel broth into, and sets that and a spoon at the table for Chris. But then he doesn't move away to get breakfast for himself, standing to stare at Chris through his mask.

"You're not at your parents' house, Chris. It's just you and me here. You can eat whatever you want. I don't mind. I'd rather that you ate properly, to be quite honest." Finally he looks away, moves away, to fetch the bottle of blood from the fridge. He shakes it up, and places it on the table, too. "And if it's been a few days since you had blood, then it's no longer a matter of want, it's a matter of need. I'm not ignorant, Chris. I do my research. You know that."

With that he turns back to the stove, plating some potatoes and an egg or two on a plate of his own, setting it at the table. Then he plates the rest, turns off the stove, and covers the plate in tin foil. To keep it warm and fresh. In case someone wants to eat it sometime soon. The earthenware bowl of tortillas he places on the table, so they stay warm and fresh throughout the meal.

"At least have a tortilla, Chris. Dip it in the broth if you have to. Just have something solid."
[9/29/2013 3:44:13 PM] Brofessor: He eats the broth quickly, pausing only when Zach begins to speak. He swallows, shoulders pulling tight."I know." He ducks his head, hiding it in his now shaking hands. "I know." He repeats, voice shaking as remembered words and scournful looks burn behind his eyes. He falls silent, pushes his palms against his eyes. In time, he moves his hands away, stirring his broth slowly before starting to eat again, though not with as much vigor as before. He refuses the tortillas, ignores the scent of eggs as best he can.

He finishes soon enough, glancing about for the rest of the food. He pauses as he spots the blood. Gaze unbreaking, he feels his teeth elongate, and before he knows it, he has his hand around the bottle. The cap can't come off soon enough, and he can't help the contented sigh as he feels the blood slip past his lips.

The bottle has nearly been fully drained before he comes to his senses again. Chris pales, hand clamping over his mouth though he can't bring himself to put down the bottle.
[9/29/2013 5:07:05 PM] WordBird: Zacharie eats slowly, keeping an eye on Chris. He wants to keep insisting that he eat real food. Eat, eat, eat! But he's already done a lot of that, any more pushing would probably just uspet his friend. So instead he watches, ready to step in if Chris really needs him to.

Finally after Chris finished 'eating'(aka drinking with a spoon) the brothy breakfast, he awknowledged the blood. When the teeth elongated in Chris' mouth, clamping down on the neck of the bottle, clicking against the plastic, Zacharie freezes, feeling his heartbeat quicken. They're huge. They're sharp. So easily they could tear off his faces, both plaster and flesh. He swallows hard the food in his mouth and breathes through his nose, forcing himself to calm.

This is his friend. This is just Christopher Nowell. They've been best friends since kindergarten. Even if he only recently found out Chris was a monster, it's not like it was a recent thing. He'd always been a monster. In kindergarten, in elementary school, in middle school, in highschool. His best friend has always been a monster, he just didn't know it until now. The revelation had no change on their friendship, had no change on who Chris was. Just because Zach didn't know before, it's not like Chris was now a different person for it. He is still his friend. And Zacharie tells himself, he can put aside his personal issues with monsters for the sake of Chris. His friend.

And so when Chris starts to panic after guzzling the bottle down, Zacharie stands up, quickly moving to Chris' side to put a comforting hand on his shoulder, giving a light squeeze, to reming him that his friend is here, that he's someplace safe. "Hey. Chris. It's fine. You can finish it. It's for you, friend. There's no one around to see except me. No one else is here, and no one is going to hurt you. No one is going to scold you."
[9/29/2013 10:33:28 PM] Brofessor: He's breathing quick, starting as he feels Zacharie's hand on his should. His heart in his throat, an overwhelming dread twisting his stomach. Zach didn't understand, he would never understand, he -

Chris shakes his head, standing. "I can't." He rasps, taking a step back from Zach, from the bottle he managed to leave on the table despite its allure. "I can't, I-" He bolts, locking himself in the washroom. Bent double, he tries to force it out of himself, gagging around his fingers. He's shaking by the time he gives up, stomach refusing to empty and body weary. He curls upon himself instead, muttering prayers for forgiveness. This was wrong, this was so wrong. This was supposed to be a time of prayer and cleansing, a day to recover in peace, a day to see if the exorcism had worked. A day to reflect upon his failure to finally be rid of his demon blood. His fingers dig into his wounds, a sharp inhale the only break in his muttered prayer.
[9/29/2013 11:03:02 PM] WordBird: Zacharie can't help but feel he's fucked up. He's perceptive, to be sure, moreso than the average person, and he can't help but feel almost betrayed when it fails him. Like this. He sighs as Chris disappears into the bathroom, sliding his hand under his mask to rub at his face.

What should he do? This form of self hatred and self harm was obviously so ingrained into Chris' very being. And again it feels Zacharie with a feeling of failure. What use is his skill of perception if it takes him so long to realize his best friend's home problems, that it's already too late? Chris could've almost certainly died. He knows they've been exorcising him. He's not an idiot. And he curses himself for not stepping in sooner.

He sighs again and quietly places tinfoil over his half-finished breakfast(he's a pretty slow eater). Then, just as quietly, he walks down the hall, and sits in front of the bathroom door, staring at the light coming from the gap underneath, hearing Chris' muttered prayers.

Zacharie's grandmother was a devout catholic. He, personally, doesn't subscribe to religion, though he appreciates the good religion can do. And hates the badness it can bring. He used to go to church with his grandmother every sunday, listening to spanish sermons, learning prayers, both from the priest at church, and from his grandmother at home. He knew grace, and he knew the prayer to whisper at your bedside before sleep. But they weren't the only prayers he knew. And even as agnostic(and sometimes athiestic) as he was, he still kept some of these messages in his heart.

"Oh, Señor, hazme un instrumento de Tu Paz." He begins to murmur to hismelf, to the bathroom door, to any deity who may be listening. Not to Chris. It's for Chris, not to him. "Donde hay odio, que lleve yo el Amor. Donde haya ofensa, que lleve yo el Perdón. Donde haya discordia, que lleve yo la Unión. Donde haya duda, que lleve yo la Fe. Donde haya error, que lleve yo la Verdad. Donde haya desesperación, que lleve yo la Alegría. Donde haya tinieblas, que lleve yo la Luz."

He pauses to take a breath, hugging his knees to his chest, thinking even as he prays, what can he do? If there is a god, why does he allow such mistreatment come to someone as devout, as kindhearted, as humble as Chris? If such a god that would allow this exists, what use would it be to pray to him for strength? Yet he does anyway. "Oh, Maestro, haced que yo no busque tanto ser consolado, sino consolar; ser comprendido, sino comprender; ser amado, como amar."

It had only dawned on him after Chris had already run to the bathroom just how deep it goes. How he fears for his immortal soul, how he fears the wrath of god. And it hurts him that the same religion that can preach tolerance and forgiveness and love can cause someone to hate themselves so, just for being born as they are, just for existing. Why would God create someone, just to damn them for taking their first breath outside the womb? Wasn't it that what seperated Christianity from Judaism and Islam the belief that Jesus, son of God, had died for the sins of the world? That every child would be born free of sin?

"Porque es: dando, que se recibe; perdonando, que se es perdonado; muriendo, que se resucita a la Vida Eterna.

Amén."
[9/29/2013 11:19:05 PM] Brofessor: As silence overtakes him, his strained throat refusing to allow him further prayer, he hears muffled spanish from outside. He swallows thickly, rubs away the dampness of his upper eyes as he dampens a washcloth for his lower ones, leaning foreward so the steam from the sink can curl over his cheeks. He sighs, breath shakey as the warm cloth sooths the still stubbornly closed eyes. It draws him back to the present, relaxes him enough that he can open the door. "Sorry." He says, returning to the kitchen. He bites his tongue, quickly capping the remaining blood before poking around for the eggs. A protien would help calm his racing heart and take his mind off the scent of blood, even it was just eggs.
[9/29/2013 11:50:00 PM] WordBird: Zacharie sits in the hall a while longer, even as Chris shuffles back to the kitchen. Eventually, Zach follows him, scratching lightly at the back of his neck, silently hoping to himself that someone heard his once in a lifetime prayer, and would answer it.

"...Eggs are under the tinfoil on the counter." He says as he seems Chriss mulling about, looking around. "There's potatoes on that plate too, if you want them. Tortillas are still fresh in the warmer." He figures Chris will ignore him again, but he can't help but insist his emaciated friend eat some real food. At LEAST a tortilla, come on.

"...You'll feel better with real food in you. Trust me." He meanders back to his seat, uncovering his plate to eat more of his potatoes and egg with his hand and tortillas. "And don't be sorry, friend. You're a guest, and my friend foremost. I'm happy to do things for you while you stay here. And I'm happy to let you stay here to begin with." Though he doesn't, he wishes to admit he'd rather Chris stay indefinitely.
[9/30/2013 12:03:47 AM] Brofessor: He nods, finding himself a plate before giving himself a reasonable amount of real food. For a monster of his size, it wouldn't usually be enough, but all the same it was still a full meal for Chris. He should at least /attempt/ to eat what Zach had prepared. It wasn't right to let his effort go to waste, and besides, a guest shouldn't turn down food - and he was just a guest, just a temporary visitor, he was sure.

"...It smells good." Chris notes in responce, poking his yolks with a fork, cleaning up the mess with a bit of potato. "Thanks."
[9/30/2013 12:09:59 AM] WordBird: Zacharie eyes the way Chris eats. Well, if he's finally going to relent and eat properly, he might as well insist that Chris go all the way.

"Have some tortillas, Chris. Trust me, they're excellent. My nana's recipe." He lifts the lid of the terra cotta bowl, letting free the fresh, warm, floury scent of homemade tortillas. They're thick and soft and warm and smell delicious.

"Theyre the best for soaking up egg yolk, really. See how I'm eating?" He tears a piece of tortilla, and uses it to grab some egg and potato simultaneously. He doesn't stuff it in his mouth- not while Chris is watching. He has that uncanny ability only to eat when you blink. "Try it, it's somewhat liberating to eat without utensils."
[9/30/2013 12:20:21 AM] Brofessor: "Oh." Chris turns back to his food after obtaining a tortilla, ripping it and mimicing what he'd seen Zach do. He chews, swallows, and nods his approval before repeating the process. Soon enough, he's gotten through the vast majority of his food, save for a few potatos which he pushes around with his fork. He leaves them be, helping himself to some juice, trying very hard to ignore the blood bottles in the fridge. He didn't need it. He already had his daily blood. He was /fine/.

"Thank you for breakfast." He says at last, finishing the last bits of potato between sips of orange juice.
[9/30/2013 12:24:56 AM] WordBird: "You're welcome." Zach says, feeling a little proud of himself. "I'm going to make some coffee when I'm done eating. Do you want any?"

He continues before Chris can even answer the first question. "Wait, you like protein shakes, don't you? What about fruit smoothies? I have a blender and some berries and bananas in the fridge, if you want that."

He crosses his ankles under the table, humming a little as he mulls over his own questions while chewing a mouthful of food.
[9/30/2013 6:12:16 PM] Brofessor: "No coffee." He says bluntly, getting up to rinse his dishes. "Might have a shake later, but not now." He had enough for now, and though he did like protein shakes and smoothies, he didn't quite trust Zach not to blend blood into the drink at this time. He'd have to make it himself. That done, he moves back to the living room, calling for his cats. He mutters apologies into their necks, kissing their small heads. Pablo balances on his shoulders, Valerie curled in his arms. "I'm going to put their food in the spare room." He says absently, grabbing his backpack and disappearing to get things set up for the small animals.

He stays with them for a bit, making sure they eat and get some well deserved petting before returning to the living room, a spare hoodie having found it's way onto his back. He breathes deep, presses the inner corners of his upper eyes, and starts rooting around for a movie or a book or something, anything to keep his mind busy.
[10/6/2013 7:24:00 PM] WordBird: By the time Chris returns to the livingroom, Zach has finished eating, washing the dishes, and making his coffee. He leans against the wall for a few moments, sipping his coffee and watching Chris look around.

"Looking for something? Books, maybe? I keep those either in the spare room bookcase or in the space under the drawer on the side table by the couch." He walks over to his armchair to settle down again, putting his coffee on the end table. "Have movies, too. They're in the cupboard under the tv stand. Help yourself, friend. Not sure if you'd like my books, though. What do you even read besides the bible?"

He chuckles at his own pseudo-joke. "I'm just kidding. A lot of these books are in spanish, though. Sorry I don't have anything in french."
[10/7/2013 11:01:23 PM] Brofessor: He nods his thanks, rooting around for a video he liked. Disney movies were good, Disney movies were calming and soothing and wouldn't force him to think. He pulls the Aristocats from the shelf, a favourite of his, quickly setting it up. However, he leaves quickly once the previews start, chirping for his cats as he looks for his bag, his bible. The soft leather and yellowing pages sooth him immediately, fingers thumbing between pages to find a favoured story as he bends to scoop Valerie into his arms. He ignores the pain coursing through them before Valerie hopped to his shoulder in favour of muttering a passage under his breath. He tells himself that the tremor in his voice is simple fumbling as he hasn’t read the passage aloud in a few months.

Falling back into silence as he returns to the living room, he allows himself to sprawl across the couch. Valerie shifts from his shoulder to his lap, nudging at him until he started petting the small feline. Pausing his reading only when the songs start, Chris slowly allows himself to start relaxing, and it isn’t long before he’s pulling last night’s blanket over his shoulders again, pausing the movie to make himself tea about half way through. “I’m making Camomile. You want some?”
[10/12/2013 8:18:23 PM] WordBird: Zacharie had long since joined Chris in the relax party, sitting in his armchair with the footrest out, arms behind his head. One of the things he and Chris shared between them was a real love for The Aristocats. He hums along with the songs, glad Chris finally seems to at least marginally be enjoying himself. At least a little bit. Maybe.

When the other pauses the movie to get up, Zach is a bit surprised. But he smiles under his mask, silently glad that his friend was this comfortable in his apartment. "Yes, please. That'd be really nice," He says. He's long since finished his coffee. "I can't remember, do you like sweetening your tea? The sugar and honey is in the cupboard by the stove. There's agave nectar too. If you've never tried it, it's delicious. If you could drizzle a little in my cup, that'd be great."
[10/12/2013 9:08:45 PM] Brofessor: Chris nods, rooting around in the cupboard for the nectar as the tea brews. He finds the required nectar, putting a dab in each cup before pouring the steaming tea over it slowly, dropping spoons in after. His wrists feel weak, but all the same he brings the tea to Zach, resting the cups on the table to cool. The pot remains in the kitchen as opposed to being brought out alongside the cup. Normally he would have, but he can feel the weakness starting to course up his arms and seep into his joints. He pulls the blanket tight over his shoulders as he sinks back, letting his cup cool some so he can support it with both hands.
[10/12/2013 9:16:30 PM] WordBird: Zacharie is far from stupid; he's bright and he's incredibly perceptive- almost to a fault. And he has an idea of why Chris didn't bring the heavy teapot with him, the way his grip shakes. "Ah, bringing two cups left your hands full. You cozy up, I'll go grab the teapot, alright?"

That's not why Chris couldn't bring the teapot. And he's knows that. But he also knows of Chris' pride and privacy. He won't awknowlege the real reason, not right now, not during probably the first time Chris could relax in weeks, possibly months. Zach hums 'Everybody Wants To Be A Cat' as he shuffles to the kitchen to grab the teapot, bringing it back to set on the table by their cups.
[10/13/2013 4:23:22 AM] Brofessor: "Thanks." He mutters, sinking further into the couch as his bible closes. He rubs absently at his lower eyes, a small sound of discomfort emminating from him until he pulls his hand away. "Er. Since you're up, I need a compress again." The television isn't out of focus, but everything seems hazed over all the same, and he couldn't shake the feeling that somehow he was just a bit too cold to be comfortable, despite his shirt and despite the blankets and despite the fact that it looked like a nice enough day outside and by all means he should just lay down in the sunbeam with his cats and soak up all the sun's warmth but he /can't/ because there's nothing really wrong with him. He's just tired, that's all.

And so he sips his tea and soaks up warmth from that, listening to the Aristocats and pretending that he was just over for the weekend, just having a visit.
[10/13/2013 4:27:21 AM] WordBird: "Of course, friend." Zach gives Chris a hidden, but hopefully still felt, smile and heads off to the hall to fetch a small towel, dampening it with warm water. He brings it back and hands it off to Chris, pausing to note how his friend bundles up so.

"You cold? I could turn up the thermostat a bit. Or grab a hot water bottle maybe-" He snaps his fingers, "You know what? I think I've still got an electric blanket in the closet of the spare room! Want me to grab that for you?"
[10/13/2013 4:55:36 AM] Brofessor: He sighs happily once the warmth settles over his face, taking a minute to just soak it in before responding to Zach's questions. "It's fine." Despite the fact that it wasn't, and he swore he was getting colder by the minute. Though that wasn't quite right. Heat was present in him, he could feel in his own hands and his own skin but it wasn't /enough/. "It's not that I'm cold." Though that electric blanket sounded like a godsend right now. "...But a blanket for over my legs would be good." He was offering, Zach was offering him all this warmth and comfort. He shouldn't feel guilty for taking him up on that, he shouldn't. Chris tells himself this as he waits, sips slowly on his tea.
[10/13/2013 5:00:13 AM] WordBird: Zach gives Chris a pat on the shoulder and another unseen smile, retreating again to the hallway. There's some muffled shuffling noises from the spare room as he rummages through the closet, finding an old electric blanket. Brushing some dust off his mask, Zach reenters the livingroom, bends to plug the blanket into the nearest electrical outlet to the couch, unfolds the blanket, and hands it to Chris.

"Mind if I join you under there, amigo?" He asks, picking his teacup back up, "It's been /years/ since I've used this thing. I wouldn't mind being a bit toasty, too."
[10/13/2013 5:11:50 AM] Brofessor: "Sure. Whatever." Chris's tea is now finished and cup his set aside, warmth dissipated. He shifts slowly, getting himself nice and comfortable before allowing Zach to join him in the blankets. "Ok." He says by way of invitation. It's warm under there, sure, but not as warm as it necessarily /should/ be. Chris had always been a cold person, and that extended to his body temperature. He wasn't cool to the touch today, as he had been many times in the past during the fall, though that was the fault of the blankets around him.
[10/13/2013 5:23:33 AM] WordBird: Zach's known Chris forever. It's no surprise to him whatsoever that Chris gives off little-to-no body heat. It was always a curious fact about Chris, the sense of it finally brought to light with the revelation that Chris was apparently a giant lizard. Cold blooded. Makes sense.

Zacharie wriggles his way under the electric blanket, which was already starting to heat up very nicely. Zach himself was already a pretty toasty person. A part of his sunny personality, he'd joke. He gets nize and cozy with Chris before finishing off his own cup of tea. He's so much smaller than his athletic friend, even sitting. His feet almost don't touch the floor when he sits on the couch, while Chris either has to stretch out his legs or have his knees several inches above the seat. Chris could very easily use Zach as an armrest when they sit or stand together. And that's not even mentioning their phsyique. Chris has always been lean and muscular. Zach had always been skinny and knobbly, but that seemed to be changing very quickly, growing soft around the middle. He'd long since stopped growing vertically- now he's growing horizontally. He doesn't really mind. It'd probably just make him even cozier. Good for being close to his chilly friend.

Reaching to the table to refill his cup, Zach pausing to glance at his friend. "Want me to refill yours too, or are you done?"
[10/14/2013 8:04:47 AM] Brofessor: His arms find their way around his friend, pulling him gently against is own body with a sigh and a shiver. His hold relents at the slightest movement from Zach, and as he refills his cups, Chris sets aside the now cool cloth. His lower eyes, while still shut fast, are not quite as red and irritated as they were yesterday and once he had cleaned the crust from them in the morning, they hadn't produced any further gunk. " 'm good." He mumbles. He had his doubts whether or not he would be able to hold his mug properly anyway. It just seemed so heavy, and he was so tired. Even his bible had been set aside, the movie starting to wind down, and he was getting so, so close to being warm enough he didn't want to move, except maybe to bed. But he couldn't do that, not with Zach leaning against him. Chris didn't want to give /that/ up, no way. He was just so warm...
[10/19/2013 5:29:32 PM] WordBird: Zacharie had made himself very comfortable leaning against his friend, and for a brief amount of time, enjoying being in his friend's arms. It left a funny feeling in his belly, but he assumed that was just good feels about friendship and whatnot. He finishes off his second cup of tea as the movie finally wraps up and plays the credits. Setting aside the cup, he glances at Chris, noting how sleepy he looks. Like an old, heavy tree clinging to its roots, leaning heavily after a rough storm.

"Tired again, friend? You should have another rest. You could sleep on the couch again if you'd like, or have a sleep in a proper bed in the spare room. And you can take the electrical blanket with you."
[10/19/2013 7:24:36 PM] Brofessor: He nods, movements almost painfully slow. "don't wanna move." He mutters after a moment, letting his weight fall on Zacharie, head against his shoulder. He's warmer now, the fever taking root and starting to spread. He is pale, what little colour he managed to regain durning the night draining from him in favour of letting his cheeks grow flush. He's not burning red, not yet, the infection lingering in his eyelids sending the surrounding skin redder still, but his rising temperature is slowly letting itself be known. "'s nice here."
[11/3/2013 6:07:56 PM] WordBird: Zacharie quickly grows concerned. That is not a healthy face. That is a feverish face. He gently pushes Chris into leaning against the couch instead of on his diminutive friend, and presses the underside of his wrist against Chris' forehead to roughly gauge his temperature. Definitely hotter than what would be normal for a human, and WAY hotter than what would be normal for the usually chilly to the touch Christopher.

"Friend," Zach starts, speaking slowly in case his companion's mind was dulled by fever, "Is getting a fever as bad a thing for giant lizards as it is for humans? I need to know if I should be concerned or not. Because you're starting to burn up, amigo."
[11/3/2013 6:24:07 PM] Brofessor: "Dunno." He supplies helpfully after a long moment, seemingly unconcerned with his own physical state. Red eyes open a slit, a frown pulling at his brows as he realises that there is, infact, something amiss. Zach was concerned, and that was bad. He should do something about that, put his friend's mind at ease. "Uh..." A great start, he'd have to say. "Iiiiit happpennnsss?"  Time was moving strangely, his smaller friend moving double time while Chris found himself stuck in slow motion. " 'm tired." The words come out before he can think to stop them.
[11/3/2013 6:28:26 PM] WordBird: "Okay, friend, you know what we're going to do? We're going to get up for juuuuuust a minute here-" Zacharie stands up, putting one hand on Chris' shoulder and grasping one of his hands(not his wrist or arm, definitely not), tugging lightly. "Come on, friend, vámonos. You can take the electric blanket with you, we'll just have to unplug it for a minute."

He tugs again, trying to get Chris to his feet. "You'll be a lot warmer and more comfortable in a proper bed, friend, trust me."
[11/3/2013 6:48:57 PM] Brofessor: Every movement takes an age, but eventually Chris is more-or-less standing, shoulders hunched under the drape of the electric blanket. The cord trails behind him, his grip on Zach's hand weak now that he wasn't actively pulling himself up. His free hand goes to his eyes, rubbing absently. "Ok." The ground is so far away, he realises after a moment. "...ok." He repeats softly as he moves his hand from Zach's own to rest his hands on the shorter man's shoulders instead. It's a struggle to keep himself from leaning against Zacharie's solid warmth, but he does manage it for the most part and begins to shuffle alongside his friend into the bedroom.

Once there, he drops to the bed without a second thought, curling into himself. A shudder passes through his thin frame, the colour continuing to drain from his skin.
[11/3/2013 7:04:27 PM] WordBird: Zacharie tucks him in, pulling the comforter from under him with minor difficulty, and laying it atop instead. He relocates the cord for the electric blanket and plugs it in so Chris can get nice and toasty.

"I'm going to get you a nice, warm glass of water, friend. I'll be right back." And he did come right back, bringing with him a cup of warm water. He sets it on the bedside table and lightly taps his friend's shoulder. He's somewhat startled by the change to his friend's skin- he knows people go pale when sick, but that is not pale. That is white. He takes a breath, recalling his friend's inhuman status, and calms down.

"Chris, the water is right here. On the bedside table. Please have a few sips before falling asleep."
[11/3/2013 7:25:59 PM] Brofessor: A gutteral noise falling a bit short of human comes from the pale boy as red eyes crack open and he rolls himself over, long fingers ghosting along the bedside table before he finds the glass. Chris pushes himself up as he brings the drink to his lips, not noticing the changes to his skin - the way the back of his hand has become leathery, lines starting to signal the formation of scales. He downs a mouthful or two of liquid before slipping back under the covers, tugging them up around his chin before nuzzling into the bed. Thanks comes from a sighing breath and an easy slip into sleep.
[11/3/2013 7:29:46 PM] WordBird: Zacharie sighs and reaches over, hesitates, then gently pats Chris' hair. "I'll be right here if you need me." He mumbles, knowing full-well Chris was too asleep to hear him, but saying so anyways.

He left the room briefly, only to drag in a rocking chair from the other bedroom. He sets it up near the foot of the bed, dusting off the cushion and grabbing himself a blanket and a book before sitting in it. He'll just read for a bit until either Chris wakes up, or it's time to cook dinner. Whichever comes first.
[11/3/2013 7:40:19 PM | Edited 7:44:16 PM] Brofessor: He sleeps easily for a few long hours, his temperature remaining fairly steady, and beyond an occasional shifting, he does not move. Yet as the sun begins to fall, his breath begins to quicken and that slow, gutteral growl begins to shake his throat. Scaled hands, tipped with dull claws begin to dig into the bed, the boy burrowing under the pillow to lie flat on his stomach. The sound is faulty, broken by soft pained gasps and unintelligable speach until it fades completely, leaving Chris to shake and roll under the weight of blankets.
[11/3/2013 9:11:43 PM] WordBird: Zacharie had just been considering getting to work on making some dinner(he was thinking a nice soup) when Chris started growling, and the sound of sharp claws popping holes into the sheets hits his ears. He freezes, breathing stopping in his throat, eyes wide behind his mask. Cold sweat beads at his temples, and it takes almost a minute for Zach to be able to gasp for breath, and shakily remove himself from the chair.

He hesitates. He inches to the bed and hesitates again. Slowly, he reaches out, hand unsteady, and carefully nudges his friend's shoulder in an attempt to wake him, the mantra that this is his friend and his friend won't hurt him running repeatedly through his head.
[11/3/2013 9:55:43 PM] Brofessor: The boy whines, flinching away from his friend's touch. "A-aie pitié..." The word is breathy, pain flashing across his features as his hands twitch, unable to pull fully free from where they pierced the cloth. There's no colour to his cheeks, no sweat staining his brow despite his fever. He breathes through his mouth, fangs poking out between thin lips. He flinches again, turning his head away from Zach.
[11/3/2013 10:00:21 PM] WordBird: "Chris." His voice his barely above a whisper. He clears his throat and raises his voice just a bit. "Chris. Chris, wake up." He swallows dryly in his throat, and actually shakes Chris this time, trying again to wake him.

"Come on, friend, wake up, have some water..." He tries not to think of the claws, the teeth, ribbons of red and searing hot pain. His friend is more important right now. His friend will not hurt him.
[11/3/2013 10:20:52 PM] Brofessor: His eyes, fogged with pain yet all the brighter against his white skin, flutter open after some prompting. He groans, the blankets a heavy weight against his boney torso as he tries to move. "Merrde.. fmnn." He lisps out, voice distorted by his teeth and his own hand as he drags it across his face. His movements stall, breath hitching as he realises where he is, feels the scales on the bridge of his nose. Heart in his throat he tries to focus, rein in the transformation. Chris shudders with the effort, pushing himself up to examine himself, make sure he didn't sprout a tail or something else. It works, by degrees. Sweat slides down his neck, teeth itching. "S-shit ff-fuuckin'.." He slumps against his knees, groans into them as his vision swirls, dizzyness pulling at his stomach. "D-ddon't. Don-n't c-call a ppriest. P-please. I-I'll keep it dd..ddown, I.. p-p-ppromise."
[11/3/2013 10:26:04 PM] WordBird: "Chris." Zach tries to keep his voice soft, reassuring. He doesn't let a hint of his previous fear distort it. "Chris. Chris it's alright. I would never call a priest. You're safe here, friend, it's just me. Don't be scared. It's fine. It's fine."

He wants to reach out and place a hand on his friend's shoulder, but he's hesitant. Not out of fear, this time, but out of concern. Would Chris react well to that right now? He actually can't tell. Deciding to take a chance, he sets a warm hand on Chris' shoulder, keeping his touch gentle. Trying to be comforting.

"It's okay, Chris. I'm not upset." That was only a partial lie- he was upset for personal reasons, but not at Chris in particular. "I'll never call a priest on you, I promise. It's okay. I'm here. It's just me. It's just Zacharie, amigo."
[11/3/2013 10:52:08 PM] Brofessor: Tension draws his shoulders tight, the harshness in his breathing failing to dissapate until he finally moves to actually /look/ at Zacharie. Inhuman eyes search the familiar face. He sighs after a moment, allowing his eyes to shut as he sinks back into the matress, giving a shaky laugh. "S-sorry about the sh-sheets." He says, fingering one of the holes left by his claws. "...a-are you sure i-it's ffine?" His throat is tight, eyes opened once more, seeking out something, anything that would confirm what he has known ever since he was born. There was no way that Zacharie could genuinely believe what he was saying, after all. Chris was a /demon/, he was lucky to be treated as even vaugely human, and here he was... exposing himself, for lack of a better term.

"N-no what am I s-saying of course i-it isn't." Chris hisses under his breath. He had to leave. He had to get up and go, right now. Zacharie didn't deserve having to look after him. His cats would be fine, but Chris himself had already imposed beyond what was acceptable. He couldn't, he shouldn't... Slim legs find the edge of the bed, his weak knees barely managing to support him. "I-I sh-shshould go."
[11/3/2013 10:58:59 PM] WordBird: "Chris- Oh no. No no no no no. You get back into bed this instant." Zacharie frowns behind his mask and lays his hands on Chris' shoulders to (gently) keep him sat on the bed. "You are not going anywhere. You are SICK and you have a FEVER and you need REST. Drink your water and calm down, friend."

He pats one of the shoulders, and hopes the painted smile of his mask conveyed the real smile underneath. "Chris. Tell me. How often do I lie to you? To anyone at all, let alone you? I am not a liar, Chris. I always very much mean what I say. Always have and always will."

A friendly rub of the thumb against the front of Chris' shoulder, against his collarbone. "You are my best friend, Chris. I mean it. It's fine. I've got spare sheets. I don't mind what you are. I care about you. I won't call a priest. I want you to stay here and be comfortable and safe. Please."
[11/3/2013 11:16:35 PM] Brofessor: His knees buckle at Zacharie's touch, making him land heavily on the bed. He groans softly at the sudden change in perspective, the temptation to just lie back and pass out flitting through his feverish mind. "But-" He protests once Zach seemed to have finished, confusion evident. "I ssshould..." He's too dizzy to really think. "A-after. Wh-when I'm not. I should. Should leave." He closes his eyes, swallowing thickly as he sinks into himself once more. "ohfuckme-" A groan replaces any further speach, his shaking form falling back fully into the matress.
[11/3/2013 11:21:23 PM] WordBird: Zacharie sighs, and helps shift Chris around on the bed so his head is in its proper place upon the pillow, and his legs under the blanket. Again, he tucks him in, making sure he's bundled up and comfortable. Again, he runs a hand over Chris' short red hair.

"If you really want to leave when you're well, that's your choice. I'd rather you stayed. But either way, you're not making that decision until you're all healed up." Another friendly pat to the shoulder. He's not even sure if Chris is still conscious to hear all that. But he continues. "The water is still on the bedside table if you need a drink. I'm going to go make dinner. It'll probably be an hour. If you don't feel well enough to eat, I'll put a bowl for you in the fridge with some plastic wrap, alright? Rest well, amigo."

And with that, Zach walks quietly out of the room to prepare some dinner. A nice tortilla and chicken soup ought to be good.
[11/3/2013 11:36:23 PM] Brofessor: He's awake long enough to take in a bit of water, though his ability to fully process English had failed him about half way through Zach's words. From there, he slips back into a heavy sleep, thankfully undisturbed by fever dreams. He keeps his human form for the most part, skin growing leathery in places but still retaining it's pale, flushed, and sweaty humanness. His hair is sticky with it, shirt clinging awkwardly to the damp when he next opens his eyes, confusion clinging to him in his half-awake state. His fever persists, though it has leveled instead of worsening despite Chris's efforts (concious or otherwise) to retain his aesthetic humanity.
[11/3/2013 11:39:48 PM] WordBird: It's just a few moments later that Zach pokes his head in- as he has actually been doing every 10-15 minutes or so out of worry. He smiles behind his mask when he sees Chris is marginally awake.

"Hello again, my friend. Feeling any better? Dinner will be ready here soon. If you want any. It's tomato soup with chicken. My grandmother's recipe, with fresh avocado and cilantro. You'll love it, really."

He strides over to look Chris over, lightly touching his shoulder and helping him sit up steady.
[11/3/2013 11:54:45 PM] Brofessor: He blinks dully at the other teenager as he speaks, Chris absently attempting to get his hair to stop sticking to his forehead. It's not like he had much hair to begin with, but sweet mercy he really should have gone for a quick buzz instead of the white clean shaven Jesus look from those stupid pamplets he helped hand out sometimes. But mother had /insisted/.

"Ok." is the only responce he can really give, allowing himself to be manipulated by Zach. The movement makes him dizzy, but it is fleeting and he's back to resting soon enough, eyes closed. Technically, he knows he's hungry. It's a question of whether or not he could be assed to actually eat anything. Spoons seemed like effort.
[11/3/2013 11:59:31 PM] WordBird: "Come on friend, have another sip of water. Maybe go to the kitchen sink and splash some water on your face. It'll help. Trust me. Come on, friend." Zacharie helps him up, same as he'd done earlier when moving Chris from the couch.

He grabs the almost empty glass of water and supports Chris on the way to the kitchen, to the sink, refilling his glass and setting it to the side. Then he occupies himself with attending to the tortilla soup, ladeling it into two bowls, sprinkling cheese and crunchy tortilla chips on top. It smells chickeny and tomatoey and utterly mouthwatering.
[11/4/2013 12:13:48 AM] Brofessor: He keeps his hand on Zach as he moves, steps slow and unsure as he tries not to stumble. He drags one of the blankets with him, his free hand clasping it tightly around himself, only letting it slip down his shoulders so he can run warm water over his eyes. He sighs happily, the flow of water bringing a gentle sort of clarity without shocking his systems into wakefullness. He stays like that until Zach is done with the bowls, pulling away reluctantly. He does not attempt to mop up the water rolling down his cheeks, only pressing his sleeve against his upper eyes so that he could see where he should shuffle to next. His stomach gurgles at the smell as his senses return to him, though he does not say a word until it's clear that at least one bowl is for him.

"Smells good." Chris moves to sit at the counter, leaning against it to press his face into the cool surface.
[11/4/2013 12:16:43 AM] WordBird: Zacharie sets a bowl and spoon in front of Chris first, before setting another at his own seat and sitting down. He smiles under his mask at the compliment, humming a little with pride.

"Thanks. It's a nice, hot, hearty soup. I thought it would be good for your recovery. Better than boring chicken noodle." He chuckles, stirring in the already melting cheese and softening tortilla strips. "I just hope you find it tastes as good as it smells."
[11/4/2013 12:26:57 AM] Brofessor: "Mm." Chris hums, tongue slipping between his lips. His grip on the spoon is faulty at first, though he is quick to adjust. Slowly but surely, the bowl is drained of its contents, the tired teen slurping up the remaining broth. He sighs once he reaches the end, adjusting the blanket around his shoulders as he slumps, boneless but momentarily content against the counter once more. With something in his stomach and the cool kiss of the counter against his cheek, he begins to feel a bit more like himself.
[11/4/2013 10:57:02 PM] WordBird: Zacharie hums as well, swinging his feet under his chair and under the table, only mostly done with his own bowl. He was usually a slow eater, most likely probably because he only took bites when absolutely no one was looking. Somehow.

When Chris slumps against the table, Zach reaches over to lightly pat him on the back.

"Was it good? I'm assuming it was, but I'd still like to hear it myself," He chuckles, and punctuates with a ruffle to Chris' short red hair, "Also, are you feeling any better, friend? Did the soup help? Hope it did. Soup usually helps, doesn't it?"
[11/4/2013 11:38:19 PM] Brofessor: "Yeah." He sounds a bit better, at least. The warmth in his stomach has soothed the tension in his form, his skin starting to cool now that he was out of the mass of blankets. His head feels clearer for it, the throbbing ache that had previously overtaken his mind moving deep down into his bones - a familiar ache he had come to associate with the slow beginning of healing.
[11/4/2013 11:39:23 PM] *** WordBird has changed the conversation topic to "Gays of Various (mostly negative) Emotional States" ***
[11/5/2013 12:22:52 AM] *** Brofessor has changed the conversation picture. ***
[11/5/2013 8:59:12 PM] WordBird: (( poot ))
[11/5/2013 9:13:03 PM] WordBird: "Good." Zach gives Chris another ruffle of the hair, before going back to his own dinner. A few minutes later, he was done, and got up to start doing the dishes, rinsing and scrubbing the bowls and utensils and things in the sink before setting them on the rack to dry.

He walks over to Chris again, laying one hand on his upper back, and pressing his wrist against Chris' forehead to recheck his temperature. "You seem to be doing better. Less fever. Hope that means you're recovering."
[11/5/2013 10:20:06 PM] Brofessor: He wakes, flinching away from Zach's touch to pull himself up, sitting stiffly in his chair before realising he had drifted off. His present situation comes back to him slowly, shoulders bowing as he shifts the blanket around them. He lets his spine curve, elbows resting on the countertop. "Might be environmental." He says after a moment. "But it feels like it's starting to come down." He couldn't discount the possibility that his cold-blooded nature was influencing his temperature, but all the same that deep ache remained. He yawns, rubbing at his lower left eye.
[11/9/2013 10:47:21 PM] WordBird: Zach keeps his hand on his friend's upper back, rubbing lightly with his thumb as they talk, pressing gently. Just a barely there casual massage.

"At least you're doing better. Still need lots of rest, though. Speaking of, are you tired again, friend? You practically went unconscious as soon as you finished your dinner." He gives Chris a pat, then back to the rub. "You can keep using that guestroom by the way. No one else uses it very often. Sorry if it's dusty, relatedly."
[11/10/2013 1:44:34 AM] Brofessor: He nods, humming his agreement. He pulls away from the contact after a moment, notes of tension leaking into his frame. "No. I shouldn't. The couch is fine." Memories of a stout woman flicker briefly, his thoughts jumping to his parents, their critical glances and hissing words, directed at him, directed at Zach's family, half covered with sweetness as if he couldn't judge people on his own, as if Zach wasn't exempt from every single thing they had said by simply being Zach. He raises himself up, almost missing the warm contact of the human, begins to walk with a yawn towards the living room. The couch was closer anyway.
[11/16/2013 7:17:12 PM] WordBird: "Oh, no. No no no no no no no. No. You are NOT sleeping on the couch, not in this condition." Zach is already hustling to Chris' side, putting his hands  on his back and semi-forcefully turning his friend away from the couch and toward the hallway. "No guest of mine, no FRIEND of mine, is going to keep sleeping on the couch like that when he's ill. Especially out of some misplace obligation of martyrdom or whatever it is. You. Bed. It's more comfortable."
[11/16/2013 7:54:39 PM] Brofessor: He's unable to resist, the easy force behind Zach's hand guiding him despite his will. Though he didn't feel hell breathing down his neck, he couldn't make himself dig in his heels or use the monsterous strength he /knew/ must be hiding inside him to resist. "It's not that." He protested, frowning at the term. "I'm /fine/." Just tired, but he'd be well enough to get to school in the morning, he was sure. He always went to school after a day of rest. "The couch is /fine/."
[11/16/2013 8:23:23 PM] WordBird: Zacharie keeps leading Chris to the guest room. He is very persistent. "No, it's not fine. You spent the majority of today delirious with fever. The fever may have broken but you still need rest."

Then a pause. "And let me put it this way; what kind of host would I be if I just let my guest, and my friend. who had been ill for almost two straight days, just go sleep on the couch instead of a bed proper? A pretty awful and selfish host, that's what. You're sleeping in a bed and that is final."
[11/16/2013 8:36:54 PM] Brofessor: He sighs deeply, as if that exasperated exhalation could encompass everything he wished to say but did not have the energy to voice - that Zach wasn't being a bad host, it was Chris that was being a bad guest, and that no matter where he slept he would still be sore in the morning from recovering so it didn't really matter at all, and every other bitter phrase that rendered him underserving of such kindness. "Fine." He relented at last, walking on his own. His long legs carry him not to bed, but to the bathroom instead. "I'm taking a shower first." Tired as he was, he needed to disinfect himself, especially after having sweat through the remains of his fever.
[11/24/2013 5:40:59 AM] WordBird: "Yeah, alright, Mr. Clean." Zacharie shrugged and took his hands off Chris, to let him go do his thing in the bathroom. The shorter teen continued on his way down the hall and into the guest room, to make sure the pillows are fluffed, there were enough blankets to keep Chris warm, and the heating blanket was plugged in. Hopefully the heat of the electric blanket would alleviate some of Chris' soreness.

He filled up a fresh, cold glass of water and placed it on the bedside. He fetched a bucket for the bedside in case Chris had difficulty keeping dinner down. And, knowing his friend better than anyone, he found a decent copy of the Bible, in English, and set it by the glass of water. Just in case Chris wanted to thumb through it a bit before finally letting sleep take him.

With a sigh, Zacharie sat himself on the foot of the bed, briefly taking off his mask. It was fine, he could still hear Chris being busy in the bathroom. He rubbed his eyes, ran his hands through his hair, rubbed his face, pinched the bridge of his nose, growling and muttering spanish curses under his breath.

Chris shouldn't be here. Not like this. Not that he doesn't want his friend to come to him when he's without a place of home and safety, when he's hurt and sick. It's that the circumstance shouldn't be there to begin with. He should be in his home, with his parents, who should love him and cherish him like parents should. He shouldn't fear them. He shouldn't be hurt and poisoned, maimed and tortured by them. He shouldn't, they shouldn't. But he does, and they do. And Zacharie regrets all the times in their childhood when he'd been jealous that Chris' parents were around, neither dead nor incarcerated. It was better to be parentless than to have parents like that. Chris was the one who should've been jealous. Not Zach.

With a deep sigh, Zacharie slipped his mask back on, readjusting the ties that hold it in place.
[11/24/2013 10:01:49 PM] Brofessor: He showers slowly, scrubbing carefully so he doesn't upset the fragile scabs that had formed on his arms further. Old blood leaks occasionally from them where the shower had loosened the healing flesh turned puffy and silvery under heat and water. He lets antiseptic wash over his wounds, naked and dripping before he begins to apply bandage after bandage to the breaks in his skin, the long winding bandage he had been using in need of more than a cursory wash to rid it of dried sweat and crusted blood. He shivers as he exits the warmth of the steam filled bathroom, peeking into the living room to check if Zach is there, and to call to his cats with a click of his tongue.

"You're out of bandages. I'll pick some up after school tomorrow." He announces simply, leaving no room for argument as he kneels to allow Pablo to scramble onto his shoulders, Valerie nudging against his face when he's close enough to the ground before retreating to the bedroom.
[11/26/2013 6:22:36 PM] Brofessor: *He kneels to allow Pablo to scramble onto his shoulders, Valerie nudging against his face when he's close enough to the ground before calling lightly for Zach. He moves to the bedroom soon enough, nudging the door so it was not-quite-closed upon entry. "You're out of bandages. I'll pick some up after school tomorrow." He announces simply, leaving no room for argument as he sits on the bed, cats jumping from him.
[12/8/2013 3:01:04 PM] WordBird: "What do you mean, YOU'LL pick some up? And further, what do you mean about after school?" Zacharie asks, turning the gaze of his mask up at Chris from his seat on the bed. He half-laughs, more of a scoff. "You're NOT going to school tomorrow, if that's what you're trying to imply. You're not even close to well enough."

He slides off the bed and onto his feet, reaching up to adjust his mask. "Really, Chris, I understand that's probably par for the course for you when you usually get... sick and what not. But you're not /there/ right now. You don't need to push yourself. You just need to get well."

He holds up a finger, knowing right when Chris would open his mouth to protest. "No. You are /not/ well. Your frame of reference is biased and damaged. You're well enough to not be worrying about whether I should take you to a hospital. But not for a full day of school."
[12/8/2013 3:39:00 PM] Brofessor: "...It's not pushing myself." He says slowly, as if explaining to a child. "I do this all the time. My body works differently. It's fine. I'll be dizzy but that isn't anything unusual." Monsters healed quickly, didn't feel pain to the same degree as humans, and were above all else capable of surviving extreme situations. He had heard the science, felt the effects of it himself. Sure, the few fleeting memories he had of his first exorcisms were blurrs of pain and the sound of his own cries, but that had faded with age. He was used to it, the nerves in his upper arms half dead. Dizziness was commonplace too, and with it, headaches and vauge nausea. That had faded to more manageable degrees with the discovery of his anemiea, but there was no way he could think of being rid of it entirely, not when it had just been part of his life for so long.

"And my frame of reference is /not/ biased. There's studies on demonic endurence. I've read them. Besides, I can walk and think just fine now that the fever is gone. That's all you need to be able to do in school."
[12/8/2013 3:44:12 PM] WordBird: "Demonic?" Zacharie replies, voice lowered. He clears his throat. "Nonetheless, Chris, you shouldn't be going to school if you're feeling dizzy, monster or not. They send kids home for that. And besides, if you're feeling dizzy or in pain, wouldn't it be a distraction on your studies? Because not being feverish isn't all you need to be able to go to school, believe it or not."

He sighed, sitting back down again. "I'd just feel better if you stayed home and rested at least one more day. Ate more soup, had more naps, got your iron levels up, got yourself properly hydrated. I'm worried about you, Chris. And when you push yourself I just worry more."
[12/8/2013 4:24:51 PM] Brofessor: "I'm always dizzy to some degree. It doesn't matter, it's just part of being anemic. It doesn't distract me much. I've always done fine in school." Ignoring the occasional fainting spell or visit to the nurse due to some sickness or other. Even then, he always tried to refuse going home.

"I told you, I'm not pushing myself. I've been doing this for ten fucking years, I think I'd know by now whether or not I can last through the day." He snapped, voice dipping into a growl. "I appreciate your kindness, and I'll bring a water bottle tomorrow if it'll make you feel better, but stop pretending you know my limits better than I do."
[12/8/2013 8:57:46 PM] WordBird: "I'm NOT pretending I know your limits, Chris. That's not the point I am making. That is the opposite of my point. Just listen to me for a minute." He's on his feet again, gesturing as he talks, clearly getting a bit worked up. One can only imagine the expressions under the mask.

"What I am trying to get at, Chris, is I'd rather you WEREN'T at your limit. That you wait until you're actually feeling WELL as opposed to GOOD ENOUGH. You actually have that option this time, Chris. To just wait a little longer until you're healed up a bit more. To not have to stretch your limits. Are you getting what I'm trying to say?"

He's so frustrated- not with Chris, though. Not with Chris at all. But with the upbrining that created this attitude in his friend. To create in his such a martyr complex that he can't even let himself relax when it's offered to him with no cons.
[12/8/2013 9:07:33 PM] Brofessor: "No, I don't have that option." Chris said, squaring his shoulders and letting his cats move away from him. His brows draw tight on his pale face, thin lips twisted into a scowl. "You don't know what you're saying. I'm not 'allowed' to do anything - it's not a matter of deserving rest, or wanting it. I just. Can't. Do that. I've missed enough days because of stupid bullshit. I need to keep my marks decently high if I have even a /hope/ of getting into a good university. I'm not good enough for a sports scholarship, not like this. You know that. /I/ know that. If I can, I must." It pains him to admit this, his fingers knotted in the sheets. No team would actually seriously consider a kid who had to sit out as much as him, no matter how good a Batter he was when he actually got onto the field.
[12/8/2013 9:10:45 PM] WordBird: "Bullshit, Chris. It's an option. You don't even miss as many days as you think you do. Your grades aren't even as shitty as you think they are. I can name 5 members of your team who do worse than you and are still being scouted for scholarships. Five. I can even name the colleges if you like, for free even. I'll even provide my sources if I have to, you know I will."

He pauses for breath- he was starting to talk a bit quickly there. "Chris, it's just one day. I'll bring you your homework and you won't even miss a grade. If you have homework that's supposed to be turned in tommorrow, I'll take it for you. Just one day. The option is there."
[12/8/2013 9:14:41 PM] Brofessor: He bites his lips, worries at them with not-quite-blunt teeth, eyes turned away from Zacharie. "I have no excuse to miss class. No doctor's note, and my parents won't call in." It's a lame excuse, his still tired mind unable to support prolonged protest. He was close to giving in, and he hated himself for it.
[12/8/2013 9:17:14 PM] WordBird: Zach takes a deep breath, running his hand through his hair, and sighs. "How about we compromise." He suggests, voice tired. "When you get to school tomorrow, first thing, you go to the nurse. Have her give you a basic check up. See if she thinks you're well enough to go to class. And if she thinks you need to stay home and eat and rest, then you do that. If she thinks you're good for school, I'll admit I am wrong and you go to class."

"Deal?"
[12/8/2013 9:21:10 PM] Brofessor: He breathes, considering it. He pinches the bridge of his nose to squeeze out his final thoughts. She wouldn't allow it, probably. And he couldn't let her see his still healing wounds. But he has hidden things before, he could find a way around rolling up his sleeves. She didn't have to know. "Ok. Deal. But either way I'm picking up bandages on my way back."
[12/8/2013 9:23:10 PM] WordBird: "Alright, fine. Do you have any cash on hand for that? I could give you a few bucks for bandages and anything else you might like to grab from Walgreens."

Again he sinks onto the bed, sitting, glad they finally reached some sort of compromise. He scratches at his chin from under his mask, humming thoughtfully. What's the price of bandages again..?
[12/8/2013 10:45:44 PM] Brofessor: "I... think I might. I can't quite remember grabbing my wallet, but I think I felt it in my bag while grabbing fresh clothes." It was just a question of whether or not he actually had money in his wallet, or if his debit card worked. They weren't too expensive, however, so he could probably scrounge up the change. Tired from the spat, Chris sinks into bed with his thoughts, shifting so he could occupy the side of the bed he hadn't sweated on. A yawn, and he found himself shutting down despite his will.
[12/9/2013 8:57:48 PM] WordBird: Zacharie decides to hand Chris some cash in the morning anyhow, just in case he gets to Walgreens only to find out he doesn't have his own funds. Just in case.

As Chris sinks into bed, Zacharie pauses, hesitating to get up from his spot at the foot of the bed. He turns to his friend, asking, "Would you like me to stay with you?"

But Chris is already asleep.

He sighs, reaching over to just... give Chris' short ginger hair a quick stroke, before sliding regretfully from the bed and heading off to his room to sleep in his own bed for once.
[12/9/2013 9:15:42 PM] Brofessor: He wakes to the cool october morning, only vaugely aware of his own conciousness as he rolls slowly under the covers. His movement draws a disgruntled meow from Pablo, offended that his place had been disturbed. Yet, the cat settles as Chris closes his eyes once more, a sign marking his return to blissful unawareness of his own bodily pains. It felt like sunday, in those sparing moments - his mother would rouse him with a knock on the door and the smell of omlettes done up with red peppers and cheese for all but himself. No, there would be pancakes, fruit, and a protien shake for him, thick and filling and vaugely peanut butter flavoured. But he could still spare five minutes.
[12/9/2013 9:40:57 PM] WordBird: A short while later, a soft knock comes to the door, before opening to reveal a friendly, albeit creepy, looking mask on a short young man. Zacharie. "Buenos dias, Chris. It's time to get up for school."

He moves in a bit more to tap Chris on the shoulder, to make sure he was waking up and hearing these messages. "I just finished making breakfast. Come eat."

Sure enough, the heavenly scent of Breakfast wafts through the now open door, the lovely scent of eggs a little overpowered by the savory, mouthwatering smell of juicy bacon. Heaven in a scent.

"Don't worry about being late for school or anything, there's plenty of time to enjoy breakfast before getting ready." Zach is always prepared. He woke up early to get breakfast ready, and there's still at least an hour or two before they need to be at school. Plenty of time to eat, dress, maybe shower, and walk to school.
[12/9/2013 10:12:57 PM] Brofessor: He wakes up easily enough, hair sticking at an odd angle as he rubs the sleep out of his eyes. "Morning, Zach.." He mutters, hand stilling as he pulls himself up straighter, tone dropping any pleasant waking tones as the reality of his circumstances return to him. He's moving before he has time to dwell on it, however, pulled by the scent of bacon from his bed, teeth scraping over his lower lip. "Is that bacon?" Bacon was a rare treat, to be enjoyed when he was far from home or at least already at school, or when he brought home a particuarly good test score.
[12/16/2013 11:37:21 PM] WordBird: Zach smirks under his mask, putting his hands on his hips proudly. "That is most certainly the bewitching scent of bacon, my friend. Cooked to perfection, I might add. Unless you like your bacon crunchy and sooty tasting like a heathen. Of course, you're a young man of good taste and I'm sure you prefer it chewy and still tasting of pork belly."

The wordy teen half follows, half leads Chris to the kitchen, where he's already set out two plates of Breakfast. There's a glass of milk for Zacharie, and an attempted protein shake for Chris. He has no idea what Chris puts in his, but he tried his best. It's got orange juice as the base, though, so it shouldn't be too horrible.

He takes his seat, still feeling pretty proud of himself, despite this being an average breakfast for him. It just feels good to give his best friend a proper morning.
[12/17/2013 12:19:25 AM] Brofessor: He licks away a line of drool before it has a chance to go anywhere, clearly stating his thanks before shoveling bacon and eggs into his mouth indescriminately, saving a singular strip for last. It's quite a sight to see Chris eat meat in the mornings, the boy not awake enough to control his hunger as he tilts his head, swallows with a jerking motion more than a bit reminisant of a crocodile's actions. He calms after a gulp of shake, a flash of surprise crossing his face as he realises the contents - he can taste orange juice, but despite the meat on the plate and the blood he was increasingly aware of lingering in the fridge, the protien shake didn't contain anything he wouldn't put in there himself. He shakes away that surprised part of him in a second. Of /course/ Zach wouldn't try to force anything down his throat, make him do something he wasn't willing to do, even if it was probably in his best interest.

He finishes his eggs, savouring the last piece of bacon for a peaceful minute before washing away the flavour with the remainder of his shake. His sclera begin to fade, red draining from them as he starts his day officially. He feels good, better than he had in days. Rest and food, minimal comforts as they were, eased his recovery in an unfamiliar way. Yet he still stumbles as he stands, vertigo gripping him as he brings himself to standing far too quickly for his still strained body. A quick curse escapes with his breath, his hands finding chair and counter to support himself. Breath forced deep and even, Chris slowly shifts as it passes, drawing himself up again fully, carefully. He's good. He's fine. He can do this. He just needs to take his medication and he'll be good to go.
[12/28/2013 7:10:24 PM] WordBird: Zach sits and quietly eats his own meal, spending more time watching Chris eat. It was a curious thing, watching him eat. And it made him smile, seeing Chris not holding himself back, just letting himself, if only briefly, do something he wants. Even if all it is is eating bacon. Cutting his eggs with the side of his fork, he lets the yolk run, oozing across the plate and into the potatoes. He tries not to smile again, this time at Chris' reaction to the shake, but he does anyway. yes, he was tempted to add blood. But only tempted. As much as he knew it would be good for his monster friend, that was not what Chris wanted. Not right now. And Zach couldn't dare betray his best friend's trust. All he can do is insist, and leave the choice up to Chris.

Zach watches as Chris tries to stand, a torn piece of tortilla with dripping egg and potatoes in his hand, and he promptly drops his food on the plate and stands too when he see Chris have a dizzy spell. "Are you alright? Dizzy? Maybe you should sit for a few more minutes. Digest a little and get some energy." He sighs, wanting to just say 'stay home, don't go to school'. But they'd had a deal. "Wouldn't want you to have a spell like that in the shower. I don't have a nonslip mat in there."
[12/28/2013 8:29:26 PM] Brofessor: "I'm fine. It's already passed. I just haven't had my medication is all." He should have taken it before, but he'd just have to live with the two hour wait. That persistant hunger pulling at his stomach had been satisfied somewhat, something within him starting to cry for blood as he breathes himself steady. "Could..." He swallows, teeth pulling at his lips for a nervous moment. "Could you get me a half-glass of blood while I figure out where I put my shit?" That'd do. He could stand to wait two hours with half a glass behind him. He exits the room soon after making the request, trusting Zach to either fufill it or deny him as was proper, taking his sweet time sorting through his bag with the door closed as if that could block the scent of blood should it arise.
[12/29/2013 1:31:21 AM] WordBird: "If you say so." Zach says, sitting back down to finish his breakfast. He's honestly surprised when Chris actually asks him to give him some blood. Not the whole thing, but some. It's still some. His eyes widen behind his mask, and he pauses, before replying, "Yeah, sure. Take your time."

And he knows Chris will take his time. Zach actually finishes his plate this time, moves all the dishes to the sink and rinses them, then takes a half-glass from his cupboard to fill with blood. Chris is probably battling with himself over the request, and half of him is probably hoping Zach had refused. But all the same, Zacharie was proud of his friend for actually asking for blood.

He leaves the glass on the table, turning to wash the dishes and pans properly.
[12/29/2013 2:39:04 AM] Brofessor: Chris empties his bag upon the bed, pulling clothing free from the other few, small things he had managed to grab - pens, a half filled notebook, the book they were supposed to be reading for English, cat treats, pain killers and thankfully his medication. He shoves the lot of it back into the bag, shirts set aside so that he might choose from them after his shower. He kneels carefully, lingers as he watches his cats eat the treats handed to them. He reaches for the wall, using it to help get himself back to standing. The pale boy takes his time, waiting for the slight sway of vertigo and moving only when it passes him by. As usual, he gives his thanks upon his return to the kitchen. The scent makes his gums itch, and he finds himself increasingly thankful that he had asked Zach to pour it instead of popping the bottle open himself. Chris knew he could not be trusted around blood, not now, not when he was already so close to going over his daily limit. Already he knew that come evening, his thirst would pull him to the fridge and he, weak and too easily tempted, would allow himself to be talked into having another bottle.

He tips the blood back with all the ease of someone taking their first shot of tequila.
[10:52:31 PM] WordBird: Zachary hums in acknowledgment when Chris thanked him, still scrubbing the pots and pans at the sink, the sleeves of his sweater rolled up past his elbow. He can’t help but glance over his shoulder as Chris approaches the table, and watches his friend stare down the glass full of thick, dark red liquid.

He nearly swells with pride as Chris drinks it, though he’s a bit offput with the manner. It reminds him of less of someone drinking something they enjoy, and instead someone knocking back medicine. Or a particularly strong drink. Though, he supposes, that’s pretty accurate of Chris’ relationship with the Monster staple.

“Be careful when you shower, friend. Like I said, I don’t have a non-slip mat.” He says, turning on the faucet to rinse bubbles from the skillet. “And try to finish up with enough time for me to shower too, alright? My hair’s kinda greasy. You can use my soaps and shit, I don’t mind.”