|Cassius Vaisey (bd_vaisey) wrote in beyond_dark,|
@ 2008-03-06 06:50:00
|Entry tags:||* march 2006, - complete, - plot: pox virus, cassius vaisey|
RP: Of Itches and Fevers
Date: March 6, 2006
Location: His flat
Summary: Cass really isn't good at this being sick and in bed thing.
The itching was the worst. By far the itching was the worst. He could live with the never ending head aches, the pain every time he tried to move, the way his joints were swollen to the point where he thought they were thick as his thighs (well not really, but well…it felt like it at least). He could even live with the fever, the sweating and the disgusting vibrantly red marks all over his body. One even popped when he itched it making puss leak out all over his fingers witch almost had him throwing up on the spot.
Which was why he tried not to itch them.
Fucking hell the itching was the fucking worst.
He groaned a he tried to move in bed, hoping for some relief, only with every movement there was pain - and a new itch – and he couldn't really get away from any of it. His body was shaking with cold even if he knew he was hot, even his freaking eyes hurt. And still, there was nothing he could do but lie here and wait for Susan or Percy to come by. They both did – every day. Best case scenario they came at different times. When not they fought over the best way to take care of him.
Percy still wanted him to move to his house. Susan was adamant that he wouldn't go anywhere. Finally when he'd managed to tell them both to either get out or stop giving him a headache, Susan had decided to spend her time cooking while Percy was there, avoid him all together.
Not that he could eat any of the food. In fact the mere thought of food made him feel slightly queasy. He'd not even been able to stomach her Yorkshire pudding, though he had managed to eat a bit of soup.
Turning his head slowly, he looked at the clock. Lunch time. Fuck. It would be hours before either of them came. Especially Percy. With everyone seemingly down in this – whatever it was – he was working too hard. Even harder than usual probably because he looked ragged and tired. He'd told him to slow down, but that seemed about as fruitful to tell him to fuck him. Though actually at present he didn't even want that. There were marks there too and fuck if he'd let them leak anything. He was disgusted enough as it was.
He turned again, groaning as he tried to fight the sudden overwhelming desire to rub his back against the sheets to relieve some of the itching. Fucking hell the itching was the worst.