All These Symptomatic Things [ACTIVE//OPEN]
Characters: Odd Thomas, OPEN for the Cathedral Family and anyone who wishes to pay him a visit.
Content: Having overworked himself, Odd works on kicking back for some R&R. Unfortunately, for him, this is a lot easier said than done. Pour some more sand dear, cover ankle bites.
Location: St. Patrick’s Cathedral, Odd’s Room.
Time of day: Afternoon.
Warnings: Poor sick thing.
Odd couldn’t remember the last time he ever allowed himself to sleep in. With the afternoon light pouring in through the windowpane, he had a pretty good idea that he had slept a pretty good few hours. His head throbbed, his eyes burned with the pounding pain, searing from the beam that blazed across his face. It wasn’t even any sunlight, either; just the cold white shine of daylight, a reminder that he had very well camped out until the early afternoon.
Still didn’t feel any better, though. If anything, the excess of sleep only made it worse, as Odd sat upright in the bed, rubbing the crusts from his already watery eyelids. The singing drone that rang and rattled in his skull did not relent, not even after he hauled himself out of his warm bed.
He got dressed. Sloppily, mind you; these days he wasn’t feeling too well to even care how he looked. Tee-shirt, sweatpants, socks. With a brief glance in the window, he already saw that he was a sight for sore eyes.
Pun intended.
While he still got a pretty good look at his reflection in the window, Odd mused with his hair a little. Combing his fingers through it; didn’t need a brush to take care of this bed head.
His face was pale; so much paler than usual. Eyes were sullen with dark rings underneath them, despite having slept enough to cure his former insomnia. The veins on the back of his hands began to show as he lowered his hands down his face, still trying to rub the wake into his eyes.
Odd hated being sick. Most children cherished their memories of caring parents who took care of them while they were ill. Served them chicken noodle soup with water or orange juice. Tucked them in and coddled them and said everything was going to be all right. It’s all right, Oddie. It’s all going to be all right. An echoing dream of what he had missed. It just wasn’t something he grew up with. When he got sick, he learned to complain about it as little as possible. He learned to cope, deal with the bellyache and the infection, even when it one time had potentially threatened his life.
Best to think about something else before any of that gets you down. All work no play makes Oddie a very dull boy indeed.
After all that running around... finding Sunderland, looking for Walter, delivering those blankets and ultimately riding around on the snowplows, helping Garnet... How could he so foolishly have expected not to come down with something? In freezing temperature, no less? He should have expected better of himself.
Stiffened by the crude aftertaste in his mouth, he cleared his sore throat; felt like he had just swallowed acid. Except that, no, all of that had been coming up the other way last night. So much for enjoying last night’s meal... what they had of it. He could hardly keep his dinner contained before his body started conspiring against him. What else was new.
“You’re glooming. Stop it.” He glared at his reflection, and then put on a rigid smile that didn’t take.
Smack!
As if that would help. “Wake up.” Odd glowered briefly, and then carried himself out of that room. His socked feet dragged along the hard floors as he swaggered down the hallways. Looking to see if there was any sight of anyone around; mostly he just needed to stretch his legs. Everything seemed so much quieter around here for some reason, despite Sunderland returning, and inevitably, Mary, too. Pascalle lingered about, as always. No surprise there, though. After his winning speech before Birdman’s attack, he hadn’t expected the spirit’s trust in his abilities anytime soon.
Odd paused in the middle of the hallway, reaching out for the wall. Thoughts hazy again. Dammit, he hated being sick. He hated being stuck inside. Already it was making him stir crazy. Soon he’d be entertaining himself with shadow puppets and making silly voices for each little avatar on the wall. Silly child. Like that was ever likely to happen.
Oh boy. Knees shaky. Oh man. Dizzy again. Oh boy.
Carrying himself up again, shoulder pressed to the wall for support, Odd made for the stairs in hope to find someplace to sit. There was always something in the cathedral. Along the way he kept telling himself, he really needed to start getting better now. Especially before Christmas when they expected there to be company here...
Content: Having overworked himself, Odd works on kicking back for some R&R. Unfortunately, for him, this is a lot easier said than done. Pour some more sand dear, cover ankle bites.
Location: St. Patrick’s Cathedral, Odd’s Room.
Time of day: Afternoon.
Warnings: Poor sick thing.
Odd couldn’t remember the last time he ever allowed himself to sleep in. With the afternoon light pouring in through the windowpane, he had a pretty good idea that he had slept a pretty good few hours. His head throbbed, his eyes burned with the pounding pain, searing from the beam that blazed across his face. It wasn’t even any sunlight, either; just the cold white shine of daylight, a reminder that he had very well camped out until the early afternoon.
Still didn’t feel any better, though. If anything, the excess of sleep only made it worse, as Odd sat upright in the bed, rubbing the crusts from his already watery eyelids. The singing drone that rang and rattled in his skull did not relent, not even after he hauled himself out of his warm bed.
He got dressed. Sloppily, mind you; these days he wasn’t feeling too well to even care how he looked. Tee-shirt, sweatpants, socks. With a brief glance in the window, he already saw that he was a sight for sore eyes.
Pun intended.
While he still got a pretty good look at his reflection in the window, Odd mused with his hair a little. Combing his fingers through it; didn’t need a brush to take care of this bed head.
His face was pale; so much paler than usual. Eyes were sullen with dark rings underneath them, despite having slept enough to cure his former insomnia. The veins on the back of his hands began to show as he lowered his hands down his face, still trying to rub the wake into his eyes.
Odd hated being sick. Most children cherished their memories of caring parents who took care of them while they were ill. Served them chicken noodle soup with water or orange juice. Tucked them in and coddled them and said everything was going to be all right. It’s all right, Oddie. It’s all going to be all right. An echoing dream of what he had missed. It just wasn’t something he grew up with. When he got sick, he learned to complain about it as little as possible. He learned to cope, deal with the bellyache and the infection, even when it one time had potentially threatened his life.
Best to think about something else before any of that gets you down. All work no play makes Oddie a very dull boy indeed.
After all that running around... finding Sunderland, looking for Walter, delivering those blankets and ultimately riding around on the snowplows, helping Garnet... How could he so foolishly have expected not to come down with something? In freezing temperature, no less? He should have expected better of himself.
Stiffened by the crude aftertaste in his mouth, he cleared his sore throat; felt like he had just swallowed acid. Except that, no, all of that had been coming up the other way last night. So much for enjoying last night’s meal... what they had of it. He could hardly keep his dinner contained before his body started conspiring against him. What else was new.
“You’re glooming. Stop it.” He glared at his reflection, and then put on a rigid smile that didn’t take.
Smack!
As if that would help. “Wake up.” Odd glowered briefly, and then carried himself out of that room. His socked feet dragged along the hard floors as he swaggered down the hallways. Looking to see if there was any sight of anyone around; mostly he just needed to stretch his legs. Everything seemed so much quieter around here for some reason, despite Sunderland returning, and inevitably, Mary, too. Pascalle lingered about, as always. No surprise there, though. After his winning speech before Birdman’s attack, he hadn’t expected the spirit’s trust in his abilities anytime soon.
Odd paused in the middle of the hallway, reaching out for the wall. Thoughts hazy again. Dammit, he hated being sick. He hated being stuck inside. Already it was making him stir crazy. Soon he’d be entertaining himself with shadow puppets and making silly voices for each little avatar on the wall. Silly child. Like that was ever likely to happen.
Oh boy. Knees shaky. Oh man. Dizzy again. Oh boy.
Carrying himself up again, shoulder pressed to the wall for support, Odd made for the stairs in hope to find someplace to sit. There was always something in the cathedral. Along the way he kept telling himself, he really needed to start getting better now. Especially before Christmas when they expected there to be company here...