Oct 09, 2010 17:38
[Delta's starting to lose it again, slowly. He still visits the kitchen for food, but now seems to be much more shaky and unsteady. Today at dinner he's preoccupied with really struggling to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on the kitchen table. Shakiness isn't helping him spread the jelly on that bread.]
this is not a good time,
yes im still a druggie
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What are you doing?
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Making food.
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*Head tilt* Wrong?
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I'll be fine.
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Are you alright?
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I'm okay.
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I'm just shaky. It's the ADAM.
I've already asked two doctors here to help me. They're working on it.
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Want some help, sug'?
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No, I'm fine.
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I'm starting to decline again.
They'll find something.
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He stands and watches Delta a moment, curious. He's still a bit in awe of the heavy armor, and the relative grace with which Delta moves--normally, that is.
"Are you alright?"
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I'm okay, just a bit ill.
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So he keeps his questions about what could possibly go wrong with an armored juggernaut like Delta to himself and, because Delta's sandwich is almost assembled, forgoes his own sandwich in favor of soup.
"Stick around and you can have some, uh..." The unlabeled can is giving him problems. He finds a can opener, dumps the contents into a pot. "Chicken noodle, looks like." Thank God for psychic cabinets. Then, because he remembers Delta's earlier reaction to offered coffee: "I'm sure there's a thermos I can put it in for you, if you've got somewhere to be."
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It's all right. you don't need to give me any.
[His hand rattles against the communicator. Quickly he moves to steady himself by gripping his wrist. This is pitiful. Maybe he should have just stayed in his room, but he really believed he was fine beforehand. He misjudged how off he was, possibly in part due to being so drugged up.]
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