And PLOT COMMENCES. Terrible plot. Horrible, whiny plot.

[starofchaos]

[There is a Liquid wandering the halls. Usually, Liquids are full of zest. This one... not so much. Odd, really. He's been feeling drained all day. His throat is scratchy and it's difficult to breathe properly. Worse, even his reflexes seem to be dulled! His head aches and his body is shaking with the cold. Why is he suddenly feeling the cold? He doesn't know! He's pale as death. He makes a quick call-]

Ocelooooot, where are you? I need you right now.

[-and hangs up. He can't help the rare whininess in his (particularly shaken and scratchy) voice. Liquid has never been sick a day in his life, excluding some of his imprisonment - and the less said about that the better. He leans against the wall, looking miserable, and sinks down to sit on the floor.]

This is a really rotten week... first the gray hair and now this...

DOES THE UNIVERSE JUST HATE ME LATELY?!

[His words break down into a fit of coughing and he buries his face in his hand for a moment as if that will hide his identity.]

(Long story short, Liquid is sick. It's not serious, even though he looks like hell, but prepare for whiny bitch syndrome if you approach him! He's not used to feeling this rotten.)

Comments

[identitycircuit.livejournal.com]

A gray hair, Brother?

[Have someone willing to make fun of you for that, Liquid.]

[bb11]

...I don't know. What happened?

[Says the short little you, currently still with chihuahua ears, paws and a tail.]

[liquidouroboros.livejournal.com]

Oh no, a gray hair. Your life is over.

[Guess who's in a miserable mood himself lately?]

Count yourself fortunate that your concerns are relatively small.

[fancy-shooting.livejournal.com]

[Ocelot, baffled by the tone of the call, makes his way to Liquid's location. He almost wonders if it's a joke, until he sees Liquid balled up against a wall. He approaches cautiously, reaching down to put a hand on Liquid's arm when he's close enough.]

Liquid?

This just isn't his day.

[neurotic-insect.livejournal.com]

Getting old is hardly anything to cry about.

[He's totally peering at you with arms crossed, looking all not-dangerous and slightly annoyed at how you're crying like a little girl.]

NEXT MORNING

[starofchaos]

[Liquid slept fitfully but without nightmares, awakening early. He lay listlessly on the bed, listening to Ocelot's breathing. Odd. He felt so very drained.]

...Adam?

[He whispered, surprised that his voice was so quiet. Then he awkwardly forced his hand up to poke him.]

Adam. I'm thirsty.