groupiedrifter | Inbox for ximilia.

Yeah, the Marshall must've had a drawer just for your reports, huh? Dramatic asshole.

[His smile softens into something a little sadder. Pentecost is dead... A hell of a lot of good people have come and gone in the War. But hey, they survived, didn't they? It's a miracle, thinking back on that last home stretch.]

That's just the post-war high talking. [... Only he's been hit with truth serum. It's hard not to get a little flustered.] The tolerating goes both ways; I only work with the best. Obviously.

So sit down and stop digging around for something to write with, you predictable curmudgeon.

[He stole that word from you. It's his now. Drift bleed isn't even necessary.]

I can assure you I wasn’t —

[Oh, and there goes Hermann, emptying half his stomach next to the wall. Any and all sentiments/remarks have been thrown out the window along with a spot of orange he had this morning.]

Augh! Verdammter Scheiß!

... You know, you really need to stop interrupting our nice moments with hurling, Hermann.

It kills the mood something fierce.

[HARDY HAAAAR.

There's a pause. Maybe a touch worried, as is his new role his night.]

You alright?

Of course I’m not alright!

[He honestly can’t tell if that helped him feel better or worse. Already too far away from the bed and now left with a mess on the floor, Hermann is in a real dilemma.

Someone is determined to lock himself away at medical bay when this all finally blows over.]

I’m miserable! And I can’t get any shut-eye until this drug [Really rolling that R there.] exits my system like some unwanted guest. So excuse me if I’m not at my best to be sappy at this ungodly hour.

Okay, okay! I was just kidding! Sheesh.

[A pause.]

Should I call someone to come hang out with you? Yzak or Clara?

[Hermann, I know you hate the concept, but you might... need... a babysitter.]

[If Newton can see how absolutely wretched Hermann looks right about now. Not only does he need a babysitter, but he also requires a bundle of blankets and a room as cold as the Antarctic to lull his grouchiness.

His cheeks run much warmer and flush than they are now. The mere mention of having either Yzak or Clara to keep him company makes him feel absolutely silly. No matter how much truth serum you toss into his gob, the fact of the matter is that he will always (and forever will be) embarrassed by such a suggestion.

‘You really ought not to burden others with your troubles, Hermann. You’re a prodigy. Not a weak-bellied bunny rabbit.’]

No. What I need to do is to shut up and get myself sorted.

[He sighs. Dammit. He needs to clean up after himself.]

Right. Okay.

But if our roles were reversed, would you want me to shut up and get myself sorted, all alone, poisoned with a broken arm?

[It only seems fair, to point out what he's confident is gonna be a big double standard, you little shit.]

In the condition that I’m not being looked after. Which I am, but I don’t intend to put the others through the trouble of being my personal nurse.

[It only becomes a double-standard if you don’t swap things around. Gotta cover that denial somehow.]

The sooner I get myself tidied, the sooner I can rest again.

I'm gonna remember that quote, Hermman. 'I don’t intend to put the others through the trouble of being my personal nurse.' I'll use it, and you can't say shit about it. Just for the record.

[He sighs, and relents.]

Alright. Tidied, then rest. If you get any worse with this serum crap, you let me know, okay?

Otherwise, I'll bomb Clara and Yzak with inquiries.

Yes, yes! Fine. I will keep you prompted about my symptoms.

Now, if you’ll excuse me…

[He desperately needs to secure a mop before Yzak and Clara find out he’s been breaking his rest regimine.]

Inbox for ximilia.

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cw: vomitting / god why does it always come down this in these sentimental threads???

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