[Open] They're coming to take me away ho-ho hee-hee ha-haaa, to the infirmary!

[nadasharillen]

WHO: Everyone under quarantine who's sick
WHAT: Attempt to round up all the blueflu affected into a shared space
WHEN: During Phase 3, after quarantine announcement
WHERE: the Gallows and infirmary
NOTES: Please post your relevant content warnings in the headers of responses, all you beautiful hallucinating/sh*t losing butterflies ♥

With the Rifters drifting in and out of memory, the Templar needing a near constant slow infusion of lyrium--some needing to be doped up with sleeping draughts as fast as Colin, Christine, and the others who’ve devoted their time to the pursuit can make them--and the runners moving slower and slower as they sleep less and less, it's decided that moving everyone to a more easily watchable location for care would be the best, and safest, play.

[Nahariel, Colin, Audra, and any others who remain blessedly unaffected and volunteer are headed out to wrangle you... u mad?]

I. This is Fine

Coming (semi-)quietly? Drop a tag here to let us know, or if there's anything you want anyone to know about your movement, or if you want to hang with others in your new vaguely slapdash home. You live here now.


II. You'll pry my room out of my cold dead hands!

They're going to try to push for it, but aren't going to force you. They do need to know where you are, especially the Rifters... who keep being forgotten just this side of entirely. Your location information is going to be taken down, and they'll continue to come visit you. This can be handwaved, or we can thread it out!

[If you'd like your poor sick bb to be dragged out kicking and screaming, go ahead and indicate that in your tag. Alternately, send me a line @ shaestorms and we can figure out how to pry you loose together. Once you're there, throw a tag to whine about it if you like!]

Comments

[ipseite]

“They are doing only what they ought,” Petrana says, soothing, settling—it's uncomfortable, all of this, but when the covers are settled around her she holds out a hand without looking at it, concentrating on Araceli and not on the blue hue of her own skin.

“Will you sit with me?”

She ought to rest, too, but it is Petrana's experience of men and women like Araceli that that is never the best approach to having them do so.

[foxsays]

Her heart is in her mouth, her hands are blue as a storm night when the bells would be tolling in the docks across every island large enough for them; walls, not the heavy canvas of a tent, no blood or poultices but her hair oil where she rubbed too much and spilt the bottle (when? Days maybe) to cover the smell of sweat that wasn't salt.

"I used to climb out the window or try, if it was the doctor." But she does take the hand, in part so she stops popping the joint at her thumb. "Last time it was terrible but I can walk this time."

And hit, and run, so that settles her. A little.