closed; i get eaten by the worms

[sarcophage]

WHO: Benedict, Colin, Leander
WHAT: grippe club for men
WHEN: now-ish
WHERE: Gallows Chapel, a side room reserved for early quarantine
NOTES: gross. (if you want a starter, ask.)



for benedict;

Perhaps Benedict slept through the arrival, or perhaps he witnessed it. He might even have tried to say hello, and found his neighbour unresponsive, either too ill to acknowledge him or unwilling to expend what little energy he had for the sake of being polite. Now, though...

Now, should Benedict turn to see the cot newly installed some feet away, he will find Leander's face likewise turned toward him, strangely flushed and bloodless, heavy-lidded eyes fixed in a bleary stare. Pale lips parted just slightly. Sweat-dampened curls dark on his forehead. Thin inside the loose sleeves of his linen, most of his body a few peaks and valleys beneath the infirmary blanket, and utterly listless.

One may forgive him for assuming the worst.

---

for colin, after benedict is removed;

—The other nurse, meanwhile, will be given no opportunity to think the worst as long as Leander is awake, for he keeps himself stoic, blandly arranged in repose and lacking expression, following the young man with only his eyes. In contrast, he looks boyish in sleep, lacking some indefinable tension beneath his skin, with only a slight crease between the eyebrows to belie his peaceful rest.

Or seeming rest. He has ample eyelashes to disguise a pair of watchful slits.

Comments

[altusimperius]

It's hours later when Benedict stirs again, roused by the heavy footfalls of an approaching guard who stops by his bed and hands him a letter.
He takes it, reads it, and looks up at the guard, then around at the room, then back of the letter with a whispered "what?? why?"

[sarcophage]

Leander is still watching the guard with an unconcealed withering eye—two of them, in fact—and continues to do so until the offending presence has once again receded from bedside. If he knew about germs he would climb out of bed and spew them directly on this man, grasp his lapels and cough in his face, into his mouth and eyes, just to spite his existence. Alas, at this time he can merely hope he too will breathe the miasma, take it one step further and die from it.

(Like Leander himself still might decide to do, out of spite for someone else entirely.)

There is no sympathy in his voice, and he may still be eyeballing the guard, when he asks, "What is it now?"

[altusimperius]

"It's C--" Benedict almost answers, but thinks better of it. He and Leander may have made their relative peace, but that doesn't mean he's suddenly trustworthy.
"Nothing," he says in a defeated sigh, looking back to the letter and resting his head back down, his back turned to Leander. He doesn't get to lie there for long, however, as the guard, who only left for about five minutes, returns.

"Up," they say, "you're going back downstairs."

Bene regards them carefully, then slowly stands, still holding the blanket from the cot around his shoulders for warmth. He's not well yet by a long shot, but he promised himself he wouldn't make any fuss, and he still intends to hold to that.
Still gripping the letter in one hand, he almost looks at Leander as he's led out, but forces himself not to.