faderift | (no subject)

WHO: Cyril and OPEN.
WHAT: Merrick is suffering from the posion. This is the place for people to worry about him.
WHEN: During the Crow Plot
WHERE: Merrick and Cyril's room.
NOTES: Merrick has been poisoned, so there's that. Also; talk of grief and death as that brings back bad memories for Clan Ashara, and Cyril's inability to self-care.

Sam had brought Merrick in from the cold. The healers had done what they could. Now all that was left was to wait for the poison to make it's way through Merrick's body.

They knew by now that Zevran was missing. There was this strange ache in Cyril's chest when he thought about that, strong enough that he could notice it over the overpowering anxiety he felt about Merrick. He was aware they were coming up with a plan to get Zevran back, but most of that talk wasn't sticking when Cyril heard it.

It wasn't that he didn't care about the rescue. He cared a great deal about what happened to Zevran, it was that any new information just felt jumbled up in Cyril's head. He could only really focus on the way that Merrick looked. He was in pain, everyone could see that, but he couldn't wake or break free from it.

Cyril was stuck to the side of their shared bed. He sat in a chair with his legs folded up towards his body. He had reached out one of his hands clasped it over Merrick's. He wasn't planning on moving until his brother woke, not unless a healer needed the space by the bed. Nothing else really mattered to him. He didn't need to sleep, or eat, or do anything other than watch and wait.

Anyone who saw him could see that his body was very tense and stiff. He looked like someone who was just on the edge of a flight or fight reaction. His eyes were wide and staring down at the bed. Merrick's body was sweating and suffering. It reminded Cyril too much like how members of his Clan described the plague victims of past. He had no memories of that time, other than a dim impression of his mother's last moments, but it was enough to leave him feeling anxious and devastated.

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That makes the corners of Metaari's lips twitch into a faint smile before it fades again just as quickly and he lets out a breath, pushing himself up to his feet. "Well, I suppose I'd best go find myself a chair. What can I get you from the kitchens?"

He isn't just stopping by for a short visit, here. He plans on being in this for the long haul, and he isn't about to be uncomfortable during it.

He shook his head at the offer. He didn't think he could really stomach anything right now. It is not, however, a denial for Metaari to stay. What he says next lets Metaari know he's welcome to stay.

"Just get yourself whatever you need. You should grab some blankets as well. It gets rather drafty in here." It was bound to happen since they had a room with holes in the walls.

As soon as Metaari leaves the room Merrick begins to stir. His brow furrows and he makes a distressed sound, one hand opening and closing its fingers in a jerky motion.

Cyril gets up and goes to Merrick. "Hey, you're okay," he says. He puts a hand on Merrick's forehead, moving wet hair off of his face. "You're okay," he repeats, his voice low.

He really isn't sure if he believes that, or if Merrick can hear him or respond at all. He wants this to be a sign that he's waking. He almost thinks about calling after Metaari to get him back into the room sooner.

He isn't gone terribly long. The easiest part was finding the blankets. Convincing the kitchens to let him walk out with a small basket of food (bread, a few fruits, plus a small covered pot of stew) was a little bit more difficult. Mentioning that it was for energy for people staying in a sick room did the trick. Finding an unoccupied chair proved to be the most difficult part of it all, and Metaari had to resort to looming over someone until they got up so he could nab it.

But he's back once he has everything, the blankets thrown around his shoulders and the chair and basket in either hand. He has to back into the door to open it but he eventually manages it, finally putting everything down near the bed. One of the blankets gets dropped around Cyril's shoulders before he lowers himself into his chair at Merrick's side with a faint sigh, setting the food on the floor. "There." He pauses, frowning, as he gives Cyril a closer gaze. "Did something happen?"

Merrick lets out another faint whimper, and his body curves toward Metaari. His stress seems to lessen slightly now that he's returned.

Cyril looks up at Metaari when Merrick moves to him. This time, the jealousy sticks in his throat. He feels very selfish for it though, and swallows hard.

"He didn't like that you left," he says, because that's really the only way he can think to describe it. "Come over here. See if you can get him to react to your voice." He focuses on that possibility more than the weird possessiveness that keeps cropping up. He needs his brother awake and well, he can worry about his silly feelings later.

Edited 2016-02-10 05:36 (UTC)

Metaari shifts closer, pulls his chair up right next to the bed, his eyes slightly wide. There's a glimmer of hope behind them when he looks up toward Cyril with the same thought. Had he really had such an effect? Something like that even being possible...

But still, the reaction alone is enough to say that Merrick is still desperately clinging, fighting to be here. Metaari reaches out for Merrick, lets their hands twin together as he places his other on that sweaty forehead. "Merrick? It's alright. I'm here. I won't go anywhere again if you don't want me to."

It's obvious that Merrick isn't fully conscious or anywhere near it, but he responds to Metaari instinctively. He clutches Metaari's hand and his breathing slows at the sound of his voice.

The flood of emotion at that is overpowering. Cyril makes a noise as his breath is choked out of his throat. That Merrick is responding is wonderful but there is that jealousy again, gripping his heart.

He looks up at Metaari wondering why this new presence could get so much more out of Merrick when he's been sitting in this room this whole time without being able to get so much as a groan.

He pushes that aside because he can't comprehend what it means. "You did it," he says. "He's reacting to you."

He's torn between wanting to hug Metaari and wanting to hit him.

Please don't hit him. He would much rather have a hug.

The implications of it all are almost too much for Metaari to handle. Merrick is unconscious. He's sick and out of it and yet still, somehow, he knows that Metaari is there. He squeezes Merrick's hand back, at a loss for words.

His jaw works in silence for a moment before he tightens it. The muscles in his neck visibly flex as he seems to swallow some intangible thing down and he closes his eyes, tight, in an attempt to keep the flood gates on lock down.

"You'll wake up, Merrick. You have to. There are people out here waiting for you. And we-- I have so much to say." The last part comes out at a bare whisper, as though Metaari's voice gave out halfway through what he was saying, and he sucks in a slow breath before sitting back. The hand on Merrick's forehead draws away, but the one tangled with his fingers remains firmly in place.