[Closed - Adorable werewolves]

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CHARACTERS: Nina Pickering & George Sands (ghost and vampire buddies welcome!)
LOCATION: Their room
WARNINGS: There could be vomit? Or it could just be spew inducing? Who knows. o.o;
SUMMARY: George is having a great time with the post-jump engineering symptoms.
NOTES:




It's not unfamiliar really, when she thinks about it. Back home, it sort of seemed a domino of events too, one thing would crash into another, before you knew it, you're a werewolf. A bodies being shipped to Brazil. You're living in Barry. She refuses to be overwhelmed, just glad she could be of some use at this stage, rather than listening to George down a spluttery, static device, wrenched entirely because she wanted to find him, yet she'd be useless wandering around, equally lost and and possibly equally trapped - and when she'd thought fuck it gone to find a way in, there wasn't one.

There wasn't a guarantee they'd get out quickly, if at all. It'd dawned on those left behind that people were trapped, for god knows how long. What've he'd had to change in there? He wouldn't have let himself hurt anyone, but that ultimately had meant he'd force them to hurt him before that ever happened. At least that's what Nina suspects he'd do if faced with no options.

She's tired and concern hasn't shifted from her expression since the jump, but still she's also a far sight healthier than a good portion of the ship. Things are settled enough in medical for now and even if they were terribly busy she would have slipped away to keep an eye on George, look after him. There's a lot of sick people aboard this ship, but there one in particular she's most interested in sticking by. You know, if you're going to clean up sick, it might as well be sick from- no, no she stops that train of thought quickly enough.

Nina has a few things with her, set out on a tray as she returns quietly to their room, careful about slamming doors or clomping about. It's a really not exciting, plain surviving-a-stomach-virus-tray. Even it's not a bug, but for now they're treating symptoms, mostly dehydration. Water, as always is important.

Alongside that is a glass of some electrolyte replacement liquid stuff, not the sugar loaded gatoradeish sports drink either. No, the proper, medical, no actual discernible 'fruit' flavour thing that any mother tended to force down their children's throat's after they've been ill. She doubts there's many out there that do not suffer some sort of PTSD at the mere taste of it, torn back to the days of weighing up death, over a glass of that stuff, it's pretty potent. Perhaps overboard with the liquid's there's tea too, because some are recovering faster than others and it's tea. Just in case he can eat, there's a little dry toast too.

Comments

[nebbish]

George doesn't wholly remember everything that happened in there. He remembers well enough fixing a bit of wiring and thinking to himself how he'd enjoy telling Nina all about it, how he'd enjoy playing up his manliness - yes. He remembers feeling desperate and a bit lost. He remembers hunger, and thirst, and the attempt to reach people on the outside. He remembers...something about Mitchell...But at once he simply begins thinking on other sorts of things and not paying that any mind at all, because there are much better things to think about.

Like Nina. Like Nina coming towards him like an angel, bringing healing to his poor heaving stomach. Bringing, if he does not miss his guess, tea. That's something to think about; he sits up, letting out a miserable long breath and groaning, "Thank you, thank you for - for all this."

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[There's a small smile, because he really is so earnest. But, there's worry behind it as she neatly sets the tray down on the little table near the bed, moving it out a little.] Oh, I just didn't want to miss out on all the fun. [The fun. Her tone implies all it needs to. Since everyone was booted from engineering most had recovered, the relapse at post-jump means the symptoms are officially recurring and her concern for what that means has risen a notch, it can't be a coincidence.

She sits herself on the bed, close by George on the space created as he sits up, without shoving him over.] Now- if you're thinking about tea. [One look toward him says Nina knows he's very likely to already thinking about tea. Or at least at some point soon, he will be. She'd have all the more reason to worry otherwise.] You're probably already dehydrated as it is, so just take it easy, alright? [It's no lecture, a fondness in her tone matched by a gentle rub at his shoulder. It's tea, for christ sake, she's not going to deny an ailing George tea.]

Besides, if you were to Linda Blair it all over the place- [She makes a face to serve as description because it would honestly stink, evidently it's directly on to shameless mockery of a sick man now.]