coineater | Labyrinthum Inbox.

[Well, if having this conversation (or any conversation at this moment) is easier with a phone call, then she'll oblige him. It was a hard guess which was worse between his sight and his ability to speak.]

[The symptoms aren't encouraging, either. Fever, chills, difficulty breathing, and a cough that severe... She doesn't like the sound of it.]

It's most likely an infection. [There's a sound of brisk movements in the background, and a door opening and closing.] Wrap up in your blanket, if you have it nearby. Just long enough to stop the shaking. And if you're not resting already, you should be. Lying face down should allow you to breathe a little easier, but sitting up may be more comfortable. Do whichever is easiest until I get there.

[It's hard to say if the noise he makes is more grumble or whine. It's not fair that he should have to bundle up!! The weather is getting nicer and he's already sweaty!

Rolling onto his stomach is easy to do, though, even if he cautiously favors one side over the other to avoid angering his freshly healed ribs. He doesn't seem to care that his voice is being muffled even further now, outside of appreciating that he doesn't have to hear quite as disgusting of a noise as he coughs again.]

Door is still locked...

[A breathy exhale comes through the phone, something that should be a laugh but sounds closer to a scoff.]

Not a concern.

[If he thinks she's never picked a lock before, he's gravely mistaken.]

Have you eaten yet today?

[Telling her was mostly a courtesy. Maybe she doesn't keep her lockpicks on her at all times, or would knock and wait out of polite caution of his comfort -- and now no one has to worry about expectations. Everyone knows Blue is breaking in.

Another grumble.]

Not hungry.

[She does appreciate the courtesy at least.]

I know, but you'll need to keep up your strength.

[The medicine is paramount, of course, but food is a close second. He's already so small... She won't have all her good meals go to waste these past few months by withering him back to his previous malnourished state.]

At least some broth for the time being. I'll make some once we get your fever sorted.

[His attempted laugh is just another wheeze that culminates in a choke of something wet that he'd rather not have heard or felt. It distracts him away from the joke of him and whatever strength he's supposed to have. He wishes he'd been well enough to get a proper start of things with Inigo... Oh well. Not like he's going anywhere -- has anywhere to go, if he's not here. Training will have to be some other day.]

Ugh.

[About as close to a confirmation as she'll get, probably.]

Indeed.

[It's enough of a confirmation for her, despite the worrying wheeze that he makes. Having him describe it was one thing, but hearing the sick wetness of it across the call is another matter entirely. He doesn't have to see the frown crease her brow; he'll only hear another rustle of fabric and clink of glass, and the sound of a door follows with a gusty rush of air after.]

I'll be there to let myself in shortly. Shall I stay on the phone and soothe your woes with my dulcet words?

[Or with her terrible humor, maybe.]

Edited 2024-06-22 02:59 (UTC)

[He's not in much of a joking mood, as casual and sarcastic as he tried to be. It's tempting to answer by hanging up and tossing the phone to the floor so he doesn't have to worry about being disturbed in his misery, even though this had worked out very much in his favor. That's mostly what keeps him from listening to impulse. After a pause, he manages a mumble.]

Anything from th'al -- alchemist?

[Honestly, she expected to have heard a click after that, so the fact that he stays on the line is surprising. The question, not as much. It's a shame she doesn't have better news to give him.]

Nothing, I'm afraid. There wasn't enough time to pry his secrets from him, and his house is as empty as any of the others.

[Damn. Her report is rewarded with the long, unhappy grumble of a disturbed feline trying to sleep -- not as long as his displeasure is content with, but there's only so much his lungs can handle. They finish his message off with punctuating cough.

Though...if that Giangio isn't here, then...? No, that's too far down the line from where he's stuck. Once he stops shaking and having so much trouble, he can ask Blue apart that part, too. For now he'll just close his eyes and breathe as best he can, phone held weakly to his ear like some unwanted safety line.]

[She frowns at both the grumble and the cough, though he can't see her expression. He sounds miserable. He likely feels that even more keenly now. She's halfway to his house, but the urge to comfort him still persists.]

Gattino... Don't worry yourself. We'll work something out regardless.

[It's a feverish blur of being comforted and feeling like his stomach is being ripped out over the familiar words. His voice is very quiet, even without being buried in fabric, infection, and the compression of technology.]

Yeah.

[She doesn't know.

Fox would remain there at his side, but Blue isn't his sister. To remind his weak will and grasp on the situation, Cat finally hangs up. He's so tired.]

[Despite her attempts to comfort him, they don't seem to land as she would have expected. With the weakness of his response and the click of call ending, the extension of her offer--and the sincerity she placed in it--feels weightless, a disquieting grasp at empty air.]

[She doesn't let it slow her pace, though. The phone is returned to her pocket, and she arrives at Cat's home shortly thereafter, making short work of the locked door that she was warned of. After a brief knock with her entry--just as he would, she steps inside and closes the door behind her.]

Your house call has arrived.

[For Cat's benefit and as a courtesy of her own, she makes her announcement to the house at large. It isn't very big, and she's more than familiar enough to go immediately to where he'd likely be resting. The satchel she carries is lifted over her head and laid down on the nearest surface she can find, for easier access to the supplies she's brought.]

[But first comes examining her patient properly; and she places a light hand on Cat's shoulder, ready to help him as needed.]

Can you sit up for me, if it's not too much trouble?

[He'll need to be upright to drink any medicine she offers anyway.]

[With the sofa in sight of the doorway, it's easy to eliminate it as an option, leaving only one reasonable place for Cat to be wallowing. He hadn't left his bed unless he'd needed to, being miserable enough simply curled up there. Walking around was far too much trouble to do recreationally.

Blue finds him laying on his stomach as directed, even though it makes his nausea rear its head. Her presence is an instant relief. The instructions not so much. Arms quaking from both the deep ache in every part of him and the shivers starting up again, Cat weakly pushes himself up, bracing his hand on the wall and end table when necessary. He almost doesn't care about how pathetic all this makes him feel, wrapped up in the physical misery of it all. At least he's not going to be dying, with Blue around to play with medicine.]

Took you long eno-nough. Ugh.

[The scolding can't really be called that, nor can it pass as a joke, with the tired, flat tone.]

Can you make it stop?

[Fortunately, he doesn't have to struggle alone. Blue helps him as he pushes himself up, a guiding hand put under his arm and assisting with some of the weight of his tired body. She pulls the blanket back around his shoulders as the shivers start again, a small attempt to bring him a little comfort while upright.]

You know I'll do my best.

[She brushes some of the sweat-slicked bangs away from his face. Then she gets to work.]

[She's already taken note of his fever with that previous gesture, moves her hands to the sides of his neck to feel for stiffness or swelling, checks his pulse, puts an ear to his back to listen for unusual sounds. She lacks the tools necessary for a good assessment, but the results are sufficient enough to give her confidence in what she already suspected:]

It sounds like pneumonia, if you know what that is.

[She has no way of knowing what Krat's level of medical knowledge might be. She moves from the bed to her satchel now, glass clinking as she pulls out the small jars she needs and sets them on the small bookcase nearby.]

You mentioned not having an appetite; do you feel nauseous?

[Her actions are tender, at first.

...

He closes his eyes, and is grateful when she moves on so all he has to think about is complying. When she makes her diagnosis, Cat grimaces and makes a soft, drawn out noise in complaint or confirmation, which is quickly swept into another weak coughing fit. Hell if he knows, but she sounds like she does. That's good -- it probably means she can do something. Pneumonia was normal. The clink of glass makes him hopeful enough to finally open his eyes again and turn his head towards her, wanting to see proof that medicine will be coming his way.]

Mm, sometimes. Rest is just...too tired, for that. [For feeling hunger, or indulging it.]

[It's understandable on both counts, the nausea and the fatigue. She only asks because asking him to take medicine would be pointless if it didn't stay in his stomach.]

One moment. [She leaves the bag where it is, containers set out in what seems like an indeterminate order, and walks briskly from the room. The sound of water can be heard briefly, and she returns with their two cups half full of warm water. Into one she stirs a powdered substance, then hands it to him.]

This one first, to warm you and settle your stomach. It won't taste terribly. A little earthy, a little spicy; but take it slowly if you need to. The next one will be bitter, and you'll need to keep it down.

[He'd much rather flop over and curl up tighter, letting sleep take him to an oblivion far away from then, but he can sadly acknowledge how fruitless that would be, the state his lungs are currently in. He still gives Blue a very clear grimace when he's offered the first glass.

It's not even tea... Just sad warm water with some crap in it. If he thought it would do anything, he'd try to make Fang Duobing eyes at her to make her sweeten things up a bit, at least, if she's going to force this trial on him. Looking dejected, as if she's denied him a unicorn rather than dutifully started acting as his nurse, Cat starts to sip at the water.

He doesn't like the way that holding the glass up to his mouth makes his wheezing echo back at him even more than he's already been feeling it.]

[The sad state of this kitten is truly a pitiable one, but he's correct in thinking she won't sacrifice his health for his poor tastebuds. If she had the luxury of making him a comforting tea instead, she would have done so. Though it'd be better still if she could provide him capsules that he didn't have to taste. She'll have to look into that for future rounds of medicine.]

[The dejection in his face does at least get her to take a seat on the bed beside him while he nurses his cup, hoping the nearness might be a comfort to him. Or even the way she brushes a bit of his hair.]

How long have you been feeling this badly?

[Nausea rears its ugly head not just as he swallows the odd mixture, but as he desperately wishes that the fingers ignoring how disgusting and sweaty his hair must be for the sake of comforting him weren't Blue's, but his sister's. It might not be fair to her, and it isn't meant to undercut his gratitude...but how could it not, just as much as him wanting Fox by his side is a forgone conclusion.

He's brought back from his misery by her voice.]

Not long. [But that likely had more to do with her messaging him first, since he had only been wallowing before that.] Ugh. I wanted to train a little. Not everything I fight s'gonna be -- a friend in disguise. I'm only gonna get worse...

[His eyes close again before he forces himself to gulp down more of the drink. Even then, he doesn't quite finish it, and nearly chokes after swallowing when a cough tickles up from his lungs.]

Mmngh... So I was going to spar with someone...yesterday? [The day before...? What day is it, even?] I dunno. But I had to stop. Went downhill from there. This is gross.

[But look...he's a good boy and finishing it before holding it weakly out for her to take.]

[There's a small press of her lips at his mention of a friend in disguise. But it's a fair comment, so she can't protest--and the thought is dismissed entirely when he starts to cough, prompting her to place a hand on his back to support him. Once he's finished and he offers back the cup, she takes takes it and sets it aside on the table with her other things. There's more medicine for him to take still, but she can give him a moment to rest from that first.]

I'll have something more palatable for you next time.

[She returns to brushing his hair back from his face in slow motions.]

Were your ribs healed already, to have you sparring with someone?

[Her hand feels soothing apart from how aware it makes him of how disgustingly sweaty he is. His nightshirt is sticking to him in places over it, and even with the blanket blocking the air from reaching him, it seems to find those clammy patches and make them colder.]

Healed enough for su-sure. If I stop anytime I feel a little -- s-sore, I'll never get back to it. I'm'lready having to shake rust off. You know I barely surv -- [Ugh, too much talking for his lungs, which they protest with more coughing.]

[He descends into a fit of coughing again and her hand moves to wrap around his shoulder, holding him while his lungs protest in their suffering. She waits for the coughing to pass before speaking again. If only healing him was as simple as sleeping off an injury in a recuperation pod. Would she be out of her mind for wishing that into being?... Probably. But she considers it briefly in lieu of feeling helpless at his pain.]

You should have told me... I could have checked if they were sturdy enough for that. As it is, you'll need to take care with all of this coughing. Your muscles might still be weak from healing, and you don't want to injure them again.

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