( closed? )

[underwhelms]

Who: Jean-Jacques Leroy (underwhelms) & his entourage
What: Explosion and sickness stuff.
When: October.
Where: Olympia & Wyver
Warning(s): N/A

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[underwhelms]

[ Apparently Keith is a Persona character now, though the sight of the mask materializing over Keith's face and the other man's subsequent march over to JJ don't fill him with much wonder. Instead, his mild concern quickly shifts to a much more concentrated panic. Nothing about this illness is cooperative, not the disgusting symptoms or the way it plays with the mind.

JJ finally gets to his feet—he can't tell if Keith was talking about him or the creature when he said "get it to lie down", but he'd rather be standing right now, as unsteady as he is, fighting vertigo and hands up in a show of peace. ]

What is it?

[ The blood doesn't relent either, forming drops that he wipes away, hands steadily becoming redder and redder. ]

[emblazes]

[Don't piss it off Lance......this isn't like trying to charm a lion. It's a bird-lion.

Of all times to not have that crimson handkerchief on hand. In spite of that blood, he was eventually going to help JJ up...but there he goes. Like a big boy.]

Does it hurt?

[Probs shouldn't be answering questions with even vaguer questions. He'll offer a preemptive shoulder, should JJ fall on his ass again. He could explain that he's bleeding from various orifices (and non-orifices too), properly freak him out, cause mayhem.

Or just force himself to be dismissive about the whole thing. A task made easier by his creepy glowy Blade mask.]

You just look sicker compared to last time.

[DOES ANYONE HAVE A HANDKERCHIEF.]

[competing]

[ nobody has a handkerchief okay it's 2049.

anyway, call lance the gryphon whisperer, because it takes him exactly two minutes to gently coax the creature onto the ground, alternating between soothing pets to its beak and worried glances the other two's way. he opts not to say anything about jj's current condition, thinking... maybe keith's blase handling is the better of the two? surely jj isn't dying... surely............ ]

Um. He's ready whenever you two are.

[underwhelms]

[ Things are presumably looking up, now that Lance has wrangled the gryphon to lie down, and it would be easy for JJ to climb up now. It's nice, and JJ would be more appreciative of the effort if not for the way that his heartbeat is starting to pick up, Keith's questions and appearance instilling a sense of unease that's ready to rocket toward panic.

But it stays at a simmer for now, head too full of cotton to really dwell on the implications of why Keith would ask if he's hurting—he is, from the regular aches and pains that accompany a flu, but he doubts those are worth bringing up at this very moment. ]

What's with the mask?

[ Maybe not the smartest or most pertinent question, but he just needs to know, and he can only really focus on one thing right now. ]

Is this part of the guard uniform? Are you going to arrest me for being sick?

[emblazes]

Thanks, Lance.

[So weird to say that so naturally, without any trace of sarcasm. Even with things established between them...hmph. Character development not quite as pertinent as getting JJ atop his ride, and uh....somehow getting the bleeding to stop? Maybe in reverse order, with any luck. He can only think of one thing that may help some -- it certainly couldn't make things worse.]

--The mask doesn't have anything to do with that.

[He's rifling through one of his pouches.]

No one's arresting anyone.

[It's not like JJ was kneeling during the national anthem or something. Finally, a small unmarked bottle's produced and uncorked. He never truthfully...got to the bottom of how this worked; as a topical applicant or something meant to be ingested. It's an old healing potion from way back when -- there may be an inch or less of it left.]

Drink that, it might help. [He averts his eyes, looking briefly to Lance.] It's -- in case you get nauseous while flying.

[Wait, he's a serious figure skater and probably travels all the time?]

On a gryphon.

[competing]

[ it doesn't really take a genius to tell that keith's struggling here, but then again, his interpersonal relations had never exactly been his strong suit. kind of silly, then, to expect he'd have decent bedside manners. at least he tries...

but with the gryphon tamed, lance steps up again, affixing jj with an encouraging smile. ]

It'll help, dude, trust me. A sip of that stuff gets me feeling right as rain.

[ except it had been used as an ointment on him before, but he's like 99.9% sure it was originally intended for consumption anyway....

that gives him an idea, though, turning to his and keith's discarded duffel bag. from there he withdraws a single black t-shirt (could be keith's, could be lance's guard uniform, hard to say) but this he holds out towards jj, tentatively approaching. ]

We forgot to pack some towels, but this should work just fine. In case you wanna, uh, dry yourself off.

[ ... ]

[underwhelms]

[ It's a little uncertain for a second, because they're calming, and it feels like their help is genuine, but there's something in him that just wants to panic; a part of him that just wants to live up to the manchild reputation and throw a fit, because he's tired and aching, etc. etc.

But honestly, that seems like a lot of work, and there's a larger part that's defeated. Anger takes a lot more energy than he's will to expend right now, so he just smiles gratefully, though the expression doesn't really soften his ghastly appearance, and he takes both the offered bottle and shirt. ]

Thanks. I'm feeling better, actually.

[ As in, he's got the warm fuzzies from all the friendship floating around them, and it's overpowering the dread that would normally settle in his stomach.

He lifts the shirt to his face without really thinking about it, rubbing it over his cheeks where the blood is drying, and his nose where more is starting to trickle out. With the calm however, comes a bit of unwanted clarity: the slow realization of what exactly is happening, the red blurring over his vision, and the sudden, warm tang of blood in his mouth.

It's a good effort from Keith and Lance, but those warm fuzzies rapidly turn sour as JJ drops to his knees to throw up the contents of his stomach. ]

[emblazes]

[Isn't that his shirt? Didn't Lance only pack necessary items? He quells a pending outburst; it's fine. JJ needs it more than he does. He's dying, Squirtle.

You don't look better -- another thing he's internalizing. His brows arch high on his forehead, he spares a glance at Lance, devoid of anger...all of it replaced with skepticism. By the time he's got his sights set on JJ, he's doubling over, blood-puking?! It can't all be blood, it's not-? He's cross between jumping back and hunching over him like Owen Grady in Jurassic World trying to keep the raptors at bay -- the raptors being Lance, because he hasn't a mask covering his face...where's your dang visor son.

He's 100% bad at this, frozen like so, arms extended. It's...a good thing that he's puking, right? Getting rid of bad stuff...or, wait, that was only true for him the last time he puked and isn't universal law.

Um.]

[competing]

[ sans visor, lance has only his hand to slap over his mouth. but unlike keith's concerns, his is rooted more in his own worry that he might soon follow suit... not because he'll get sick. but because he'll get sick. heh.

once he's certain he won't be blowing chunks all over keith as soon as he opens his mouth, he cautiously shifts past him to check on the other boy. ]

Hey... Tell us what you need, man. [ soft. sympathetic. caring. ]

Keith'll get it for you.

[ a regular florence nightingale. ]