( 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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Comments

[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. ]