Abelas (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
getoutofmytemple) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
nysalogs2017-10-26 09:42 pm
getoutofmytemple) wrote in nysalogs2017-10-26 09:42 pm
Entry tags:
Open!
Who: Abelas (getoutofmytemple) & open!
What: Catch all for the event
When: Over the course of the month
Where: Olympia & Wyver
Warning(s): Illness, blood, Abelas is a huge jerk
[I: Early in the Month]
[Well after it had been clarified that he had not, in fact, been poisoned, Abelas' outlook on his condition... hadn't changed at all really. The sweet embrace of death was upon him, and he did not want to spend his last days holed up uselessly in a room.
However this plague upon him had other ideas, so as far as he was able to go was the kitchen before he gave up. Thus, by the sheer force of stubborn will he was sitting at the table in the kitchen, trying to go about writing notes on the area for reference.
Then the door opens and the rush of air triggers something in him, and he sneezes, sending his papers scattering over the table and falling onto the floor. Slowly he looks at the new arrival with a harsh stare, not so much directed at them as much as the miserable state of his existance.]
[II: Post Evacuation]
[A]
[Abelas glared as someone entered the room he had been shuffled into in the commotion of the evacuation. He had once again taken out the IV that had been keeping him hydrated. Even without the illness impairing him, he very much would not have cared to have something poking about his veins. Now with a healthy dose of paranoia, he quickly grew wary and agitated at the poking and prodding that came with those that tended to him.
He shot the new arrival a harsh glare, already predicting their next words would likely be.]
I shall drink when I am thirsty.
[B]
[Well, somehow he's managed to escape again. Magically making yourself invisible was handy when he spontaneously did not feel like resting and getting force fed any longer. There was a small part of him that was aware that it was the illness clouding his judgement, but the larger part of him hated taking orders from those centuries younger than him, and was fairly certain he was going to die and did not wish to do so laying quietly in a bed.
It was not until he was out and stumbling around like a drunk with a bloody nose that he realized that dying in the streets was probably not the best alternative. Eventually he found himself sitting on a bench holding a cloth to his face to stay the bleeding, ignored for the most part while people rushed around to tend to the refugees.
[Wildcard]
getoutofmytemple) & open! What: Catch all for the event
When: Over the course of the month
Where: Olympia & Wyver
Warning(s): Illness, blood, Abelas is a huge jerk
[I: Early in the Month]
[Well after it had been clarified that he had not, in fact, been poisoned, Abelas' outlook on his condition... hadn't changed at all really. The sweet embrace of death was upon him, and he did not want to spend his last days holed up uselessly in a room.
However this plague upon him had other ideas, so as far as he was able to go was the kitchen before he gave up. Thus, by the sheer force of stubborn will he was sitting at the table in the kitchen, trying to go about writing notes on the area for reference.
Then the door opens and the rush of air triggers something in him, and he sneezes, sending his papers scattering over the table and falling onto the floor. Slowly he looks at the new arrival with a harsh stare, not so much directed at them as much as the miserable state of his existance.]
[II: Post Evacuation]
[A]
[Abelas glared as someone entered the room he had been shuffled into in the commotion of the evacuation. He had once again taken out the IV that had been keeping him hydrated. Even without the illness impairing him, he very much would not have cared to have something poking about his veins. Now with a healthy dose of paranoia, he quickly grew wary and agitated at the poking and prodding that came with those that tended to him.
He shot the new arrival a harsh glare, already predicting their next words would likely be.]
I shall drink when I am thirsty.
[B]
[Well, somehow he's managed to escape again. Magically making yourself invisible was handy when he spontaneously did not feel like resting and getting force fed any longer. There was a small part of him that was aware that it was the illness clouding his judgement, but the larger part of him hated taking orders from those centuries younger than him, and was fairly certain he was going to die and did not wish to do so laying quietly in a bed.
It was not until he was out and stumbling around like a drunk with a bloody nose that he realized that dying in the streets was probably not the best alternative. Eventually he found himself sitting on a bench holding a cloth to his face to stay the bleeding, ignored for the most part while people rushed around to tend to the refugees.
[Wildcard]