brett

Trying Not To Talk

Feeling:
angry

Who: Brett and Eris
Where: The vicarage - hallway/ kitchen
When: Early morning

Eris had gotten up early. Kind of stupidly early, because she had gone to bed really early. She was feeling better. Not one hundred percent, or anything, but she was moving faster, her head didn't pound constantly, and the little ache in it was actually something that was kind of normal for her. She got headaches a lot. Her fever seemed to have gone down some too. She'd even gotten dressed today. Real clothes and everything, though she stuck with warmer things, comfortable things. She was sitting on the third stair up from the bottom, looking down at the Brett-doll she'd retrieved again from the doll house. She kept thinking she was going to check it. See what was under the eye patch. See what kind of cut the missing limb had. All that kind of thing, but she hadn't yet. And, as she was sitting there, staring down at the doll in her hands, she was kicked out of her heavy thoughts by the watch on her wrist. With the little musical alarm that was going off. She couldn't place the song, but it sounded like a music box to her. The light on it started to flash as well. She didn't do anything, just stared down at it, watching the little smileyface icon on the lcd screen blink.

Brett had been up for a while as well. Given the last few days, sleeping in didn't really feel like an option any more, and he didn't want another day where everything was getting started before he'd had a chance to privately get himself ready for the day. So, he'd woken early this morning and kept himself very much to himself until he felt ready to face whatever it was they had to face today. He was, however, pleased to see that the chair they'd given him yesterday hadn't been taken away again. It was a damn sight better than anything he'd had in the past, and far and away above the piece of crap they'd given him for a couple of days. He rolled out into the hallway almost silently, enjoying the lack of squeak and the loss of rusty resistance. And, as such, he saw her before she saw him and he looked at her, noting the small signs that told him she was looking rather better today.

frosty can kiss my ass

who: people at the vicarage
when: 8am
where: the vicarage

Eris was woken by the alarm. Frosty the Snowman bit through her blissful unconsciousness like a cheerful fucking scalpel. And at first, she fumbled around, like she was going to shut an alarm off. Only...she didn't have an alarm, now did she? Instead she just managed to knock a few things to the floor and that had her looking over the end of her bed. Her head swam when she did, the music really making her brain fucking hurt, but she focused on...were those presents? What the fuck?

Storyteller

Feeling:
stubborn

who: eris, everett and brett
where: living room, mostly
when: later afternoon/early evening

It was all a bunch of bullshit, in Everett's opinion. Really, everything here tended to be, but in this particular situation? He was getting reminded of that fact more heavily than he usually would. That stupid dollhouse was an obvious goading tactic, at least as far as he was concerned. What other use would it have? Dress up each of them in some absurd little representation, put the whole thing out in a public spot so they could be witness to each others' reactions. And he blamed his lack of a fucking drink for his, but that didn't exactly matter much now. He'd had a bad one, they'd all seen it. Eris had probably even felt emboldened enough to call him 'captain' again, that or her brain damage had just made her forget not to. But Ev felt surly enough to assume the former as he sat in the living room, staring balefully at the outdated television even if it was off, one hand clutching the doll he'd thrown away earlier, the other holding what had to be his fourth cup of shitty instant coffee.

the dollhouse

who: everett, eris and brett open to hannah and posy
when: morning
where: front hall

Assessing

Who: Brett and Everett
Where: The vicarage
When: afternoon

Everett knew he should be doing more. He'd been good lately; helpful, reliable, structured. And talking with Posy had helped return a bit of social normality to his head, but it wasn't enough. He'd headed back up to his room afterwards, and had just sat there for a while. He had clothes ready to be changed into, a razor to smooth out his scalp and jaw, thoughts half-formed in his mind about what he could do and who he could go see. None of it seemed worth pursuing, though. Why bother? He'd just end up getting himself in deeper.

But for all his apathy, Ev slowly went through each step of getting ready. He was still pursuing the day and his vague plans for it, just at a pace that felt like moving underwater. He needed a smoke, three drinks, and a week to sleep. But he didn't have any of those things, so Ev just ended up heading downstairs. He didn't make it far from the stairs before he ended up sitting on the bottom few, slowly lacing and tying up his boots, eyes fixed on his hands as they worked each lace together.

PM to Leah

Leah

We have someone here who's possibly suffering from exposure - got caught out last night in the snow storm, appeared back at the house this morning. I have her wrapped up and warming and started her on antibiotics and antipyretics, but I'm not doctor. I don't know about your place, but we're mostly snowed in today, but if sometime in the next few days you can get over here, would really appreciate a proper medical opinion. In the meantime, any advice on anything more I should be doing? We're in the vicarage.

Brett

What do people do?

Don't know if this has already been addressed, but now we're on our own, what did people do on the outside? What skills do people have? We should all know this.

good morning, sunshine

who: brett and eris
where: spooky doom house
when: morning

When Eris regained consciousness, it wasn't necessarily a pleasant sort of experience. She woke into a world where her head pounded, her body ached, her throat was sore, her stomach ached, she felt vaguely like she was going to be sick, and...generally speaking she felt awful. She was also vaguely surprised, because she really hadn't expected to wake up at all. So upon waking, and realizing she wasn't in fact, dead, and was back in the most uncomfortable damn bed in the known universe...Eris was a little hard pressed to be grateful for continued survival.

She groaned and curled farther into a ball, the movement making shivers break out through her form, since a little of the cool air of the room drifted in through the thin blanket. God, she felt terrible. She probably needed to take something. Or...find a window to leap out of. Cynically, she figured she was only on the second floor. She likely wouldn't actually die. Crap. After having to convince herself a whole lot, she got out of bed, dragging the blanket with her, wrapping it round her shoulders as her teeth chattered. Stumbling out of her room, she tried to remember where the bathroom was, but...that was kinda beyond her reach at the moment. So she shuffled along til she was reaching out for the rail to keep herself upright, breath coming heavier than she would have liked. She only vaguely realized after her vision cleared that she was looking down into Brett's room again. Why the hell didn't he have a ceiling, anyways? What the hell kind of room was that? Who built this house, and what kind of crack had they been on in the first damn place?

Brett was sleeping, lying on his side, his legs positioned carefully beneath the covers, supported by pillows, a position that actually only left him one pillow to support his head, which he'd folded in half and scrunched up to get high enough and which he was holding in place in his sleep by wrapping an arm around it. At least, that had been the plan - he'd got himself comfortable last night, got himself enough pillows by stealing some from the empty room next door, since this fucking house didn't have enough in just his room. But, sometime in the night, those stolen pillows had been stolen back and since then Brett's sleep had become increasingly disturbed as his unconscious mind noticed the subtle change in positioning. Not that he could actually feel the loss of the pillows from his legs, but the change altered the angle of his body and a host of other small matters that registered as Not Right. It had been different when they'd been travelling, he'd expected that, but in a bed - even an uncomfortable one - when he'd specifically set himself up before going to sleep? He remembered that shit, he had to - he didn't want to ever have to worry about pressure sores and other shit like that. he shifted slightly in his sleep, muttering to himself and showing signs of waking up.

Stand Off

Feeling:
bitchy

Who: Brett and Hannah
Where: The vicarage
When: Late afternoon

His wheelchair was still a piece of uncomfortable stained shit, but at least it got him where he wanted it to now without a lot of hard work and an annoying squeak. Most of the rust was gone from the wheels and it moved smoothly. Hell, the thing shone in places, but then Brett had worked like hell on the fucking thing all day. Or most of the day. It was easier than thinking about things anyway. Things like the fact that his room might be liveable, but the kitchen was a fucking death-trap and he couldn't get himself to go in there. The galley shape meant that he wasn't convinced he'd be able to turn round once he entered and it'd kicked up his claustrophobia like nothing else. So, right now, he was fucking starving. So far today he'd managed to find some food in his bags, along with the note from Eris. He'd balled it up and thrown it away. She was a fucking liar, she'd lied to him - he wouldn't put it past her to lie to him about not lying to him. People couldn't be trusted. People were just waiting for the angles. She'd even admitted it to his face. What she'd been - clearly what she still was. And he'd given her the benefit of the fucking doubt. He'd been understanding. He'd been a fucking fool who deserved everything he fucking got and it was better off that she was out of his fucking life.

He was sat out on the porch at the front of the house, recovering from his latest attempt to brave the kitchen. Latest failed attempt. He needed the air, so he was sat there, in his piece of crap chair, eyes closed, head back a little, just breathing. It was cold, but he'd lived through colder. There was the smell of impending snow in the air - he refused to think about what that would mean for her if all the houses were locked up. Or worry about whether she'd taken her meds today. Fuck her. Fuck all of them. He just wanted to be alone.

Posy's Theories.

Who: Posy and Open
When: Afternoon
Where: The Vicarage