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acatalepsy_logs2018-09-13 01:17 pm
fairysong) wrote in acatalepsy_logs2018-09-13 01:17 pm
Open β« if you sneeze, a butterfly in a forest somewhere will dance
Who: Sheryl Nome and anyone else! Including you. Especially you.
Where: All through the temple.
When: Arrival / sickness event
Rating PG13+, warning for mild nudity
What: Sheryl ain't down with the sickness.
[Week One:]
[It's silly to be worried about this. Sheryl knows that. She knows that her V-Type Infection had progressed to a stage where the symptoms were completely different from this; even if Ranka hadn't cured her, a resurgence would feel completely differently. And everyone else is sick, too. This can't be the disease that nearly killed her.
A part of her brain is completely ignoring all that logic and reason, though. These symptoms are like what she'd first felt, after all. And there's that tiny nagging voice that she can't banish, constantly asking her: What if? What if Ranka had just delayed her death? What if everyone else has one thing, but she has another?
It's a stupid, irrational thought, and she can't banish it. So Sheryl deals with the deep-seated panic the best way she knows how: She throws herself into her music.
The only trouble is that this lingering headache and stuffiness makes it so very hard to write lyrics. So you'll find a young woman sitting at a table in the kitchen with a pencil and a torn sheet of paper that's full of scribbled out words. Most of them are crossed out. Sheryl is looking very frustrated-- and then she turns, pointing the end of the pencil at you.] You!
...what rhymes with "forest"?
[Week Two:]
[It got worse. It got much worse.
The good news is that Sheryl is now fairly certain that this isn't her V-Type Infection coming back; the symptoms have progressed in a completely different way.
That's the only good news. Sheryl feels like shit. She hasn't experienced the hallucinations that she's heard other people dealing with, which she's thankful for, but a violent fever and everything else that comes with it isn't much better.
The worst is that she constantly feels like she's just burning up, across her entire body, and since the bathing area is communal here, she hasn't figured out how to take a cold shower or bath to try and counteract it. Still, she's a resourceful young woman.
In the hallways just outside of the bathing area, you'll come across Sheryl with a rolled-up wet towel draped around her neck and over her shoulders. Though the towel hangs down in front of her chest, it is very clear that she is not wearing a shirt. Still, any potential sexiness is blunted by the fact that Sheryl looks rough and completely exhausted.
She's just too drained to give a shit about this right now. She does glance in your direction, though, and speaks in a slow voice that sounds impossibly tired.]
Can't a girl get some privacy around here...?
[Week Three:]
[Again, there's good news and there's bad news. The good news is that she feels much, much better than before. No fever, no chills, no cold sweats, no trembling.
The bad news is that she can't see.
In a place where she still doesn't know anybody that well, she's reluctant to ask someone for help like she might someone she trusts, like Alto or Ranka. Which means Sheryl is moving slowly around the temple, one hand on the walls at all time, dark glasses on even in the middle of the night.
At some point leaving the kitchen area, you might hear a girl's voice yelp in pain. If you investigate, you'll find Sheryl doubled over, rubbing at one of her shins and hissing obscenities through her teeth.
When she hears footsteps, she straightens up abruptly.] Ah... someone must've moved that chair, I don't think it was there before!
[It's an odd excuse, mainly because she'd just run into a bench, and you're pretty sure the bench has always been there that whole time. Also, she's not looking directly at you, but also a little off to the side.
A little suspicious.]
Where: All through the temple.
When: Arrival / sickness event
Rating PG13+, warning for mild nudity
What: Sheryl ain't down with the sickness.
[Week One:]
[It's silly to be worried about this. Sheryl knows that. She knows that her V-Type Infection had progressed to a stage where the symptoms were completely different from this; even if Ranka hadn't cured her, a resurgence would feel completely differently. And everyone else is sick, too. This can't be the disease that nearly killed her.
A part of her brain is completely ignoring all that logic and reason, though. These symptoms are like what she'd first felt, after all. And there's that tiny nagging voice that she can't banish, constantly asking her: What if? What if Ranka had just delayed her death? What if everyone else has one thing, but she has another?
It's a stupid, irrational thought, and she can't banish it. So Sheryl deals with the deep-seated panic the best way she knows how: She throws herself into her music.
The only trouble is that this lingering headache and stuffiness makes it so very hard to write lyrics. So you'll find a young woman sitting at a table in the kitchen with a pencil and a torn sheet of paper that's full of scribbled out words. Most of them are crossed out. Sheryl is looking very frustrated-- and then she turns, pointing the end of the pencil at you.] You!
...what rhymes with "forest"?
[Week Two:]
[It got worse. It got much worse.
The good news is that Sheryl is now fairly certain that this isn't her V-Type Infection coming back; the symptoms have progressed in a completely different way.
That's the only good news. Sheryl feels like shit. She hasn't experienced the hallucinations that she's heard other people dealing with, which she's thankful for, but a violent fever and everything else that comes with it isn't much better.
The worst is that she constantly feels like she's just burning up, across her entire body, and since the bathing area is communal here, she hasn't figured out how to take a cold shower or bath to try and counteract it. Still, she's a resourceful young woman.
In the hallways just outside of the bathing area, you'll come across Sheryl with a rolled-up wet towel draped around her neck and over her shoulders. Though the towel hangs down in front of her chest, it is very clear that she is not wearing a shirt. Still, any potential sexiness is blunted by the fact that Sheryl looks rough and completely exhausted.
She's just too drained to give a shit about this right now. She does glance in your direction, though, and speaks in a slow voice that sounds impossibly tired.]
Can't a girl get some privacy around here...?
[Week Three:]
[Again, there's good news and there's bad news. The good news is that she feels much, much better than before. No fever, no chills, no cold sweats, no trembling.
The bad news is that she can't see.
In a place where she still doesn't know anybody that well, she's reluctant to ask someone for help like she might someone she trusts, like Alto or Ranka. Which means Sheryl is moving slowly around the temple, one hand on the walls at all time, dark glasses on even in the middle of the night.
At some point leaving the kitchen area, you might hear a girl's voice yelp in pain. If you investigate, you'll find Sheryl doubled over, rubbing at one of her shins and hissing obscenities through her teeth.
When she hears footsteps, she straightens up abruptly.] Ah... someone must've moved that chair, I don't think it was there before!
[It's an odd excuse, mainly because she'd just run into a bench, and you're pretty sure the bench has always been there that whole time. Also, she's not looking directly at you, but also a little off to the side.
A little suspicious.]
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