Open ♫ if you sneeze, a butterfly in a forest somewhere will dance

[fairysong]

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.]

Comments

[fairysong]

[She sits up a little straighter, and there's a glint of something in her eyes.

This is, of course, one of her favorite topics.] Not exactly death metal; their sound's a little... more fun. Here--

[A little wag of her finger, and some distorted guitar licks-- and the rest of the music-- starts playing out of nowhere. Notably, however, it's only instrumentals; there aren't any words.

If it sounds like cheesy 80s rock, that's because it probably is. Sheryl lets the music play for a while before joining in, singing the first few bars of the chorus:] Soar through the sky, love heart; on the wings of burning emotions...

See? Fun stuff.

[bleps]

[Well, this is certainly different than the guttural, power-chord infused music of death metal. Not that Connor is all that familiar with the subgenre, since his only real experience was having it blasted into his audio processors while in the passenger seat of Hank's car.

It's about as much real experience he has with music, anyhow.]

Fun. [-he repeats and enunciates a little louder, a little more clearly, over the sound of music suddenly playing out of... nowhere, apparently.

He shelves his other questions in favor of this new one:]

How are you doing that? Is it your power?

[fairysong]

I couldn't do this at home, so I guess it must be~ [A circle with her fingertip, and the music ceases.] Any sound or song I've heard before, from what I've found out. Can't do voices, though.

[bleps]

Astoria granted you a gift that was very... fitting of your personality. I can't help but wonder if that's a shared trait amongst all of us.

Pretty useful for a musician though, isn't it?

[fairysong]

Very useful! I don't think there's anything in the world that could stop me from singing, but it's always nice to have some backing instrumentation. And I haven't seen anyone with so much as a guitar since I've been here.

What'd you get?

[bleps]

You'll be popular in no time, just like at home.

Me? I can turn into a canine. It's quite an interesting power, though I've not used it in a practical way just yet.

[fairysong]

[That makes her pause, and for a second she looks at him with a quizzical expression on her face.]

...you turn into a dog?

[bleps]

Yes.

Well. Not only a dog. Anything from the Canidae family, it would seem.

[A beat.]

But mostly dogs.

[fairysong]

What sort of animal would be a canine, but not a dog? Aren't they all dogs?

[bleps]

No, not exactly.

[What have you done, Sheryl-]

The domesticated dog is Canis lupus familiaris; believed to be descended from wolves or a very similar canid. Their temperament is different, and are also defined by a very variable physical and behavioral diversity compared to others in the Canidae family, the latter of which often possesses a relatively predictable baseline. Biologically, they’re different enough to have earned their own scientific classification as a sub-species.

For instance, a fox is a member of the Canidae family. Yet they are not technically dogs.

[fairysong]

[She gives him this face.

She's not a scientist, Connor.]

So you're... saying you can become a fox, too?

[bleps]

[Just a smile. She obviously understood some of it, because her conclusion isn’t wrong.]

That’s right. I can.

[fairysong]

[Well now she's just curious.] Can I see?

[She has friends who can technically shapeshift, but miclonization is a way different beast.]

[bleps]

Of course.

Did you want to see a fox, specifically?

[fairysong]

You know what?

Surprise me.

[bleps]

All right. You got it.

[An amicable smile, a little wink (was that a wink? It must have been), and then in a vibrant flash of blue light, Connor starts up his Astoria-given abilities.

Blinding light, practically, but it dissolves quickly enough. And when he's done, in his place sits a happy-looking arctic fox, his head barely seen over the rim of the table. There's a subtle blue glow at the right side of his head, indicative of the LED that still exists there... but hidden under thick fur.

Hi.]

[fairysong]

Oh! [She makes a noise of surprise when it happens then and there, and so quickly-- she's seen Zentradi go through the micloning process before, but that was in a tank and took time. This was instant.

And then she seems absolutely delighted.] It worked! You make an adorable fox, you know?

Say, can you speak like that? Or do you have to transform back?

[bleps]

[Connor gives a sound that resembles the yip of a fox, and shakes his head. He chooses to raise himself on his hind legs and plant his front paws on the table, to better see her.

He tilts his head. No, he can't talk.]

[fairysong]

Hm... that's kind of a pity. But there's always something appealing about a quiet man~

Okay. You can turn back now, I'm satisfied!

[bleps]

[Another fox-like noise and Connor changes back in a swift burst of light. His LED flickers, adjusting to the change as it often does.

He’s kind of...standing, with his hands pressed into the table, too. Connor straightens and fixes his tie.]

As you can see, I’ll have to be creative in my applications of this power.

[fairysong]

So you're not some sort of magic fox, or dog, or whatever-- you're just a normal one.

Perhaps you can help track things down with your newfound keen sense of smell?

[bleps]

Yes, essentially.

Admittedly I have used the power of a dog’s sense of smell once. Back on Struxta.

[fairysong]

You can't say something like that and not elaborate, you know.

[bleps]

Ah, well, the story behind that is simple enough. I was tasked with tracking down a shipping container that had gone missing for one of the various manufacturing companies in the city. A sense of smell, more potent than anything I could hope to experience in this current body, helped quite a bit.

…This was before the Storm itself became known as a problem, of course.

[Otherwise he wouldn’t have been busying himself with mundane tasks — mundane tasks that paid, to be sure, but mundane all the same.]

[fairysong]

You're not the best storyteller in the world, but I'll take it! [She says with a bright smile.]

So the last place you all went-- it was more technologically advanced than this all is?