![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Room 303; Friday Afternoon [07/19].
Jul. 19th, 2019 03:43 pmBro. Prompto Argentum was just straight up not having a good time this week. Or this summer. If it wasn't dealing with the grim reality of his terrible futures, discovering he was a clone produced for awful experiments, turning into a monster, being trapped in a dome under water, being attacked by zombies or dinosaurs or whatever else, it was...
Look. He knew he was new to this whole..er...intimate relationship thing, and all, but he thought he was doing a pretty good job of it. Practically a natural, though having a girlfriend like Yang was definitely a significant help, he was not even going to lie about that. But this week had been...it had been...uhhh....
Not good, man. Not. Good.
Maybe the summer was getting to him in unexpected ways. Maybe his stupid clone body was already breaking down. Maybe being a monster that one week had really messed him up. Maybe his luck had run out. Whatever it was, though, he really didn't appreciate it. He and Yang had tossed around the idea that maybe it wasn't even them, it could be the island, because of course the island would do something stupid like this, wouldn't it? But he didn't want to leave it to chance. Today, he was going to turn things around. Today, he was going to take care of himself. He was going to get in a good run, he was going to eat well, today, he was...
...going to go right back to bed, groaning with regret at the way his head spun when he tried to actually crawl out from his covers. His nose was running, his chest was tight, he was practically burning up, and then, as if to confirm what he suspected, he let out a big sneeze that racked through his entire body and left him groaning in misery.
Of course. Of course. On top of everything else this week, it appeared as though he'd caught Mr. Burnside's flu from yesterday, due to some mysterious, massive critical failure of his constitution, or something.
"Ohmygod," he moaned to no one in particular, curling up and trying to find some way to breathe, feeling practically his whole skull at the moment, "just kill me. This is the woooorst."
At least with everything earlier that week, he was just embarrassed and only wanted to die on a deep, spiritual mortified sort of level. But now? Now? It was evverrrryytthiiinnnggg.
"I swear," he murmured, sniffling, stuffed up, into his pillow, "if you still die after everything I'm being put through right now, Noctis, I am so figuring out how to bring you back so I can kill you myself."
[[ you roll a 1 on a con check, you're gonna pay the consequences, boyo! Closed door, but open post! ]]
Look. He knew he was new to this whole..er...intimate relationship thing, and all, but he thought he was doing a pretty good job of it. Practically a natural, though having a girlfriend like Yang was definitely a significant help, he was not even going to lie about that. But this week had been...it had been...uhhh....
Not good, man. Not. Good.
Maybe the summer was getting to him in unexpected ways. Maybe his stupid clone body was already breaking down. Maybe being a monster that one week had really messed him up. Maybe his luck had run out. Whatever it was, though, he really didn't appreciate it. He and Yang had tossed around the idea that maybe it wasn't even them, it could be the island, because of course the island would do something stupid like this, wouldn't it? But he didn't want to leave it to chance. Today, he was going to turn things around. Today, he was going to take care of himself. He was going to get in a good run, he was going to eat well, today, he was...
...going to go right back to bed, groaning with regret at the way his head spun when he tried to actually crawl out from his covers. His nose was running, his chest was tight, he was practically burning up, and then, as if to confirm what he suspected, he let out a big sneeze that racked through his entire body and left him groaning in misery.
Of course. Of course. On top of everything else this week, it appeared as though he'd caught Mr. Burnside's flu from yesterday, due to some mysterious, massive critical failure of his constitution, or something.
"Ohmygod," he moaned to no one in particular, curling up and trying to find some way to breathe, feeling practically his whole skull at the moment, "just kill me. This is the woooorst."
At least with everything earlier that week, he was just embarrassed and only wanted to die on a deep, spiritual mortified sort of level. But now? Now? It was evverrrryytthiiinnnggg.
"I swear," he murmured, sniffling, stuffed up, into his pillow, "if you still die after everything I'm being put through right now, Noctis, I am so figuring out how to bring you back so I can kill you myself."
[[ you roll a 1 on a con check, you're gonna pay the consequences, boyo! Closed door, but open post! ]]
