xp_logs | Jay & Monet Log (Reply)

Jay finds Monet outside and lays down to take a nap. Monet decides that she should help him, only to learn why she doesn't go out of her way to do so in the first place.

Monet was sprawled on a banana lounge on the deck, worshiping the sun. Eyes closed under her sunglasses, she was a cool, calm picture of serenity.

Jay needed some light, maybe some vitamin D or something to get the colour of his skin at a normal tone. But once he stepped outside, it was almost too much for him. He squinted against the blaze of the afternoon sun, wondering if he could really do that shift tonight that he said he would be able to do. A bandana covered his head and he self consciously went to run a hand through his hair, but dropped his hand, reminding himself that there was a reason for it. His hair was falling out too fast. Forcing himself forward, he made a line to sit down with Monet, leaving feathers in his wake. "Hey, anyone sittin' here?" he joked, but the tone suggested not.

Monet cracked an eye open and sat up hurriedly. "Jesus Chris, Jay! Are you okay?" He looked half dead, pale and mostly-featherless wings which shook constantly and an awful blue tone to the shadows on his skin where it would usually be tanned. "What the fuck happened to your healing factor?" She supposed she should carry him (carefully - there were already bruises on his arms) down to the medlab.

He winced at her concern and settled down on the lounge chair, a breath of relief escaping him, thankful to be sitting down. Everything hurt, right down to the core and he hunched before pressing a hand down and laying down on his side. "Ah dunno," he whispered. "Ah.." Just ain't feeling well. Well that was the understatement of the year. "Ah dunno, Ah'll go see Amelia tomorrow or somethin'." He cleared his throat, resting his hand across his face. His lips parted as he breathed slowly, concentrating on breathing out and breathing in, trying to ignore the ache in his bones.

"You sure about that, mate?" Monet closed her own eyes for a moment,
concentrating on repairing her shields. She was getting a lot of bleed
from Jay - not thoughts but a distinct sensation of pain and sickness.
"Cos you look like you should be dead about now."

"Thanks, you're lookin' pretty good yourself," he countered without looking up. "Look, Ah just need a little sun here okay? Just wake me up in an hour, if you're around and we'll call it a day?" He said breathlessly, like he had ran a marathon and his chest weighed down on him heavily like it was exhausting to talk.

"For fuck's sake, Jay. You're sick now, and I don't want you dying, like, tonight all because you're being a tool and not seeing a doctor today. You're fucking going, mate because you can't even fucking breath at the moment." Monet stood and carefully slid one arm under his legs and used the other to support his back. "C'mon, Jayjay..."

"No! No!" He gasped, his hand blindly grasping at her shirt in a bunch and he moved to get out of her arms but she lifted him up so easily that he fell back. A sick feeling rose in his stomach at the movement and his struggles didn't help. He threw up.

Monet hurriedly put him down. "Dude. Dude. You're on your own. I need to go and burn my top and soak my hair and neck in bleach for a while." She tugged off her shirt and held it at arms' length between her thumb and forefinger before turning and walking away, breathing shallowly through her mouth. "Eeew, I stink like vomit..."