2019-10-11 - A Little Help From My...Friend?

Kailey had heard from the staff downstairs that Everett was waylaid with the flu. So what did she do? Why she went right out to the Safeway and got the things for chicken soup. It's their 'Deli' style chicken noodle and several containers worth in her recyclable bag that she brings up to his door. Along with Nyquil, ginger ale, and kleenex. Knock knock...knock knock knock She goes.

The only additions to the general state of the loft is a minefield of spent tissue and the three kleenex boxes from which they came from. The previous impervious Titan known as Everett lays out on the bed, partially covered by the matching top sheet. His head lays, covered with his long black hair that could have been where a wig went to die. Besides the wheezing breathes and the general, large lump in the large bed on the ground, Everett's mostly dead to the world and not feeling his best so any strangers, whoever they are, at the door get the same greeting:

"Go. THE FUCK. Away!" Following by several wheezing coughs.

Kailey ponders that and tilts her head beyond the door. "Nope! I brought you Nyquil and kleenex and soup," She doesn't really bother with trying the knob. Instead reaching out to unlock the door with her mind instead. Given the state of his voice she is going to guess he is too sick to stop her.

In she barges and then stops. Staring in surprise at the mess and...well...lack. "Oh honey..." She looks around as she shoves the door closed with her foot. Moving into the kitchen and beginning to unpack what she brought. "I'm gonna make you soup. And leave the rest of these here in your fridge." There happen to be three containers of nukeable containers with 4 servings in each. "Want some ginger ale? I got 7-up too in case you're a picky one."

After the door opens and the enthusiastic denial is given, Everett's black mop slowly lifts up, the nest of hair, the dim light inside, making it difficult to see his eyes when he peers in the directions of the door, looking over his prone body's shoulder. She gives him the sad term of endearment, and he replies:

"Hhhhhiiissssss," curling his right lip while he nasally hisses at her. And as though that's taken all his energy, Everett's head drops down to the topmost pillow before bare arm collects that pillow and lays it over his own head. His bare feet kick, and pull the thin sheet down, covering his feet as well, which already hang over the end of the mattress thanks to how low on the bed he's resting. His reply about what he prefers to drink is given low, even with his deep tones, and muffled under pillows, and carries directly into a coughing fit.

Kailey glances over at Everett with sympathy. She quickly sets about heating up soup and she decides to just bring him both bottles and a glass while the soup heats. The soft whirr of the microwave going. "Hey, no need to hiss. I'm here to help," She chides gently. "Now, the 7 or the Ginger?" And she prepares to open the bottle preferred. "I'm afraid I don't speak pillow."

Everett lifts the pillow's edge just a little, just enough to he can raise his voice enough so his throat burns but he can be heard in the otherwise silence of his loft, "Which one doesn't have carbs innit?" His pillow fort is closed again, his long, broad shape racked with a coughing fit that he keeps the germs of all nice and snug in his pillow fortress. And perhaps realizing this, rolls over on his back, opening the clam shell of pillows to breathe through his open maw, "Ugh!" With his movements, the blanket shifts showing a slutty amount of bare calf and shoulder. "Sweet harbinger of death, be now the time of yon succulent kiss?"

Kailey rolls her eyes and pours the 7-Up. "When you're sick you don't worry about carbs unless your diabetic. And if you are, then you should probs be in a hospital cause, like, being sick and diabetic is bad or something. I think? Anyway, here, drink this," And she holds out the glass of clear bubbly to him. "Cough drops are here," And she pulls the honey ricola fancy stuff from the bag and tears it open so he can reach in. "Oh, and more tissue too." She hops up and heads back into the kitchenette. Pulling the three-pack with aloe out of a different bag and bringing it back to his bedside. "There's that...tsk..." And with that Tut she begins to cover him back up fully before checking soup.

Accepting the glass of 7-Up begrudgingly, Everett stares at it like he's being offered poison, and rises from the single matress to accept the glass. While the sheet tumbles down his bare chest, he holds the glass between thumb and forefinger and, all the same, the grouch takes a sip and puts it down amid the minefield of spent Kleenex, laying back down with a sudden fall and clutching the blanket back up to cover his pecs like the dandy little flower he is.

Eyeing the cough drops in a similar fashion, Everett's green eyes scale up, "Those are pure carbs. You're a hell spawn. Get Vicks VapoRub and rub it on my chest," he rolls to his back, pulls the blanket down to his abdomen, and with a large paw pantomimes the procedure of smearing it on his chest. And when the blanket gets fussed with, Everett acts like the big baby he is, kicking his feet until the right one is uncovered again. "Nnuuhhh. Why are you DOING this?"

"Because no one else is and you're clearly a big baby who needs help and...I dunno..." Kailey pauses and really doesn't know. But his request for vaporub actually has her fetching a small tub. She kneels on the mattress beside him and liberally smears it onto his back. Shaking her head in amusement. "You feel like you could use some brightness. Something happy...if you want I can leave you my kindle and you can stream Netflix? My watchlist is mostly anime though..." She finishes smearing and taps his shoulder. "Roll over," She tells him, getting another finger full ready.

"Kailey loooves and she wants to kiiisssss me," sing-songs Everett, giving her a broad grin. And then erupting in another coughing fit which ends in him noisily clearing his throat and reaching for a new Kleenex and depositing phlegm into it, crunching it up into a ball and throwing it into the large pile. Moaning like he's dying, he only gives voice to it, "I'm dying. And when I do, I want you to take care of my growing Kleenex farm. Feed them, groom them. Give them to good homes." Everett nudges one, "I call this one Roy. He's the leader of the rest of them." He gives a curious sound when he feels hands on his back and glances. And glances. And moves his long hair out of his way with both hands so he can glance over his shoulder to see what she's doing. He wheezes a laugh, "I was kidding. But," he sighs, "It actually feels kinda nice. Mm. Anime? I've got my phone. I'm re-watching all the 'of the Dead's. So I know what to look forward to when I finally turn," he pulls his phone from its hiding place under his pillow fort. When he's asked to turn around, he looks dubiously at her, but slowly turns around.

"Don't gimme that look! You wanted me to rub the lotion in its skin," Kailey replies and sticks her tongue out at him. But she is smiling as she does so. Note she only smirks and rolls her eyes at his sing songing. The pile of kleenex are eyed and she says, "How about I bring them all a nice little bag to congregate in? Nice and cozy. They can even mill around outside." A little laugh given as she begins to goop his chest, shoulders, and neck. Taking care not to get any in his hair. "You look like shit...and my kindle's the nine incher. Bigger than your phone." The ding of the timer has her getting up and closes the vicks. Leaving it near enough so Everett can reapply on his own. Wiping hands on jeans she fetches up the hot soup. Ladling it carefully into a bowl and digging around for a spoon.

"I certainly don't want the hose. I'm usually the one giving the hose," Everett murmurs under his breath, his deep voice made deeper by his cold. "Oh yeah," he murmurs still, "Don't forget those little nipples, that's the stuff of fantasies right there," he teases while he goops his chest and shoulders and neck. And should she try, Everett squirms, and tries to cover himself up again. "I think this counts as second base," and then moans, but not in an erotic way.

"I beg your pardon. I look like a metal god," he says, all plugged up, red nosed, and shiny chest from the goo. But the irony isn't lost on him, smiling, softly, from the right side of his mouth. "Thank god you said phone," Everett replies, covering back up, and giving a sigh of relief before rolling over to put his mouth on the 7-Up glass, holding it with his lips and tilting back in the bed to dripple some in his mouth (and some not in his mouth) before putting the glass down. "Ugh, awful. My only yearning now, is that I'll get to do the same to you when you're sick. For you've entered the Den of the Unwell."

Kailey giggles at his reply. Who wouldn't. "Don't worry, I've no plan to flay you. Just feed you and see you've got a supply to get you through." She tells him. The worst she does is poke him in the belly button when she finishes the gooing. "And put my number in your phone so you can whine at me for more whatever," She tells him. The soup is ready and it is brought over. At least he still has his humor and that makes her keep smiling. "Oh...hey, knew I forgot a thing." The bowl is carefully set down and she turns to head back to her bags. And from them pulls out a thing of straws. One is plucked out and brought over to be plunked into the glass. "Yeah, I'm eating my wheaties and taking some extra Vitamin C when I leave. Your threats only warm my heart." And she carefully, using a clean tissue mind, begins to round up the kleenex tribe into a disposable paper bag.

"I will crush you and your heart," weak Everett murmurs, eyeing the rounding up of his tissue army. Then he smiles wickedly, "I'm not telling you which ones are crusty because of sick or because of lonely. Take that image to the grave with you." These gives him no-end of morbid amusement while he hangs his head over the soup and absorbs the steam for its ability to break up his congestion. "Gah. So stuffed up. I can't wait for you to suffer. I'm so going to laugh at you. What flavor is this? Smurf pain? I'll eat it if its smurf pain and suffering."

Kailey this revelations does make her pause, but only for a second. Her nose wrinkles and she gives him a look. "Ew. Groddy boy!" She chides him lightly. But she continues to round them up never the less. "Sure. It's smurfs. I bet you even have blue dye downstairs if you want me to add a drop. Make it match your mood?" She flings another kleenex into the bag with a shake of her head. "OH! Yeah.." And then she produces not only Nyquil, but a sheet with little red pills. "I love Washington. Over the counter sudafed," And she lays them both, triumphantly, by his pillow. "Laugh at my misery? You fiend," She places a hand over her heart, putting all the drama into the pose.

Being called a groddy boy couldn't have been anything more then the best present of all time. Everett positively beams, and now that he knows that it's dead smurfs, he takes a slurp from the soup, making the appropriate sound for someone that enjoys eating little blue people. "Mm. S'good," he murmurs, sounding clearer, but for a moment. "That's not dye. That's squished smurf. We add it to the blueberry stuff so make unsuspecting people eat the evidence of mmmmmmurderrrr."

"Mmhmm," Everett manages, putting a single spoonful of the soup in his mouth, then talking with his mouth full while he puts it down and pushes it away, "I think I can make Meth outta that. Also, you can fiend me all you want." He looks down and pulls his blanket away to expose his chest and run a finger over the goop. "You're just looking forward to me rubbing this into your chest with my big, strong hands."

Kailey rolls her eyes and shakes her head. Instead reaching for his phone to plug her number into it. "Pervert," She tells him almost casually as she presses buttons. Possibly having to get him to unlock it so she can make it 'go'. "Also you could. But I get the feeling you can just buy it easier and with less risk to your own person." She pauses and regards him thoughtfully. "You know, I really like the blueberry muffins. And knowing their full of Smurf fills me with glee, so well done!" A wink and she moves back into the kitchenette to start doctoring more of the soup. It will be put away, but for now she's adding healthy and fresh herbs like rosemary, oregano, garlic, etc. While she's cooking though she says without words, ~Would talking this way help your throat? I heard it felt like razor blades from another guy. This flu is a doozy...~

Grinning broadly, Everett murmurs, "Yyy-yup! Born and bred." He collects his phone back and unlocks it before giving it back, because, I guess, if you smear goo on his chest the last you can be trusted with is his unlocked phone. "You can't lie to me. Your favorite is chocolate covered marshmallows." Thick sausage sized fingers double tap his temple, "I remember from when I had to make sure you were real. And me? Buy meth? Why. I wouldn't even. Know," he erupts in coughing, grabs a kleenex and blows his nose between expelling harsh, mucus fueled air from his lungs. "Ugh."

When the Telepathy happens, Everett's army green eyes roll over to Kailey. He points his Kleenex wielding hand to the door she used her brain to pick. "Get out. Get the fuck out of my apartment, and take your shit with you," his good mood, his humor is gone. Just like that.

Kailey pauses at that reaction and pales. Then looks alarmed and starts to say, "I-I-I'm sorry. I'm so sorry! I was...was trying to help. I'm sorry." She grabs her purse and hugs it to her. And she actually does do as he asks though she doesn't hide the hurt on her face. The door is opened and she scoots out.

Two heartbeats later and she ducks back in and over to the stove. "Sorry. I really really am sorry," On repeat like a broken record as she turns the heat off. Then dashes back for the door.

The second time, Everett's standing, at least. Dark death written on his visage while he holds his blanket to his waist with a long train to keep himself modest while moving towards the door, bare hips on either side of his hand, black hair covering his nips even while strands arc in every which way thanks to multiple-day bed-head. The gigantic glooming figure pauses when she comes back in, and squares his jaw. But when all she does is turn the stove off, mutter more apologies, and leave again, Everett continues his slow amble towards the door and makes sure to lock it this time. And then turns the lights out. "Fuckin' trash bin murdering psychopaths," he mutters, shuffling his way back to his mattress, falls to his knees, then to his face. Bare-ass up to the world, waiting for death to finish the job.