Fic: Spin Recovery, Part Eleven
Dec. 19th, 2007 01:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jeriendhalNote: This is the shortest scene I've posted so far, but it's self-contained and too good to hold back until I finish the next one.
His breathing sounded oddly tinny in his ears and his head was pounding when he woke up, until Rufus realized he was lying in bed with his face in a waste bin. A moment later his stomach caught up with this state of consciousness and he vomited into the bin, leaving his nostrils clogged with the smell of bile and alcohol and his belly clenched and aching in pain.
Well, he couldn’t exactly call the situation good, but at least it was familiar. At minimum it was an improvement over the dreams he vaguely remembered having, which seemed to involve him trying evacuate the Blue Horizon before it was destroyed by one of Captain Blake's nuclear missiles, only to be accidentally bisected by a pressure door, leaving his lefthand side hopping away to find an escape pod while his right half proceeded to complain bitterly that his left had taken all the Juno ampules.
His room door slid open and he heard feet softly padding up to him. He stared down at neatly manicured foot claws and a graying pelt, then swallowed once and said, “Good morning, Whitebrow, what is that horrid light?”
“Afternoon rather, milord Ru Ofanius, and that would be the sun.”
“Ah.” He rolled over, blinking and staring up at Whitebrow’s absolutely deadpan face. Someone had undressed him after he gotten home last night, and he was only wearing his undershorts. “Wh—,” he swallowed back a bit of bile, “when did I get in last night?
“Lord Brightspot delivered you at approximately 0330 this morning, milord.”
“Ah.”
“He was quite upset. Apparently he was very concerned that the alcohol was interfering with your medications, milord.”
“Ah, I hadn’t taken my medications.” Had forgotten too, more accurately, he now realized, being interrupted by Bobbi’s appearance after he’d finished eating. Several of them required he consume them on a full stomach. “I hope I didn’t wake up Mother.”
“No, milord.”
“Oh, good.”
“She hadn’t actually gone to sleep yet, as you had seemingly disappeared after dinner with no word as to where you had gone.”
“Oh, bad.” He rolled back over and pulled a pillow over his head, feeling the pounding of his head increase. “Could you kindly get me some weak tea and an analgesic then, and tell her I’m not feeling well?”
“Actually, milord, she informed me that I was tell you to come to her study as soon as you were physically able.”
“Very bad,” he muttered, feeling as if he could sink through the mattress and into the floor and earth below. “Right then. I’ll need you to draw me a bath first, around body temperature.”
“Very good, sir.”
“And get me a sharp penknife, suitable for slitting wrists.”
Whitenose paused. “Ah, I believe that would contradict the intent of Lady Brushtail’s orders, Milord.”
Rufus pulled the pillow off of his head to look at Whitenose again. “Something like, ‘Don’t let him die before I have a chance to kill him?’”
“That would be an accurate summation, milord.”
“Get it anyway.”
“I would like to point out, milord, that poison would be a more suitable method, as slitting one’s wrist one handed would be problematical at best.”
Rufus groaned. “I tried that last night and it didn’t work. Just draw the bath and find me some clothes, please.”
“Very good, sir.”
TBC
His breathing sounded oddly tinny in his ears and his head was pounding when he woke up, until Rufus realized he was lying in bed with his face in a waste bin. A moment later his stomach caught up with this state of consciousness and he vomited into the bin, leaving his nostrils clogged with the smell of bile and alcohol and his belly clenched and aching in pain.
Well, he couldn’t exactly call the situation good, but at least it was familiar. At minimum it was an improvement over the dreams he vaguely remembered having, which seemed to involve him trying evacuate the Blue Horizon before it was destroyed by one of Captain Blake's nuclear missiles, only to be accidentally bisected by a pressure door, leaving his lefthand side hopping away to find an escape pod while his right half proceeded to complain bitterly that his left had taken all the Juno ampules.
His room door slid open and he heard feet softly padding up to him. He stared down at neatly manicured foot claws and a graying pelt, then swallowed once and said, “Good morning, Whitebrow, what is that horrid light?”
“Afternoon rather, milord Ru Ofanius, and that would be the sun.”
“Ah.” He rolled over, blinking and staring up at Whitebrow’s absolutely deadpan face. Someone had undressed him after he gotten home last night, and he was only wearing his undershorts. “Wh—,” he swallowed back a bit of bile, “when did I get in last night?
“Lord Brightspot delivered you at approximately 0330 this morning, milord.”
“Ah.”
“He was quite upset. Apparently he was very concerned that the alcohol was interfering with your medications, milord.”
“Ah, I hadn’t taken my medications.” Had forgotten too, more accurately, he now realized, being interrupted by Bobbi’s appearance after he’d finished eating. Several of them required he consume them on a full stomach. “I hope I didn’t wake up Mother.”
“No, milord.”
“Oh, good.”
“She hadn’t actually gone to sleep yet, as you had seemingly disappeared after dinner with no word as to where you had gone.”
“Oh, bad.” He rolled back over and pulled a pillow over his head, feeling the pounding of his head increase. “Could you kindly get me some weak tea and an analgesic then, and tell her I’m not feeling well?”
“Actually, milord, she informed me that I was tell you to come to her study as soon as you were physically able.”
“Very bad,” he muttered, feeling as if he could sink through the mattress and into the floor and earth below. “Right then. I’ll need you to draw me a bath first, around body temperature.”
“Very good, sir.”
“And get me a sharp penknife, suitable for slitting wrists.”
Whitenose paused. “Ah, I believe that would contradict the intent of Lady Brushtail’s orders, Milord.”
Rufus pulled the pillow off of his head to look at Whitenose again. “Something like, ‘Don’t let him die before I have a chance to kill him?’”
“That would be an accurate summation, milord.”
“Get it anyway.”
“I would like to point out, milord, that poison would be a more suitable method, as slitting one’s wrist one handed would be problematical at best.”
Rufus groaned. “I tried that last night and it didn’t work. Just draw the bath and find me some clothes, please.”
“Very good, sir.”
TBC
