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Friday is the new Tuesday - Diary of a Necromancer
Excuse me, I'm making perfect sense, you're just not keeping up
robling_t
robling_t
Friday is the new Tuesday
Not 100% sure that this bit goes right-here-right-now-next, beyond that it's clearly later on in the year, but since Muse's notes for the rest of that summer seem to consist mainly of wedding-menus and a lot of doodles trying out hyphenated-versus-unhyphenated married-names, I think it may be the saner wiser option just to jump ahead anyway...



***

I wake feeling blurry and too warm, limbs leaden beneath my blankets. Trying to recall whom I'd fed from, the previous evening, I paw the alarm off and lie a while contemplating whether any of my options for the day might involve not vomiting, until at length there's a rap on the door: "Trev? You okay?"

"Define 'okay'."

Jason eases into the room, has the sense not to turn on the light. "I'm thinking that means 'not'."

I don't much feel like sitting up; he'll just have to talk to the side of my head. "Short version, not dying, just very much want to."

He's seen me this way before. The last incident had been just in time to scupper his own night-out, and Jason had spent the night peaceably whuffing toothpaste-breath on the back of my neck whilst he fended off my shivering chills with his furry warmth. I've been more careful of co-ordinating my needs to his cycle, since. Now he feels my forehead with a cool hand to estimate my level of distress. "You want some water?" I nod and he fetches me a glass, watching me with an appraising eye as I sip at it cautiously. "I'm going to guess that you're not going to work."

Reasonable to go down with the occasional 'stomach bug', too remarkable of an attendance record would look strange in quite a different way. Jason does me the kindness of ringing Colleen himself so I won't have to exert myself explaining, though I can supply a far too convincing croak to support the case when asked, and then I listen as he speaks to someone at his uni about his own schedule: Yeah, wondering if I could... My roommate's sick... No, chronic thing, flares up sometimes... Don't think I should leave him. "You didn't have to," I say when he's rung off.

"You look like you're gonna barf," Jason says, and picks up my mobile again: "I'll call David."

I manage a smile at this. "'M not a pet."

"Says you. But I was thinking he could bring you over a rat or something?"

I can't deny that I'll be needing to have another go. Even if I can contrive not to sick up, last night has clearly done me no good. Jason has a short convo with, as it turns out, his sister, saying once he's rung off that one or other of them will be round later with a sacrificial rodent from the clinic's snake-feeding reserve, and in the meanwhile he sets to plying me with weak tea and toast-soldiers. "If you do need to throw up just try to give me some warning," he says, setting a tray across my lap once I've grudgingly pushed myself vertical against the wall.

I pick up the teacup in an unsteady hand and press it to my face rather than drinking, heat of the ceramic soothing against the dull throb of my teeth. Jason's trying to draw me out about where I'd been last night, seeming vaguely curious as to whether it's plausible I could have found a 'kegger' to crash on a Tuesday. I gently correct the notion I'm ill because it was that sort of party, though I do have to admit that, one, I'd been looking for my opportunity over at a uni (Michael's, the secular student-body that trifle more likely to eroticise than exorcise), and two, I hadn't exactly been invited as such. But I pass well enough for a student that sooner or later I can allow myself to be swept along in the wake of a group who are. And after the first round it becomes easier to judge who might be game for considering a certain unusual proposition.

Not the first young people at either nearby school to wake up with a cartoon-animal plaster in an odd place and some hazy recollections of an evening that went a bit sharp.

I suppose now I'll need to seek out that goth couple again for another awkward conversation. The resurgence of VD hasn't been doing anything to improve my opinion of the last decade or so; students are the worst population to feed from, given modern habits, but needs must, and at least they're open to the possibility. As well that nothing untoward can survive in my blood, but this purging is itself unpleasant at very best. (I've known us to perish of it, should we have taken too deep a tainted draught. My reward for principle.) Although I rather like living near unis, even so. I'd once spent many contented years in Oxford meandering from college to college as suspicions arose, only giving up the game as record-keeping began to catch up with the times.

(Brash young Yank on my doorstep that one morning, Sorry, guess I've got the wrong -- I'm looking for the Trevor Davies who looked after my Mom during the war...)

Jason helps himself to my neglected toast. "You're just lucky you've got an understanding roommate, who can see the difference between a hangover and 'I was allergic to somebody I bit at an orgy'," he says, and wags a finger as I open my mouth to protest this characterisation: "-- Don't try to pretend like I can't read between the lines here, I already noticed that you've got surprisingly few objections to casual sex for a guy your age."

"I'm told I was at Woodstock," I reply, trying for an insouciance that's rather spoilt by the want of much strength in my voice.

He's still finding whatever vision he's built up in his own head about it far too amusing. "So, does Jill know what kind of parties you go to without her?"

The sort she goes to without me, I imagine. "We've agreed that's within the arena of things we don't really want to know about each other," I say.

He shrugs. "Give her some credit. She'd probably be cool with it."

Something about his casual air strikes me as extremely suspicious. "Oi, you never...?" A look that is completely and utterly not any sort of shamefaced denial. "When was this?"

"I never said we didn't get together, I said we decided it wasn't going to work out as a thing," Jason clarifies. "Hey, it was February, you know what that's like."

Jason in the later winter becomes so different a man even he's not always sure what to make of himself. "But you don't still fancy her in that way --"

"Oh, hell, no, you know what a bad idea that would be even if you weren't, um, you saw how I made her sneeze. It's cool. We're cool, right?"

I suppose I can't really fault him for having the sense to recognise when not to press a suit. "Yeah, all right."

Jason heartens visibly and tops up my cooling teacup. "I think sitting up helped, you're looking a little less fade-y," he remarks, clearly desperate for a change of subject.

Just the few sips I've managed of the tea have helped to settle my stomach, though now the roots of my teeth are driving stabs of discomfort all the way up into my eyes. "Still feel so bloody hot."

Jason goes out of the room for a few moments, during which I can hear some muffled swearing in the bath, and comes back bearing a thermometer. (I hadn't realised we had a thermometer in the house that wasn't for roasts or sugar, but I suppose with his sister in medical training it's not such a stretch she'd have chivvied him into purchasing one at some point.) 97, he reads the result when it beeps, and clucks; I'll put in a tray of ice for you, huh?

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ashnistrike From: ashnistrike Date: March 11th, 2012 04:48 am (UTC) (permalink this entry)
Poor Trevor ... So this is how vampires react to drinking the blood of people who're sick? I'm surprised he's willing to feed from nursing home patients, then. (Also, Michael's?)

-Nameseeker
robling_t From: robling_t Date: March 11th, 2012 04:27 pm (UTC) (permalink this entry)
It seems to be the vampire's version of an immune-response -- picking up an infectious agent through feeding won't make them contract that specific illness, but it'll have them in a world of hurt while they fight it off. He's generally okay with the assisted-living types who are otherwise healthy, so long as they're not overly medicated for chronic non-blood-borne conditions (since he's also affected by whatever else is in the subject's bloodstream, as witness the mention of that time he got high from the club-kid...).


("Michael's" -- Michael's university, as contrasted with Susan's; both Jason's parents are professors, but they teach at different nearby colleges. May need to see if there is a missing bit somewhere before this where that would have come up more explicitly...)
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