thisavrou_log | Sadcat Manor mingle log

[He'd lost track of time a long time ago. Lost his sense of his surroundings along with. He thinks he's in the wrong corridor, at least.

All the doors look the same, and none of them will open. After a while his thoughts fuzz out to just basic impulses of move, step forward, breathe and then he can't even focus on that, anymore, and he collapses against the wall and slides down. Until he's crumpled in the corner where he wall meets the floor and consciousness becomes a memory.

He doesn't know how long he stays like that.]

[Sideswipe has ducked out in his holoform, for the time being. Figuring if anyone saw him, they either wouldn't recognize him, or he could shut it off. No one would know. He'd be in and out and no one the wiser.]

[Except then he ends up tripping over something in the hallway. With a yelp. And a thud.]

[Then he's scrambling away from it, screaming. Because clearly this is a threat, and clearly, he's going to die. Or something.]

[He hits the opposite wall. And then glances back.]

... dude.

Lava lamp?

[The response is delayed (because he's drunk). After a few seconds the lump lying against the wall finally shifts, and Lavellan's head finally makes itself seen over his shoulder, peering resentfully at Sideswipe for being loud.]

What.

[Go away and let him sleep.]

Dude.

That's. So not where you're supposed to sleep. Like at all.

[He hunkers down near the lump. Gently shaking him in an attempt to get the poor guy to sit up again. Wake up again.]

... C'mon buddy. Somebody's gonna trip over you and then like. Purge all over you.

[Lavellan does manage to shift when Sideswipe shakes him, peering at him blearily before struggling to push himself up the wall. It's slow going, and once he's upright he has to lean heavily against the wall still when the room suddenly tilts on its end, but he manages it. Somehow.

Fuck, he'd really gone overboard this time. He swallows against the nausea and tries to get some words out.]

Got lost. [That's about all he can manage.]

... Cool. I guess.

[Except not really. Because this right here is way, way too familiar. Except Riptide had always comm'd him first. Called him up, asked him either to stay away or to give him a hand.]

[For a second, the extended hand toward Lavellan flickers. The holographic form fading out, briefly. It solidifies as he tries to take one of the elf's hands.]

C'mon. I could totally carry you, dude.

[Lavellan takes the proffered hand, too far gone to protest. And then he has to lean heavily on Sideswipe to keep his balance enough to try and walk.

He's aware enough to know this is fucked up. Sideswipe is--well, Lavellan has no idea how old he actually is, but he's always acted so much younger and it isn't fair that he has to deal with an utter waste of space like Lavellan.

As if he needed more reasons to hate himself.]

'M sorry. [It comes out slurred and mumbled into Sideswipe's shoulder.]

Psh. Chill. I got this.

[He may look like a scrawny thing, but really, he's as sturdy as the hologram needs to be. That much, he'd learned how to do. Never expecting it to come in handy.]

[Lavellan's arm goes around his shoulders, and Sideswipe slots himself up beside him easily.]

At least you didn't purge everywhere. [There's a beat of silence, before he adds, quietly:] You got one up on Riptide.

[Don't bet on that one, Sideswipe. The motion isn't doing much for his nausea.] Might still.

[He doesn't know much about Riptide, but he does know some: mostly, that Riptide left Sideswipe with barely a word, and Sideswipe is still hurting because of it. The comparison pains him.

Not enough to make him swear off drinking, though.]

'S not your job. [Taking care of him. Having to deal with this. You can just leave him on the floor, Sideswipe, he wouldn't hold it against you.]

Okay, well... lemme know so I can like. Turn your head or something.

[The concept of "hold your hair back" doesn't exist for Cybertronians. Sorry, Lavellan. If he knew about it, he'd totally do it.]

[He shrugs, though, when he's told it isn't his job. He's an Autobot, right? That's what they're supposed to do. Help people. He'd done it for Riptide, he'd... just do it again.]

[It's fine.]

Eh, hey, at least I'm used to it, right?

[That's not an excuse, that doesn't make it okay, but Lavellan finds he doesn't feel able to say so without potentially vomiting it all over Sideswipe instead. So instead he looks away and keeps silent.

Eventually, they do make it to the door of Casa de Sadcat, and Lavellan has to rest his forehead against the material of the door to brace his churning stomach. There is very little chance he'll get through the night without puking, at this point.

The idea of Sideswipe being around to witness that makes him feel especially ashamed, for whatever reason.]

We're here. Go to bed. [Ugh, he's starting to sweat.] Please.

[It totally makes it okay. He's used to it, he can handle it. If he did it for Riptide, why couldn't he do it again? Maybe that's... just what you did for people.]

[He stays right next to him. And slaps idly at the door in an attempt to open it up. Making a scoffing noise in the process.]

Dude. Come on. If you think I'm just gonna ditch you, you're more tanked than I thought. Lemme like -- get you lying down or something.

[There's a shrug, but he's making an effort to duck back under Lavellan's arm.] Don't worry, okay? It's... nothing I'm not used to already.

[He has to lean against Sideswipe again heavily, his knees failing him, and something about that feels so wretched that his throat clenches and his eyes sting.]

I'm sorry.

[Hasn't he already apologized? What is he doing? How pathetic is he, leaning and crying on someone who is practically a child themselves. Sideswipe should have just let him in the hallway.]

You--you deserve better than this, I--

[What cuts him off is an acute wave of nausea. Yeah, he's going to vomit. The accompanying adrenaline allows him to tear away from Sideswipe and bolt clumsily for the nearest receptacle, which happens to be the kitchen sink.

Hopefully Sideswipe doesn't have a weak stomach himself.]

Hey, hey... it's okay. I mean it.

[And that's the sad thing. He totally does mean it. It's all right. This is just something you deal with when you're him. When you've gotten used to people around you being a mess.]

[He's a hologram, right now. So holding up Lavellan is nothing.]

Better? What're you talking about--

[The gravity of the statement doesn't register to him at all. Partly because he's suddenly bearing witness to Lavellan getting sick in the sink. Don't worry buddy, he's okay.]

[He's seen it a lot before. Remember?] Are... you gonna be okay?

[He doesn't answer, too preoccupied with voiding the contents of his stomach. There isn't much--he hasn't had much appetite recently--just bile, and his stomach seizes painfully as it tries to find something to expel.

Finally he calms, and he slides down the counter to huddle on the floor as his legs lose the rest of their strength. He feels hollowed out, as if someone has scraped out his insides with a spoon, empty and weak and exhausted. He started crying some minutes ago and can't seem to bring himself to give a shit. He's tired of being so constantly miserable, of existing in this endless state of feeling wrung out and rubbed raw. He's tired. He's so fucking tired, and he wants it to end.

So he stays there on the floor, crumpled into a pathetic pile, and he takes deep, heaving breaths, and he cries.]

[What... is even happening here?]

[Sideswipe stops in his tracks. Looking dumbly on as the scene unfolds. He's not human, not even organic, he has no idea what to do for one being this sick. He should go. He should call someone who does. He's about to.]

[But Lavellan ends up on the floor. Ends up sobbing. And all of that is just too familiar to him to walk away.]

[He thinks you're dead, you know? some part of his processor adds, and makes his spark twist around in knots uncomfortably in his chest. For a second, he can't see it as Lavellan crying on the ground. It's someone else.]

Whoa... hey. D-don't worry. I -- I didn't see anything.

[Too lighthearted for the moment, but he's already hunkering down next to Lavellan. All too-long limbs and awkward attempts at reassurance. Hands hovering before settling on his friend's shoulders.]

You're good. It's ... it's cool.

[It's okay, big guy.]

[Something is happening in the common area.

In the pitch black, her eyes fly open. There's sounds that don't belong, voices that don't have a reason to be speaking. With a quick check to her omni-tool to confirm the security systems are still in place and unbreached, Shepard slides her heavy pistol into the back waistband of her sweatpants almost automatically, adjusting her tank top, and opening the door--

--to hear the delightful sounds of Lavellan vomiting in their sink. Great.

It's only when Sideswipe's voice echoes nervously through the gloom that she realises what's going on.

Mere seconds later, she's standing at the lighting and air control panel.

Click.

Like a sleepwear-clad angel of vengeance, she slowly moves towards the pair, tone quiet, but intense.]

What. Is going on.

[At the sound of Shepard's voice, Lavellan cringes--away from her, away from Sideswipe, like he's trying to shrink himself down into nothing, folding himself into a ball of shame and embarrassment. This is awful, the spectacle he's making of himself. He's better than this. He should be better than this.

But he's not.

Get away. Get yourself together. Don't put this on them when it's your fault. But the more he tries to mentally strongarm himself the harder it is to do, the more upset and angry with himself he gets, and he just curls in tighter and tighter until finally the hysterics just quell themselves, and he manages a fragile equilibrium of breathing fast and shallow, not looking at either of them, not speaking, not moving.

He feels like he's made of paper. Like the slightest nudge will make him shrivel up and blow away. He wills them to just go, to leave him here until he can find strength again. To pretend this didn't happen. To allow him to fool himself into thinking he has some dignity left.]

Nothing! Everything's fine!

[It's an immediate reaction. Both to someone turning the lights on, and to someone asking what's going on. He perks up where he sits, looking around in what he hopes looks like perfect innocence, those too-bright blue eyes darting to one side.]

[And... attempting to nonchalantly scoot over toward Lavellan again. Like they were having a perfectly normal cry session. Right here. On the floor.]

[In the dark.]

[Yeah this is fine.]

[There's no answer—just an immediate movement forward, each step heavy and certain, expression unchanged from the silent intensity of the first word.

With a look, she steps around Sideswipe's holoform, crouching down over Lavellan.]

We're moving you to the bathroom.

[It's not a question, and the tone brooks no argument.

At first, she makes an effort to winkle him out of his defense curl, attempting to sling an arm around him, support him on his journey towards a more appropriate vomiting location. After several unsuccessful attempts, she quietly advises:]

Don't make me carry you, because I will.

[It's a threat that knows at a glance the heart of his embarrassment—and is fully willing to use it to get him moving.]

[He hesitates for a second or two more, as if considering trying to call her bluff. But then, slowly, almost painfully, he starts to unfold, finally letting Shepard pull him onto her shoulder.

He still doesn't look at either of them, or say a word; he just stares hollowly at the floor, like there's nobody home, the occasional hitch in his breath the only sign that he's even conscious.

Even with Shepard to support him, he's unsteady on his feet. Might want to hustle him to the bathroom soon.]

Shep!

[He's scrambling to his feet. Part of him is offended. She just ignored him, just stepped around him like he wasn't even there. And... wasn't that just par for the course? Ignore the kid, ignore the juvenile delinquent because he wasn't going to do anything useful. He's just loud and obnoxious, isn't he?]

[He shoves himself upright, too, hustling after them.]

What's with you! He needs to take a break!

[Don't ignore him. He trusted you.] I got this!

Do you?

[Her voice is quiet, locking eyes with Sideswipe only briefly as she hustles Lavellan along. Despite matching her for height, he's hardly heavy—a flutter on her shoulder compared to Kaidan in a full combat hardsuit. Mentally, she makes a note to ask Lavellan later about caloric intake fluctuating for users of magic in his universe.

Reaching the bathroom, she lets Lavellan down slowly, letting him position himself as comfortably as he can—while she combs his hair back, and takes the necessary half second to start an omni-tool medical scan running.

It's only then that she turns back to Sideswipe, granting him the full intensity of her solemnity, each word dropping into place with coffin calm.]

Sideswipe, I appreciate your efforts—and I know Lavellan does too. But please don't try to tell me you've 'got this' when I find Lavellan nearly catatonic on our kitchen floor. Taking a break might work for Cybertronians, but that is not how organics work. If he'd blacked out, vomited like that, he could have choked and died. If he's over a certain percentage of alcohol in his blood, he's an immediate medical emergency.

I worked around you because there isn't time when someone's life might be in danger. Helping an injured person should always take priority.

Do you understand?

[There's a dual-toned sound, and she looks back at her omni-tool, exhaling, before turning her attention to Lavellan.]

Don't know what Elvish tolerance levels are like, but you're damn lucky you stopped where you did. Vomiting is a lot easier than having your stomach pumped.

[The moment he's positioned over the toilet he heaves again, though he doesn't have anything left to expel. It's almost more like a seizure of protest from his body and afterward he's just left panting and shivering.

He dimly registers voices; he recognizes enough of the words to know that they're talking about him. He doesn't know what having his stomach pumped entails--or what any of the rest of what Shepard's talking about means--but it can't be more miserable than this. If his throat wasn't scraped raw he might have even tried to argue, but he can't do much more than try to calm his breathing and try to give signals, somehow, that he's done and they can all go back to bed. It's like whatever he was upset about is gone along with the contents of his stomach, or maybe he's just too tired to care anymore. That's all he can think about: he's so tired.

Then he heaves again. Fuck this.

Fine. If they want to talk about him, over him, they can. He's beyond caring. He'll just close his eyes and go to sleep right here, thanks.]

[He steps back.]

[He doesn't have to, he's not actually physically present in the room. But the reaction is instinctive, all the same. It feels like every word falling out of her mouth is a separate blow. Like it's hammering home every single thing he'd been afraid of.]

[Everything the shadows had said.]

[They were right. They really were. Them, and Strongarm, and all the Autobots who told him he was just a kid, that he didn't know a fight.]

[You don't know what you're doing, is what she's saying. You're in over your head and you can't handle this. He'd just wanted to do the right thing.]

[He doesn't say anything.]

[Just shuts off the holoform.]

[Fine -- okay. Message received.]

WILDCARD I DO WHAT I WANT

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sucks in teeth

o o p s

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