Text.

[crowsicle]

[Though usually talkative, Davesprite only has two lines to post today.]

break me out of pediatric ward
will pay with body

break me out of pediatric ward
will pay with body

[[OOC: Permissions post here for those who want to opt into his typing quirk. Otherwise I reply with plain Courier.]]

Comments

[roboshades]

[He catches it on a whim. He's only been wearing his sunglasses for a few moments, fresh from the shower. He was just going to haul up a program, nothing special, when he checks the NV for network posts.

The hospital? When did he...He hadn't even known something had happened, and trawling back...It's not like there's a big glaring red warning. No one had said anything.

He's not sure what he's supposed to feel about this, but it doesn't matter. It doesn't take him long to haphazardly dress and then, even with trial and error, to figure out where he is.

...He just doesn't know what to do, once he's there. And hovers by the door, hands in his pockets]

[crowsicle]

[It takes Davesprite a while to notice he's got a visitor, as dizzy and feverish as he is, and it takes him another second of staring to recognize him. Then he starts.

He tries to get up and fails utterly and humiliatingly, but at least a stray movement of his wing knocks Doctor Doofusfeathers over the far side of the bed.

Dirk does not need to see him sleeping with a stupid ugly ball of a stuffed animal like a baby.

Davesprite sinks back down onto his pillow, panting a little, and nods slightly at the brother he never had.]

'Sup.

[roboshades]

[He pretends he doesn't notice. Because he's not sure what to make of it. Does this mean Davesprite wants him to leave? Is the sight of him that...Unwelcome or alarming?

The answer doesn't really matter. It doesn't change much. But at actually being addressed, he'll enter the room proper, standing at the foot of his bed]

I'd rather ask you that question.

[crowsicle]

[Davesprite looks at him, then down at the bed, then around at the rest of the room--or as much as he can without moving too much. Clearly he has a lot of awesome stuff going on right now.]

Not much. Bird flu or something.

[How many times has he made that joke? He's starting to suspect it's not cool or ironic anymore.

He sniffs and glances over at the chair next to his bed.]

You maybe wanna sit?

[roboshades]

[Sitting implies that he's staying. Whatever he was intending to do here, it wasn't really that. Davesprite clearly wasn't dying, and one pilfered hospital chart later, he'd know everything on the situation.

He shouldn't stick around. So it doesn't explain why his feet move him to the chair, kicking it a little to angle it better, before taking a seat. He can see the window, the door, and Dave just fine from the vantage point]

...

[WHAT. THE. FUCK DOES HE SAY TO YOU.]

[crowsicle]

[God, why did he ask him to sit, the dude totally has better things to do than put up with a sick bird kid he doesn't even want to hang out with. Davesprite doesn't want to know how pathetic he has to look to get Dirk to actually humor him.

He glances down at his hands for a second but looks back at Dirk quickly enough. It's so weird, looking at this version of Bro. Fewer lines, for sure. And the lines that are there are different. Different lives.

...Huh. He blinks slowly.]

You...like Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff?

[roboshades]

[If he thought you looked totally pathetic, he wouldn't have been holding it against you. And he'd likely be showing it in stranger ways, for a Strider. Like pointedly asking him if he needs anything. So far though, having a brother alive and talking, even if he's ill, isn't alarming.

Not when he's had to deal with worse. He doesn't twitch a muscle at the scrutiny, but he does raise his hand over his arm, fingers brushing skin and mentally berates himself.

He'd grabbed the tank and not the t-shirt in his haste, in his distraction. That wasn't a conversation he was looking to have. How was he even supposed to encompass everything it meant?]

...It's kind of a big deal.

[crowsicle]

Well. Yeah, I know.

[The haughty act is severely undercut by pure, unexpected awe. That's a tattoo. Those don't come off when you don't like something anymore. Dirk's going to have Hella Jeff's face staring out of his deltoid when he's an old man pushing ninety-three.

He knew Bro followed SBaHJ, just like he followed all of Bro's projects, but he wasn't prepared for this from Dirk, who apparently didn't even know him.

He shifts a little onto his side to face him more squarely, closing his eyes and letting out a breath when the nausea that comes from any movement passes.]

You have--you know. A favorite arc?

[roboshades]

You don't.

[It's a soft chiding statement. But if he's lucky, Davesprite won't remember that he has the tattoo. That he said something honest, and that begs more questions than he's willing to answer. Than he's sure he can control, out of the others.

He's not sure what to make of the awe'd reaction. He turns to regard him properly, when even moving such a small amount seems to pain him, but he bites down drawing attention to it. He just makes that mental note to steal the chart for a look, on the definite]

Yeah, of course. Don't you?

[crowsicle]

[Davesprite cracks a weak smile.]

You asking a guy to play favorites with the offspring of his heart and soul? [A beat.] Hell yeah, I do.

[He clears his throat--he doesn't have the awful hacking coughs that hit some of his friends and his congestion's lessened since the first couple days; it's the fever that's bad, that's burning through him like tissue paper in a bonfire. He takes a breath and starts:]

In my dream, I am the star. It's me. [Another breath.] And then the big man comes...