[Semi-Closed Post: Aornis Is a Real Headache]

[timebethine]

Somewhere around midnight, a migraine descended on Laertes like a thunderhead, and he still hasn't come out from beneath its anvil. He's spent most of the day hiding in bed with the curtains drawn, feeling as though he's about to be sick--and that feeling's only grown worse as the sun has drifted sluggishly to a low apex in the sky.

It isn't until mid-afternoon that he feels well enough to make progress on all his plans. He needs to speak to SecUnit about its drones, to Dionysus about whether Avernus (that is her name, isn't it?) is a goddess, and to Nightingale about whether he can offer magical support in case their confrontation goes sour. He needs to talk with Claudius about what to say when he does speak to her.

So it is that he starts making his rounds through the mansion and its grounds, seeking out friends old and new, clinging grimly to the thermos of coffee that smells sickeningly strong but also helps drive back the pain. His face is wan, his eyes shadowed. He would rather be doing anything but this.

Comments

[timebethine]

"The house no longer yields up food or drink as it did before," he says. "Sagramore thinks it's because the season is no longer Winter, but Dark. I know not whether medicine is any different."

[recognizance]

SecUnit's expression sharpens. It hasn't paid much attention to the calendar, either, since its own internal timekeeping is far more precise, but clearly it needs to take another look. Meanwhile, Susan and her nonperishable supplies are starting to make more sense. "Great," resignedly. "Well, I don't know either, but I know there were some in the bathroom cabinet in my room, the last time I looked, and I know I haven't used them. I'll go check."

[timebethine]

"My thanks. I'll wait upon you," says Laertes--and at long last, he allows himself to stagger into a seat.