Kaiser Chiefs - "Take My Temperature" (DJ Halcyon Halloween Fever Remix)
To: rdevito@gmail.com
From: h4lcy0nfl0w@gmail.com
Subject: Cancelling This Weekend
Hey. I hate to do it but I have to cancel my gigs for this weekend. I woke up this morning and wasn't feeling well. I don't handle flus well so I may need extra time to recover. I hope you understand. Give Kayley a call; last I talked to her she was saying that she needed to pick up some extra gigs and she's good, if a bit unrefined.
Sorry, man. Can't be helped. I'll let you know when I can get back to work.
--L
-----------------------------
October 16th
6:17 am
Day 1
Lena stared at the computer screen for several moments after she sent the email. At that moment she wasn't thinking about the dull ache throbbing its way through her body, or the way that she was overheated and flushed even though she had the chills. She wasn't thinking about the events of the previous night or the tiny puncture wound on the back of her neck, how Grace was probably feeling the same way she did. She didn't even think (couldn't possibly think about) what this meant for her life expectancy.
At that moment, all she was thinking was, God dammit, I'm going to miss the Halloween party.
It was still early in the morning…early enough that the sun hadn't yet risen in the sky. Lena had tried to go to sleep early after being dropped off by Grace, so that she could get some rest and hope without hope, give her ravaged immune system the dormant time it needed to gather its strength, fight off the infection. But even that seemed pointless because her ever-present ability to subsist on just a few hours of sleep—usually a boon—became a curse. Four o' clock in the god damned morning and she was awake, trying to ignore the fact that she's left a damp spot of sweat on the mattress and that she had a mild headache that a full twenty-four ounce Rockstar couldn't banish away.
It was six now. She should contact people at the Chantry, but she doesn't. Grace said she'd get the word out and all Lena had to do is check her phone to know that it had been done. She'd been breathless for a moment when she did so, compensating for the moment with a sigh of relief when Grace had kept the information at just what she'd learned about the new virus. The phone hadn't moved from its position next to the bed since then.
For the first couple of hours, she'd tried to keep at business as usual. She'd taken her meds (as important as ever now), had a couple of cigarettes (worst idea ever, but what can you do?) and started working on the latest tracks she hadn't managed to quite nail. But it was fruitless; try as she might, she couldn't get past the pressure against the back of her eyes that she knew came as much from her own thoughts as it did whatever might be creeping its way through her body. She'd pushed ahead and her thoughts kept drifting, distracting and making her miss important beats, elements that she should be remembering.
Her laptop lay across the floor now where it had skidded to a stop after the frustrated woman shoved the contents of her desk away. She was worried that it might be seriously damaged, but she didn't bother to check. She had other things to worry about; her desktop worked fine anyway, as her email could attest to.
Still, it was a waste…both of energy and potentially the laptop. She frowned at the outburst, but it was brief and barely more than a half-thought. There are many things that Lena regrets in her life, but she's a Joybringer of the Cult of Ecstasy. She would never apologize for following her emotions wherever they might lead.
Even that one that she might have some issues with.
She leaned forward, rested her brow on the palms of her hands as she stared at the surface of her desk. The heat radiating between her head and her hands wouldn't be cause for worry in most people's case; it's only a slight fever, after all. But she's not most people.
What am I gonna do?
-----------------------------
October 17th
3:17 am
Day 2
All she remembers is waking up. The first thing that she knows upon being conscious is sitting up where she'd lay, shivering and overheated at the same time. The apartment is dark and Lena's tendency toward keeping her own place in a state of disregard is exemplified with her aching body and other symptoms from yesterday. The laptop still lies on the floor. Freshly empty cans from her energy drinks litter the little studio apartment, particularly the nightstand next to her bed. Lena had spent most of yesterday there, wrapped in her blanket and staring at the television as she tried to forget about the sensation of invisible fingers pressing on the backs of her eyelids and the way she was both hot and cold.
In the end though, she'd fallen asleep on the futon where she'd been sitting late into the night. A half-burned joint from her rarely-used stash lay in the ashtray. She always kept some around because of its legitimate medicinal purposes and…well, sometimes music and meditation, even the racing pulse brought on by a caffeine infusion, weren't good enough to connect with the Lakashim. Sometimes you needed something more.
She aches still. And she's still flushed; her chemise is as damp as the surface she's spent a couple of hours sleeping on. There's a feeling of panic about her, slowly fading though she doesn't remember having any nightmares. She always remembers her nightmares, because they're usually just slight variations on events from her life.
She starts to get up, groaning a little as her joints rebel. The dull ache that goes with being sick…it's impossible to ignore. She knows it well…too well. But she's already up. Might as well start the meds early.
Lena doesn't notice it right away. That happens when you're sick…you miss things that would be obvious. Maybe it was the chill wind that blew in from the open window that made her not see as it soothed her flushed skin. Maybe she was just too absorbed in feeling like shit. But she doesn't notice it until she gets into the bathroom, gets the Selzentry and shuts the medicine cabinet. That's when she sees the red drops falling into the sink.
She looks up at the mirror and stares in shock as her nose drips blood. It's a slow, minor drip…but it's a drip. She looks down, and then out of the bathroom. It started halfway across the apartment.
She grabs a wad of toilet paper, shoves it against her nose. She's going to need to clean up the mess. She'll be both relieved and upset when she sees, later in the day, that Grace is experiencing the same via her phone. But for now, she just thinks:
Oh gods, what's happening? And what's next?
To: rdevito@gmail.com
From: h4lcy0nfl0w@gmail.com
Subject: Cancelling This Weekend
Hey. I hate to do it but I have to cancel my gigs for this weekend. I woke up this morning and wasn't feeling well. I don't handle flus well so I may need extra time to recover. I hope you understand. Give Kayley a call; last I talked to her she was saying that she needed to pick up some extra gigs and she's good, if a bit unrefined.
Sorry, man. Can't be helped. I'll let you know when I can get back to work.
--L
-----------------------------
October 16th
6:17 am
Day 1
Lena stared at the computer screen for several moments after she sent the email. At that moment she wasn't thinking about the dull ache throbbing its way through her body, or the way that she was overheated and flushed even though she had the chills. She wasn't thinking about the events of the previous night or the tiny puncture wound on the back of her neck, how Grace was probably feeling the same way she did. She didn't even think (couldn't possibly think about) what this meant for her life expectancy.
At that moment, all she was thinking was, God dammit, I'm going to miss the Halloween party.
It was still early in the morning…early enough that the sun hadn't yet risen in the sky. Lena had tried to go to sleep early after being dropped off by Grace, so that she could get some rest and hope without hope, give her ravaged immune system the dormant time it needed to gather its strength, fight off the infection. But even that seemed pointless because her ever-present ability to subsist on just a few hours of sleep—usually a boon—became a curse. Four o' clock in the god damned morning and she was awake, trying to ignore the fact that she's left a damp spot of sweat on the mattress and that she had a mild headache that a full twenty-four ounce Rockstar couldn't banish away.
It was six now. She should contact people at the Chantry, but she doesn't. Grace said she'd get the word out and all Lena had to do is check her phone to know that it had been done. She'd been breathless for a moment when she did so, compensating for the moment with a sigh of relief when Grace had kept the information at just what she'd learned about the new virus. The phone hadn't moved from its position next to the bed since then.
For the first couple of hours, she'd tried to keep at business as usual. She'd taken her meds (as important as ever now), had a couple of cigarettes (worst idea ever, but what can you do?) and started working on the latest tracks she hadn't managed to quite nail. But it was fruitless; try as she might, she couldn't get past the pressure against the back of her eyes that she knew came as much from her own thoughts as it did whatever might be creeping its way through her body. She'd pushed ahead and her thoughts kept drifting, distracting and making her miss important beats, elements that she should be remembering.
Her laptop lay across the floor now where it had skidded to a stop after the frustrated woman shoved the contents of her desk away. She was worried that it might be seriously damaged, but she didn't bother to check. She had other things to worry about; her desktop worked fine anyway, as her email could attest to.
Still, it was a waste…both of energy and potentially the laptop. She frowned at the outburst, but it was brief and barely more than a half-thought. There are many things that Lena regrets in her life, but she's a Joybringer of the Cult of Ecstasy. She would never apologize for following her emotions wherever they might lead.
Even that one that she might have some issues with.
She leaned forward, rested her brow on the palms of her hands as she stared at the surface of her desk. The heat radiating between her head and her hands wouldn't be cause for worry in most people's case; it's only a slight fever, after all. But she's not most people.
What am I gonna do?
-----------------------------
Influenza is a disease, makes you weak all in your knees
’Tis a fever everybody sure does dread
Puts a pain in every bone, a few days and you are gone
To a place in the ground called the grave
Ace Johnson, "Influenza"
’Tis a fever everybody sure does dread
Puts a pain in every bone, a few days and you are gone
To a place in the ground called the grave
Ace Johnson, "Influenza"
October 17th
3:17 am
Day 2
All she remembers is waking up. The first thing that she knows upon being conscious is sitting up where she'd lay, shivering and overheated at the same time. The apartment is dark and Lena's tendency toward keeping her own place in a state of disregard is exemplified with her aching body and other symptoms from yesterday. The laptop still lies on the floor. Freshly empty cans from her energy drinks litter the little studio apartment, particularly the nightstand next to her bed. Lena had spent most of yesterday there, wrapped in her blanket and staring at the television as she tried to forget about the sensation of invisible fingers pressing on the backs of her eyelids and the way she was both hot and cold.
In the end though, she'd fallen asleep on the futon where she'd been sitting late into the night. A half-burned joint from her rarely-used stash lay in the ashtray. She always kept some around because of its legitimate medicinal purposes and…well, sometimes music and meditation, even the racing pulse brought on by a caffeine infusion, weren't good enough to connect with the Lakashim. Sometimes you needed something more.
She aches still. And she's still flushed; her chemise is as damp as the surface she's spent a couple of hours sleeping on. There's a feeling of panic about her, slowly fading though she doesn't remember having any nightmares. She always remembers her nightmares, because they're usually just slight variations on events from her life.
She starts to get up, groaning a little as her joints rebel. The dull ache that goes with being sick…it's impossible to ignore. She knows it well…too well. But she's already up. Might as well start the meds early.
Lena doesn't notice it right away. That happens when you're sick…you miss things that would be obvious. Maybe it was the chill wind that blew in from the open window that made her not see as it soothed her flushed skin. Maybe she was just too absorbed in feeling like shit. But she doesn't notice it until she gets into the bathroom, gets the Selzentry and shuts the medicine cabinet. That's when she sees the red drops falling into the sink.
She looks up at the mirror and stares in shock as her nose drips blood. It's a slow, minor drip…but it's a drip. She looks down, and then out of the bathroom. It started halfway across the apartment.
She grabs a wad of toilet paper, shoves it against her nose. She's going to need to clean up the mess. She'll be both relieved and upset when she sees, later in the day, that Grace is experiencing the same via her phone. But for now, she just thinks:
Oh gods, what's happening? And what's next?
You know how hard it is for me
To shake the disease
That takes hold of my tongue
In situations like these
Depeche Mode, "Shake the Disease"
To shake the disease
That takes hold of my tongue
In situations like these
Depeche Mode, "Shake the Disease"
"The anger of a good man is not a problem. Good men have too many rules."
"Good men don't need rules. And today's not the day to find out why I have so many."
"Good men don't need rules. And today's not the day to find out why I have so many."