chilichoc: (vampy)
[Fake-Winchester is blindingly sunny today, and Mel's eyes are strangely sensitive. She was sitting on the window seat trying to study the spell for going home, but she started to feel ill and dizzy, and it didn't stop until she pulled the curtains shut and moved well away from the window, to the bed. What the fuck is wrong with me? she thinks. She's been wondering that on and off for more than two weeks. She hasn't slept in so long that she's gone past tiredness into a kind of giddiness. She looks pale, and her skin's starting to feel chilled to the touch.

She doesn't even want to eat rare hamburger or beef jerky now, even though she's hungry.

She can't pretend any more that the futures room did it, and her symptoms started well before her disgreement with Mail, so it can't be that, though she still feels terrible about it... so terrible that chewing on her gloves isn't calming her anymore. She pulls them off and chews on a finger instead.

And that's when she realizes that her teeth have gotten sharper.

She stares at the blood trickling down her index finger, and unthinkingly licks it away. And that...
that helps. It helps a lot, and makes her feel a little warmer and less hungry, and this is fucked-up, but she sits there, sucking on the little wound.]
chilichoc: (stripey!mel)
[Mel's in Mail's clothes, because her fingers were still bandaged when she got dressed, but they aren't now. It was impossible to cook with the damn band-aids on. She continues to crave rare, rare, almost bloody hamburger, but she's an inexperienced cook at best, so she hasn't gotten one the way she wants it yet. She's been at it for a little while, and there's a plate with several burgers (or pieces of burgers; hers don't seem to hold together like they should) ranging from medium-well-done to barely still rare on the counter beside the stove where she's working. She starts to lift the currently-cooking patty with the spatula, and it falls apart in the pan too.]

Oh, for the love of fuck.
chilichoc: (Default)
[To Mel's dismay, her insomnia seems to be returning, though she's been trying to hide it so Mail won't worry. She keeps catching herself nibbling on her fingernails when she's not paying attention, too. It must have something to do with that damn futures room, she thinks. So she found the library with the books about magic, and pulled out all of the ones that looked like they might have anything about transportation spells in them. Now she's curled up on the window seat while a wind storm lashes at fake-Winchester, biting her index finger and reading furiously.]


chilichoc: (Default)

June 2010

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