After the events of It's Gotta Be Perfect, a rogue meme leaves Four not feeling like himself. He and Three struggle to keep a new monstrous being in check.
(A/N: Trying to follow the tone of the show, but probably a fair bit darker. Still very much...
(A/N: We're getting into gross stuff now. Heed the description! Sorry Four. He's not having a good one this chapter.) —
Yeah, he was fucked.
Four lurched, hunched over the toilet of his RV. He had managed to sleep for a grand total of three (non consecutive) hours before he had to limp over to his bathroom and vomit his brains out.
The singsong of the morning birds did little to help with the metallic taste in his mouth. In fact, it only served to make his migraine worse instead. God, he'd loooove to just take those birds and...
More vomit. (His whole body felt hot. Did he have a fever?) He spat a horrible mix of bile and blood into the toilet, groaning.
This didn't seem like a normal reaction to an injured calf.
If it was infected... he really didn't want to have to deal with that. SMG3 did disinfect it, apparently, but it might have not been enough. His leg throbbed in response. (Could humans still get rabies? Was he gonna start foaming at the mouth?)
He'd have to change the dressing soon.
It could also be a stress reaction. Brains can be weird about this stuff. It would account for the nausea and irritability, (God knows he's spent a lot of time researching that) but he assumed trauma didn't make people physically spit up blood. Right?
...He made a mental note to ask Three later if he didn't die alone in this bathroom.
Either way, he had videos to make for god's sake. This was very inconvenient. With this headache there's no way he could look at a screen for more than 5 minutes. (That doesn't mean he won't try, though. Agonies be damned, he had an audience to keep.)
With one last spit, he flushed the toilet and rubbed his eyes. Pulling himself up, he sat on the edge of the seat and covered his face with his hands.
The bathroom in the RV had everything he needed— a toilet that got blocked every other time he used it, and a sink that didn't work. (Thank god he had the kitchenette.)
As such, he didn't have a mirror. It wasn't really needed when your Branding™ dictates you wear the same outfit anytime you go outside. His usual "getting ready" routine was a quick comb through his hair and some swift shaving. He didn't feel well enough for any of that today though.
Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he opened the camera app. May as well see what he looked like, it's not like the headache was going to go away anytime soon.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Ah. Okay; well. Yep.
His hair honestly wasn't as bad as he was expecting— ok, it was still a mess, but that wasn't the point. It was everything else.
His eye-bags were a dark, darkpurple. Like, "I barely slept for three weeks because I was staring at my computer losing my mind" purple. They were usually only slightly grey! (He was still working on the sleep schedule part of the whole "not destroying himself over his work" thing.) Sure, he felt that tired, but that shouldn't reflect on his body yet.
