milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Roderick's mood, over the past few days, had been improving.

Had been.

When he awoke this morning, his throat had clenched and sent him into a violent coughing fit -- one that produced blood with each choked gasp. Thoughts of Madeline had invaded his mind yet again during the night, plaguing him with nightmares that made him scream in his sleep and sweat cold bullets that drip dropped in his dreams like rain.

But he's downstairs, now, in a chair near the fire with legs curled under his faintly trembling form. In his hands is a mug of tea just warm enough to be sipped at without hesitation, mixed with honey and lemon to soothe his aching throat.

When control is once again beginning to slip from his grasp, there's no hiding it.

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April's a nice person. She doesn't know who he is, but he doesn't look his best.

So here, Roderick, have a blanket. It's draped over your shoulders. Plz to not freak out, she doesn't know you're you.

Roderick seems to be lost in his own mind when April does so -- he does not move until he feels the soft edge of it fall onto the back of his hand.

With dark eyes, he glances upward at her.

"Oh," he says, sounding surprised -- his voice is trembling, just slightly. "Hello."

"Hey there." She smiles sympathetically. "You don't look like you're feeling too well. Thought I'd bring a blanket over."

His smile is forced, shaky.

"Thank you."

There's no hiding it.

No hiding it. Not from someone like April, anyway.

She may not have experienced true madness, but withdrawal is pretty damn close.

"I'm April," she says, offering a hand. He doesn't have to take it.

He does.

His hand is cold -- almost as cold as Death herself.

"Roderick Usher."

April barely notices. But she brightens a bit. "Oh, you're Roderick!"

Yes, she's heard about him.

Good things, obviously.

He blinks, fingers tightening around his mug.

"You've... heard of me?"

She nods. "Yeah. From my brother." That gets a rather wide grin. Her brother, and he really was, even if they were from different times and-- "Miniver Cheevy, he said he met you in the infirmary?"

"Oh! Oh, yes, of course, I know Miniver. I did not know you were related."

His smile is a little more natural, this time.

"Most people don't."

Like... everyone but her and Miniver and Roderick. (And Elroy the trucker, but he's not only dead but completely fabricated.)

"He said you gave him a book - he was very excited about it."

"Yeah, it was a get well present."

"It was very nice of you."

April hesitates for a moment. "How are you feeling, by the way?"

"Not well," he says honestly. "I had a rather rough night, but -- I'll be okay."

"Good to hear. Miniver told me you're having some problems... nothing specific, mind, but... well."

"Problems," he says with a slight and bitter chuckle. "Yes, problems. I am ill, I'm afraid, and sometimes it gets the better of me."

"That is... regrettable. I'm sorry."

She pauses a moment. "It's worse when it's your head that's sick, isn't it," she says suddenly. "At least when it's just your body, you know what's going on."

Roderick looks at her with wide eyes.

"Yes. Yes... it is."

April blushes and ducks her head sheepishly. "Sorry, I didn't... I wasn't... sorry."

"For what? Pointing out a truth?"

He smiles, just a little. "Do not be sorry."

She smiles a little back. "I'm still a little..." she trails off and waves her hand a little, vaguely. "Off, I guess," she says finally.

Somehow it's slipped her mind that he doesn't know her, or what she's been going through.

"Oh? What ails you?"

Again, a reminder.

He is not alone.

"Oh, um. I had... I went through a withdrawal recently. From drugs." She runs a hand through her hair. "I'm still not quite back to normal."

"Like Miniver?"

"Well, different drugs, but... yeah. Like Miniver. I think it must run in the family," she adds dryly.

Roderick's illness runs in the family, as well.

He doesn't say anything as he begins to mull details over in his mind.

"Why..." he ventures, "Would you put such a substance in your body, then, if you know it will cause you such pain?"

April lets out a short laugh. "You know, Boromir - my boyfriend, that is - he asked me the same thing. And I..." she shakes her head. "Because for a while, you get to... not hurt. You get to forget. And for a little while it seems worth it. And then it hurts too much to stop."

Roderick eyes her for a moment.

"Miniver and I seemed - for a moment - to be on the same boat, but... when you bring such a thing upon yourself? I'm sorry, but it's... mind-boggling, to me."

She shakes her head. "It... it's not like that while you're taking it. It's... you start to need it, but unless you have to go a long time without, it doesn't get more than annoying. Like a sore muscle. It's when you..." she pauses and swallows hard, "when you decide to be strong and give it up that... that it really gets you."

Her mouth twists into a sardonic smile. "It's stupid as hell to use, and I knew it. But I thought it would somehow be different for me."

With that description, Roderick's mind ventures to tell him that Madeline is a drug.

He looks contemplative as he stares into his mug, fingers moving slowly against its porcelain sides.

People can be as much of an addiction as a substance.

"So... Um... tell me something about yourself. What's your favorite book?"

"I have many."

Sometimes, conversation with Roderick can be difficult.

April is not going to give up.

"Yeah, I know the feeling. What's one of them?"

"I enjoy Shakespeare."

He's running through the list in his mind.

"Macbeth."

Miniver sits next to his feet on the floor.

Just sits there. With a book. Quill pen stuck in his hair.

His eyes are focused on the wall, following something that isn't there.

He knows Miniver is now in his company, however.

Eventually, he's able to tear his eyes away from the images of his imagination to glance down at his friend.

"Why are you on the floor?"

"I like it. Got used to it. Because," he explains, "y'know how heat goes UP. Well, when I used to spend a lot of time in the library, in the stacks, I'd sit on the floor so I could feel the draft whenever someone opened the door to the outside cold and know there was someone else in there so I could avoid them if I didn't feel like being with people."

Roderick listens and, for a moment, says nothing.

"That... makes sense," he eventually says, head slightly tilted.

"I used to have a library."

Miniver leans back against Roderick's chair.

"Yeah? Was it nice? I used to dream about having a big manor house with a library and everything. That'd be so great."

"It was gorgeous. Our house was... big. Very big. I used to get lost in it when I was very little."

"Did you ever get lonely in it?"

"Only after my parents died. Madeline and I were very young. A servant lived with us, and once Madeline fell ill, a doctor took up residence."

"Oh yeah. Guess you had her, didn't you? That's lucky, isn't it?" He glances up to Roderick. "So what's wrong?"

No, Roddy, don't think it escaped his notice.

"Nightmares came back."

He takes a sip from his tea.

"Woke up rather roughly."

Miniver scoots around a little so he can look at Roderick without breaking his neck.

"I get those, like, every night. Y'okay?"

"Will be. 'm still a little shaken up."

"Want to go for a walk or something? Cold air helps clear the head, I've found."

"I don't fare well in temperatures so extreme."

Miniver nods. "Yeah... guess I'm used to it. I get allergies being inside too much."

He was one of those hypochondriac, sickly kids who probably had the same cold from age 3 to age 20.

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