Logs:Got It

Got It
Dramatis Personae Anole, Bug	2020-04-11 "Kind of. Fell off my. Food -- collecting. Schedule."
Location <MOR> Anole's Sub-Terrarium - Morlock Tunnels
Less 'room' and more 'niche in the wall', this alcove has nevertheless been definitively staked out as Home. Branched off of a tunnel adjacent to the main gathering space, it is set halfway up the wall and accessible by dint of a little bit of climbing and a little bit of precarious balance on never-finished-construction. A small recess, it holds a beaten-up old mattress on the floor, a pile of blankets atop it, and a few hooks stuck out of its concrete wall. There's not enough space for most full-grown adults to stand up in here, though there's enough for a couple people to comfortably lie down. What bare concrete floor there is beside the mattress has been covered by a rug that was once a gaudy mix of orange and purple and is now mostly just coloured like Dirty. A few books are usually piled haphazard in the corner. It's hard to tell a time of day, in here. There hasn't been much light or movement for days. Last week, at least, Anole was still venturing out to scrounge food; now he's just been huddled under his tatty old blankets, not much seen around the caverns. He can be heard, though, for those who venture up to his little nook -- the persistent dry coughing, the labored uneven wheezes. At the moment it's mostly quiet. His skin has turned the same dirty grey as the old pilling blanket that he's pulled up over his spikey head. There is the sound of some struggle as someone approaches the alcove, but is interrupted by a tinny clang and a squeaked curse word. The sound of footsteps quickly recede, only to return again after a few more minutes have passed, this time more slow and cautious in their approach. Bug's chitinous eyes peek into the recess, and, from under his grey tattered sweater he produces a metal teapot, only slightly dented. He lifts it slightly and his eyebrows quirk up in a silent query. The pile of blanket shifts. Anole's eyes blend in with the blankets, too; at first it's difficult to tell when he is looking in Bug's direction, until he pushes the blanket back further, blinking blearily over at the teapot. He attempts a smile, though this doesn't get far before he's interrupted by a fit of coughing, pulling the blanket back up over his mouth to cover it. "Thanks," he manages, quiet. "Finished my -- my last -- last water." The words are choppy, broken up around short strained breaths. There is relief in Bug's half smile when the blankets start to stir. He puts down the pot and starts to remove the backpack that he's wearing slung over a shoulder. "I figured you might want something warm to drink, but I can get you something in any temperature!" he says, his tone chipper. His hand digs around in the bag, despite it having little in the way of contents. "I also brought you a few tylenols 'cause. I think tylenols might help?" There is a slight tensing under his eye as he says this, uncertainty in his voice. "Thank you," Anole says again, quieter. He starts to sit up, trying to push some of his blankets behind him to help prop him up. He doesn't get particularly far in this enterprise, kind of halfhearted before he sinks back down again. "Warm is. Good." His eyes skate towards the entrance to his alcove, squinting out towards the larger caverns beyond. "How is... how are..." Whatever his question was going to be, he doesn't finish it. He just nods, starting to hold out his hand but then pulling it back. "Sorry." It's a quiet whisper. "Kind of. Fell off my. Food -- collecting. Schedule." The corners of Bug's mouth tug down just a slight bit, but his smile quickly recovers, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes. He produces a baggie with a few pills in it from the backpack, and scoots towards Anole. "Oh, don't worry about that none. It's spring time so I am able to do more and I'm like, a million guys! And Taylor's got lots of arms to help with and Marrow's got..." He moves his hands in small circles and only comes up with, "Bones. Anyways. Um. What I mean is." Nods, firm, resolute. "We'll figure it out. Your job's gotta be getting better." "Right." Anole's attempt at a smile is weak, and fades soon. He sinks back beneath his blankets, struggling to draw in another unsteady breath. He reaches for the baggie, drawing it closer. "Sounds. Like you all. Like you got it. Got it..." This breaks off into a cough, and doesn't actually conclude. His eyes close, shoulders huddled up small under the blanket-pile and the little plastic baggie clutched tight in one hand. "Yeah," says Bug, quietly, reassuring, and the brightness of his crooked smile fades once Anole's eyes are closed. His brow furrowed, he pauses in his departure to reach into his hair. He places one of his red banded insects on the wall just outside of the alcove, where it clings and otherwise remains immobile. Another goes tumbling down onto the concrete below after his hand brushes through. "We got it."