camille [pcs]

[cumulative]

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[scrapdraught]

You doing okay?

[Oof, looks rough. Worrying calligraphy aside the kid probably needs an aspirin more than a grilling.]

I think Alfyn has some painkillers in the works. You need me to go check?

[cumulative]

N-no. It just... happens...

[he shakes his head, with a stifled whine as the motion makes it briefly worse.]

[scrapdraught]

Okay.

[No meds. Maybe that's for the best, at least coming from her. Was this something to do with the sickness he mentioned earlier?

Camille approaches gently, putting a hand to his back and rubbing softly.]

What can I do to help?

[cumulative]

It... it should pass...

[the touch seems to help, though, comforting enough for him to start relaxing into it. it's soothing.]

[scrapdraught]

All right.

[She has her doubts. About her, about him, about her taking care of him. Camille stays put even so, soothing the smooth stretch of his back.

A phantom hand draws a long stroke down her own spine. Manicured nails. Camille shivers and stills.]

Walk me through it. What's going on Mathis? Is this the sickness you were talking about?

[cumulative]

N-no... just a... condition of mine. That... that's all...

[she might notice, since she's touching him, that there's not a lot of warmth to be felt through his clothes; his body temperature seems to run low.]

[scrapdraught]

[Oh, god. Mama would eat him right up.

She shivers, pulling away a moment.]

Let me grab you a blanket. [She moves. Here, quickly. A barrier between them, settled prettily over his frail shoulders.]

Mathis, can you answer something for me? [Gentle comes her hand, delicate atop the blanket.] You got my name written on you.

[cumulative]

Your... name?

[he hardly seems aware of the blanket, but reflexively pulls it around himself anyway. a barrier, a form of safety, a little warmth; he's still a little distant when he speaks, not quite focused.]

I... I'm sorry, I can't r-remember... what it is.

[scrapdraught]

[Well then.]

It's Camille.

[He's running cold, but she presses the back of her palm to his forehead.]

Are you feeling dizzy?

[cumulative]

C... Camille-

[she presses her hand to his head, and his breath hitches, eyes wide. a little fearful, a little uncertain.

please don't kill me, camille-!

but this isn't...

that isn't his face. that isn't his voice.]

[scrapdraught]

Yeah. Camille Preaker. We met just this week.

[He looks petrified. Okay, hand is gone, hands off, hands up in the peace motion.]

What's going on? You look like you've seen a ghost.

[cumulative]

M-my... Camille is my... brother's name.

[still a little out of it, from how distant his tone is.]

He was... killed. He- [mathis blinks, then frowns.] No, he isn't... I don't-

[scrapdraught]

[His brother?

First time she's heard it used for a man. Not like it's a common one to begin with.]

Hey, hey... [She risks a reach again. Same shoulder. Very light, very brush-offable.] It's okay. We're far away from all that.

[cumulative]

We're.... r-right. That's right. He isn't... here, is he...?

[this is somewhere else. somewhere distant.

mathis is still out of it, but the touch is fine. he doesn't pull away, letting her.]

[scrapdraught]

No. No, he's not.

[Camille lets it turn into a rub then, slow and thoughtful. Something grounding as the kid drifts back from the stratosphere.]

It's just you and me right now, Mathis. He's gone.