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[Round 15] Lt JG Yael - What Night Brings


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((Yael's Quarters))

:: The moment the door rasped shut behind the Denobulan hybrid, his posture warped into one of apparent gastrointestinal illness. His hands went to his stomach, shoulders slumping over, a grimace gracing his usually pleasant expression. Taking a moment to lean on the wall, he knew what this was. He'd been trying to ignore it since before his meal with Willie, this grinding sensation inside his gut. He had at times had this unpleasant, internal sensation... his body was telling him, "drink, and drink now." ::

:: But thanks to Saveron's persistence in adding the chemical castration to his medical routine, he knew it wouldn't do him any good. ::

:: He briefly wondered if he could go out again, maybe ask Willie out for a drink... a non-alcoholic drink, over a game or something similar. A distraction. Some company. ::

:: Some company that wouldn't bite his head off for trying to help them, perhaps. ::

:: But he discounted it on the basis that Willie needed to be fully rested for the next day's mission. His selfish desire could impair someone else... so he would simply tolerate it alone. ::

:: This was going to be the worst of it anyway. There was no way he was as bad off as Saveron thought. He'd laugh it off like he would any diet-induced tummy ache, amount it up to indigestion, and be done with it by morning. ::

:: Changing into a comfortable pair of sleep shorts and t-shirt, Ashley replicated himself a glass of cold water and some sliced veggies, then curled his legs up beneath him on the couch with a data padd. He lowered the lights by a few percent. There was a freshly released journal article from one of his peers he'd been meaning to read. ::

((Several Hours Later))

:: Consciousness came upon him like a gunshot. ::

:: The shock of sudden realization. It HURT. It BURNED. ::

:: Jerking up to a sitting position, a rasping breath ran unsteady through his lungs. His mind woke to his body after the instinctual recoil to the pain. His blood seared hot through his limbs, gathering to a boiling point in his stomach. ::

:: Despite the room being cool, he had sweat through the sheet. His hands shook hard as they came to run over his face, drawing back glistening wet. The grinding in his stomach had turned to this gnawing pain, the discomfort having morphed during his few hours sleep into something he could no longer sleep through. ::

:: It swept through him in an unending wave, the ceaseless sensation driving him out of the bed and onto unsteady feet, into the dimly lit restroom. ::

:: Cold water on his face was only a moments comfort, but he instinctually drew from it. Shirking the damp clothing, shucking it off sticky skin, he stepped into the shower. Though the sudden flow of water dramatically cooled his overheated flesh and swept away the layer of sweat, it could not ease the internal chaos wrenching through him. ::

:: Leaning against the smooth wall, he lost his sense of time. ::

:: Breathing became laborious. ::

:: Doubt swept through him with each new gasp for air. He'd been lying to himself, he'd known that to an extent... but THIS... how well had he deceived himself? It had never been THIS bad. He had to calm the near panic born of the physical symptoms, remind himself he wasn't dying. Turning off the shower, he stepped free without drying or dressing, and made way out to the cabinet. ::

:: He could still hold onto it, his rational mind... but he was on the brink. Under this pressure, he made a profoundly stupid choice out of a one-tracked desire to curb the symptoms. ::

:: He told himself Saveron's choice medication had worn off, poured himself a dual-shot of whiskey, and took it straight back. ::

:: And spent the next twenty minutes retching into the toilet for it. ::

((A Short While Later))

:: The restroom floor was amazingly clean. That was his only relief, considering he was laying on it. Pushing up onto shaking arms, he leaned against the wall for a moment. He'd exhausted himself. He needed water. He needed pants. ::

:: He needed some help. ::

:: It took several minutes of contemplating the motion before he could carry out standing, hand on the wall as he made his way to his bedroom. It took an exorbitant amount of time to draw on a clean pair of pants, grey ones to match the light, long robe he struggled to draw over his shoulders. ::

:: Nausea swept over him, though he fought it back as he grasped his comm. badge off the small table. He nearly dropped it, his hands gone stupid under the strain, but managed to compress it with his open palm. ::


Lt. JG Ashley Deneve Yael

Head Counselor

Embassy Duronis II

USS Thunder NCC - 70605

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