#threads: marlo

Send me ‘Say something’ and I will randomly generate a number. 

24. “I have no money. Give me yours. I will pay you back in…Eventually.”

He smirked at her from across the reception desk, arms folded against its countertop as he leaned over to see what she was writing on a clipboard. “Marlo.”  Widget was feeling well enough to go and pester her at the front desk, growing bored with the interior of his dismal, stark hospital room. 

He paused in stuffing the duffle bag with plastic transfusion tubes and syringes, recognizing that voice before even looking over his shoulder. After a tense few seconds he continued to stuff the supplies in the recesses of the bag before turning his head to find her in the dim room only lit up now by the open doorway she was currently blocking. 

Widget snorted and looked at her over the rim of his bandana covering his mouth and nose, pointedly continuing to stock up on hospital supplies. “No. Just sneaky.” 

Fitting that it would be Marlo to catch him stealing hospital supplies. Marlo, his night nanny nurse. Who’d put him to bed more times than his own mother probably had. And scolded him far more, too. Widget had known there was a possibility of seeing her when they’d picked this particular hospital - the one where his journey had started. Not the treatment facility, no... They were all too spooked to go back there just yet even if no one would admit it. It housed the Corosoma, what they really needed. Yet, no one was prepared to walk the white washed walls

Send “How Did You Get This?” for my muse’s reaction to yours running their fingers along a scar on their body.

The spidery feel of fingers made him react before thinking. Widget reached back to swat at her hand as it traced down the overlapping lines of scar tissues that ran parallel to his spine, a half hearted growl rumbling in the back of his throat, glowering over his shoulder from his leaned over position in his car’s guts. 

“If you didn’t just blink I would’ve sworn you were dead, that’s how sickly you’re looking. Go to bed, please!”

Worried Starters

He managed to shake his head as her voice hit his ears, staring straight ahead at the empty chairs of the recreation room. He couldn’t stay in his room - the beeps and clicks of the machine were too much when he was feeling like this. Each beat of the heart monitor made him more conscious of his illness, of his situation.·

Sweat beaded against his brow and his eyes were unfocused as he sat sprawled in one of the recreation room chairs, lips dry and cracked. He could see why she had thought he was dead. It hurt to even breathe let alone blink and move around. He tried to limit all three of those while on the medicine. Widget wasn’t even sure how he’d gotten to the recreation room but apparently being in his room had not been an option. It was as if it was too small a space to contain the pain he was feeling.·

The night nurse. She didn’t take his nonsense and he had plenty of that to give when he was feeling peppier. Why did it have to be her? “Don’t put me back in that room,” he growled weakly, trying to sound threatening as he swallowed back a wave of nausea.·

How did something that was supposed to be fighting for his body make him feel so awful? “Or I’ll...” He couldn’t finish the thought, the threat dying in his throat. He had nothing to gamble with. Kill himself? That was already happening. And he didn’t have the energy to make good on a threat of vandalization of hospital property.·