@mementomorphosis
August didn’t bother trying to insist otherwise. He instead slumped back down onto the filthy mattress, head spinning like a Catherine wheel.
If there was one thing worse than people who didn’t give a shit, the ghoul thought to himself amidst the fog, it was people like this relentlessly nice woman telling him to rest who gave too much of a shit. They were always there, pestering, prodding, poking their noses into business that shouldn’t concern them because they couldn’t damn well help themselves. Business such as some random scavver almost fainting again.
It was the second time this week. He couldn’t tell whether it was the tiredness or stress or the yawning hunger catching up, but it probably didn’t matter. Not in the long run. His body, although generally disliked for a myriad of reasons reinvigorated every time he looked in the mirror, was a fairly hardy old carcass. It would endure. Even if certain overzealous Samaritans disagreed.
Still, at least Floyd didn’t have to see him in this half-delirious mess. He always felt guilty when the boy worried about his wellbeing.
“I-I’m fine, I swear. I’ve just had a long week. I just… I just need to…” August sluggishly blinked, rubbing at an eye with the back of his rotten hand. “… Wake up a little. That’s all.”
“No s-sir it’s not.” Amiee said with a stern gentleness. “You’re dehydrated and a bit malnourished. You need to lay down and rest and recuperate for at least a day or two.” She explained.
She smiled softly at him, “Don’t worry. You’re s-safe here th-though. My name is Amiee Diaz. What’s your’s s-sir?” She asked as she went to check the little IV drip she had going for him. Someone had found the ghoul passed out and brought her to her little temporary clinic she had set up in a near by settlement.
The man was lucky the person didn’t just kill and loot him. Some kindness still existed thankfully.
“You’ll just have to st-stay here a little while, th-then you can be on your way s-sir. I promise.”
