Gil + Lofquist: Sea - Sick

In a grandure that befitted a king, he wondered if he had any right to be lazy, if he had any right whatsoever to even be remotely close to...wherever this was. The ocean, of course--staring at the waves lapping against the side of ship. Like they could call it a ship anyway, but it was his 'home' now, and he was the 'captive'--freedom never smelled so salty. Freedom never made him feel so sea sick.

The cabin door banged open and he was pretty sure that mess of limbs was originally supposed to be a person, tumbling and fumbling, white coat, for once, forgotten for the regular attire he rarely ever saw...was that a pink shirt? Did he even have any right to ask?

So he didn't, he just stared, as shirt rumpled, and smoothed, and glasses--and wide, wide eyes focused on him, bright, "Ah! Lofquist!~" The man hummed so much like he knew him, pulling out a vile of some liquid,and holding it out, "this should help!"

Would it? Did he know?

"What is it?"

"Just a little something I cooked up." His legs wavered and shook as he made his way across the deck. Was it really a deck? It was so small. Not that he should be the one questioning things, so he let it slip and fall, instead leaning back as his stomach did a roll, the sea looked very welcoming to whatever his stomach threw up. Or at least he hoped it did. After all, cleaning the side of the ship--he had seen Lind do it. Didn't want to. Never wanted to. The sea killed people.

"What's. In. It?" He groaned out again, leaning against the banister, hoping for no splinters, and almost wishing he got one, because removing splinters wouldn't be as painful as--

"Oh, just RoseMary, Thyme, Arregeno," the man listed off green good green ingredients, "A bit of a non toxic sedative, and a pain reliever, oh and the natural cure all." he said the last bit hurriedly, holding the vile out quickly, and uncorking it, "Now open up wide Loffy!~ wouldn't want you throwing up all over the deck again!"

But he knew better.

Natural Cure All. What did a deranged scientist know about a cure all? Easy. Nothing. At all. They only thought they knew.

"What poor Chicken did you torture this time?" He groaned out instead, swiping his bangs just enough to feel the sweat, holding his hand out in a block he hoped would work.

"But I--"

"Natural Cure all?" He cut the man off, "Chicken Blood, you should just say...Chicken Blood."

"But then you wouldn't drink it!"

"..."

Green met Green

"....How did you make it...not red?"

The man gwaffed at him for a moment, before reasoning some sense into his jaw and closing it, humming thoughtfully, "Honestly?"

"Honestly."

"Food coloring."

"...."

"What? I thought if it was green you'd actually, y'know, drink it!"

Of course.

Just of course.

So it wasn't really his fault when he wound up throwing up on the man. It only mildly surprised him that said man didn't even mind, stripping off his shirt. He only complained once about his knees and the fact they were numb when Lind found out, and when they were both set with a bucket and a mop--which were quickly taken and replaced by one because it was all Gil's fault anyway--the laughing didn't help much.

"If you're going to laugh you might as well join us, brat."

"But he didn't do anything."

"and stop sticking up for him!"

"He's just a kid."

The protests fell on deaf ears, though, as always. What else did he expect, really? What else?

Hah. Easy answer.

"You know," The man looked up only once, headband firmly in place to keep shaggy hair away from his eyes, "Chicken Blood isn't a cure all. you just like abusing chickens, don't you?"

The man didn't say no.

So it was an easy answer, of course.

"Masochist."

And manly bonding moments. As insane as that sounded.