For Vasquez, feeling like shit is something that's fairly normal to him. After all, he'd lived in the West where things weren't so easy and he'd been an outlaw, past that. You have bad days, and you get used to them. What he's feeling now, though, it's worse than he's felt in ages and it's why he drags himself with three layers of clothes towards the south village to find someone who might be a good doctor to take a look at him.
His trip diverts when his stomach decides to speak for him. He's too cold and too hot at once, his head pounding, and he doesn't think he feels so well. He finds himself stopping when he would have been able to walk easily and it's not good.
"You got any liquor?" he asks someone when they pass him, hunched over where he's sitting on the fountain, heart sluggishly beating while his head aches something fiercely. If he's feeling this bad, then he just needs a good drink, yes?
Or not, because he doesn't make it to getting a drink so much as he slips from his seat and ends up pressed against the stones, rubbing a hand over his face, which is getting hotter and hotter every second, it feels like. Maybe he's sicker than he expected, but he's definitely not going out without a fight.
Vasquez | OTA | Sickness Strikes
His trip diverts when his stomach decides to speak for him. He's too cold and too hot at once, his head pounding, and he doesn't think he feels so well. He finds himself stopping when he would have been able to walk easily and it's not good.
"You got any liquor?" he asks someone when they pass him, hunched over where he's sitting on the fountain, heart sluggishly beating while his head aches something fiercely. If he's feeling this bad, then he just needs a good drink, yes?
Or not, because he doesn't make it to getting a drink so much as he slips from his seat and ends up pressed against the stones, rubbing a hand over his face, which is getting hotter and hotter every second, it feels like. Maybe he's sicker than he expected, but he's definitely not going out without a fight.