The X-Project

Backdated to last week. Kyle comes by to fix Cammie's broken toilet, which she broke due to over-use, and between the two of them, they figure out that her clothes - and sheets and towels - are making her even more sick than she would be. And then Kyle risks being barfed on to carry Cammie down to the infirmary.



Kyle was used to the sort of funk that came associated with Cammie and Laura's room. It was never really awful, it was just sort of there, and made his face kind of itch. So he was prepared for it when he eased the door open. He wasn't prepared for it to be partially masked with the too-sweet acidy smell of sick, even though in hindsight, he realized he should have been. His normal loudly cheerful hello was interrupted by a powerful sneeze, and the sound of Kyle dropping the plastic crate of plumbing parts and tools as several more sneezes hit him.

Cammie was contemplating murdering something, what or who she wasn't quite sure and whatever plans she did manage to formulate were generally struck down by the sudden need to vomit. At least until she accidentally broke the handle of the big white bus. She didn't know Kyle was there until she heard the sneezing. She pulled herself out of bed and put a sweater on over her boy-beater top and shorts and wandered out into the open, looking like death warmed over.

"The victim's that way," she said somewhat dryly, pointing towards the bathroom. Even her breath tasted like vomit. Ew.

"Dude, you could point at yourself. You look like crap on a stick." Kyle said. He steeled himself mentally - and nasally - against what he feared the bathroom smelled like, and picked his box of stuff back up.

It wasn't as bad as he'd feared. The reek of vomit was there, but it only lingered around the toilet and trash can, and both were empty, and while the entire bathroom just sort of smelled of Cammie, he'd already been prepared for that. It didn't take much to figure out what she'd done, just cracked the handle. "This'll take about half a minute." He said. "What did you do, get mad at it or something?"

"Sometime between all the puking, maybe," Cammie said, bracing herself on the wall, "This hasn't been the most lucid or best of days. I forgot how much it fucking sucks to get sick." Between the muscle cramping, the puking and the dizziness, Cammie was more than tempted to head back down to the medlab, though the thought of MORE tests put that one firmly out of her mind. "Easy fix at least."

Thank god.

The fix was super-easy. If Cammie hadn't been sick, Kyle would've considered just making her do it herself. But it was obvious she was miserable. "Yeah, about the easiest thing there is. Unscrew the back, replace the rubber doohickey, snap on the new handle, presto, new working toilet you don't have to fish around in toilet water to flush." He picked the lid up off the floor and set it back on the tank. "You're about due for a new filter, by the way, but probably not gonna be an issue unless you guys go back to normal, right?"

"I guess so," Cammie said, "Though to hear the way the others are talking about it, we're normal right now. I hate normal," she said, the last more like a muttered oath. Normal people couldn't do some of the things Cammie enjoyed doing. Normal people didn't have dead bodies randomly littering their pasts. Normal people... If she had stayed normal she'd likely still be stuck in Nowhere, VT. Dying slowly in a small town, though in a different way.

Kyle made a face. "Please. Anyone who says you're normal now is like, gene-ist. Or something. Like racist only for mutants." Normal was relative, as far as he was concerned. "Though, dude, normal for you is kinda stink. I mean, I'm not saying, I'm just sayin'. I'd figure you've noticed it now that you're not all Death Touch Chick but maybe not since you're sick. Sick smell is worse than your normal weird smell."

"What smell? Like the bandages smell?" Cammie returned, now confused, "All I can smell right now is vomit. That's about all I can taste right now too. God, I'm never laughing at making anyone puke ever again. Not that I believe in that shit, but this has to be like karma or something."

"Like everything." Kyle said, confused. "I mean, yeah, your arm bandages stink, but, and I am totally not trying to be an asshole here, the rest of you kinda smells like your bandages only not as much. Like your hair and clothes and stuff. Same reason we gave you a washer and dryer and hooked it up to those filters. The rest of us peons have to use the community ones, you know?"

Cammie blinked, "Oh crap. Everything leaks into my clothes, doesn't it?" That's how out of it she was right now, that the idea of that being a possibility was an afterthought.

Kyle blinked back. "You're totally wearing the same stuff you always wear? Jesus yes it does! And probably your towels and sheets and stuff too. You still smell like you!" He glanced around the small bathroom, and then let out a huff. "You are crashing in my spare room until they figure out if this is forever or just temporary. Dude, your -mattress- might be poison."

"...Fuck," Cammie spat, "I don't have any other clothes. Or sheets, or anything..." And here she thought it was just the bad milk and her eating habits that kept making her retch. "I hate this already."

"Spare rooms. Bed have sheets." Not the sheets Cammie was probably familiar with, since Manuel had taken all his stuff when he moved out. "And I'm sure somebody has pants that'll fit you until you can get some or something." Kyle watched Cammie carefully for a few moments, and then shrugged. "So, basically you've been holed up in here with your barfs and your poisoned stuff... You basically just poisoned yourself. Good job."

She flashed a weak heavy-metal hand sign, though she looked extremely unamused about the whole situation, "Way ta go me," she said dryly. "This is what I get for not being a social butterfly."

Kyle kept watching. Cammie was definitely unsteady on her feet, not fully aware of her surroundings, and most importantly, not poisonous. "And now you get to go visit the doctors! I mean, who knows what kind of sick you've given yourself." He pointed towards the door. "Either I walk you down there or I carry you." After a brief pause, he shrugged. "Or I tie you to a rolling chair and push you down there. But if you think you won't barf and wanna go willingly, I'll totally push you in a rolling chair down there without the tying you up."

"Oh fuck no. I've already spent enough time down there," Cammie said, shaking her head, "I will puke. And I'm not going willingly."

That was totally what he expected. So Kyle shrugged. "I did warn you.." he said, before scooping Cammie up and hoisting her in a fireman's carry. "See, you being all busted means that the worst you can do is barf on me, and I'll give you a free one there. I've puked on you."

Her stomach turned, "Yeah, maybe I will."