Twas the night after Christmas -

[bloodyashes]

Characters: Asch and open; later, he goes to see Jade about things [closed]
Setting: A nicely hidden corner of the upper lounge and/or media floor; hassling Jade in the library
Format: What have you, bro
Summary: Feelings about regains, headaches about replicas, yelling at Jade
Warnings: Fon Fabre temper tantrums incoming.

[There's a redhead in a beanbag chair in the corner, heels tucked in, with an old framed photo in his lap. Asch's attention is pretty much entirely on the picture, which is tilted up so that it can't be seen from any other angle. Want to see? Better come lean around his shoulder and be obnoxious.]

[He puts a hand to his forehead very suddenly, as though taken by an unexpected headache. Uh-oh, isn't the flu epidemic over? Maybe you'd better go see what's wrong with him.]

Library -

[It's as good a place to start looking as any. Asch is very pointedly not hurrying through the shelves, because it's not like it really matters anyway. If Jade can't fix this, then no one can, and at least death in the Tower isn't going to stick.

Luckily, it seems that right there is the teal uniform he's looking for.]

Jade.

[All the greeting you get. No beating around the bush today.]

Is there any way to halt fonon separation once it's begun? Failing that, is there a way to slow it?

Comments

[bootsweremadeforcasting]

[Jade remained impassive, not appearing the least bit affected by Asch's temper tantrum. When Asch was done, Jade shifted to stand properly.]

Then I have nothing more for you.

[Jade went for the door, rolling his sleeves down and grabbing his teal outer uniform. Shrugging it on, Jade buttoned it up quietly. If Asch was planning on whining, then Jade wasn't going to have it.

You're making yourself worse, and it ceases to be my problem when you die from your own stupidity.

[bloodyashes]

I don't need anything more from you.

[Stubborn to the end. Asch just stays right where he is until after he's sure Jade is gone.

When he walks out, in a huff with his hands still balled into fists, he leaves the books behind.]