"Mhm, gotta stay nice n' soft n' cozy," Hector murmurs, quiet and affectionate. "Yew get some good rest, Cappy."
-
A few days pass, and Hector does what he can to dote on Capochin through the worst of it - as soon as that fierce determination to be self-sufficient comes back, though, he's in no place to argue with it.
Not only because it's easier to let Capochin do things they way he prefers to, though, but due to the slow decline into feeling awful Hector's been inching into.
Back in his mortal life, before he'd ascended to godhood, he didn't get sick often; as it was with anything he struggled with, however, he muscled through it any way he could possibly manage, assured people that nothing was wrong, and saved sinking away and rotting in bed for his scarce few moments of downtime.
After several decades of not getting sick, and his instincts to keep his vulnerable parts hidden away now at war with the parts of him that are so desperate for his suffering to be seen, he's handling it... not especially well.
Despite waking up feeling worse than he'd gone to bed, the illness deciding to truly start to settle in, the former of those two instincts is the winner for the moment. He does what he can not to get too close to any of the Bizzyboys in particular to keep what he's got from spreading too much, but he maintains cheer where he can, writing off any concerns as allergies catching up to him.
This doesn't persist to when he's alone at his desk, charting out some plans to assist with some local gardening efforts, when the brainfog and fatigue gets the best of him, leaving him staring in a perplexed daze that teeters on anxious at the paper in front of him.
(The writing on it is borderline incomprehensible, and that isn't helping him sort out how to proceed literally at all.)
skipping ahead a couple days! :3c
-
A few days pass, and Hector does what he can to dote on Capochin through the worst of it - as soon as that fierce determination to be self-sufficient comes back, though, he's in no place to argue with it.
Not only because it's easier to let Capochin do things they way he prefers to, though, but due to the slow decline into feeling awful Hector's been inching into.
Back in his mortal life, before he'd ascended to godhood, he didn't get sick often; as it was with anything he struggled with, however, he muscled through it any way he could possibly manage, assured people that nothing was wrong, and saved sinking away and rotting in bed for his scarce few moments of downtime.
After several decades of not getting sick, and his instincts to keep his vulnerable parts hidden away now at war with the parts of him that are so desperate for his suffering to be seen, he's handling it... not especially well.
Despite waking up feeling worse than he'd gone to bed, the illness deciding to truly start to settle in, the former of those two instincts is the winner for the moment. He does what he can not to get too close to any of the Bizzyboys in particular to keep what he's got from spreading too much, but he maintains cheer where he can, writing off any concerns as allergies catching up to him.
This doesn't persist to when he's alone at his desk, charting out some plans to assist with some local gardening efforts, when the brainfog and fatigue gets the best of him, leaving him staring in a perplexed daze that teeters on anxious at the paper in front of him.
(The writing on it is borderline incomprehensible, and that isn't helping him sort out how to proceed literally at all.)