![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
voicemail.
[If there is no active post or you need to contact Inias, leave him a message.
He has no idea how to set up a private custom message, so you're just gonna have to deal.]
He has no idea how to set up a private custom message, so you're just gonna have to deal.]
Offline.
Are you sick because of a common virus or are you sick because of other reasons?
Offline.
My thoughts? The cause is probably the Trials screwing with my immune system.
[Because the Trials are slowly and literally burning him up from the inside out.
But anyway.
He sniffs and rubs the bridge of his nose, sitting through a wave of ache.]
Nothing'll get rid of it until it rides itself out, but — natural remedies seem to help some, and maybe angel grace can at least help ease up the symptoms.
Offline.
[Though Inias reaches out to gingerly press his fingers into Sam's shoulder, extending his Grace to alleviate the symptoms as much as he can.]
There are thousands of possibilities in terms of herbal medicine, but I can direct you to the easiest to prepare.
Offline.
But then the symptoms do alleviate, and he reddens slightly at his obvious discomfort there. What kind of hunter flinches when scrawny angels poke at them? Sam Winchester, right here. He adjusts quickly, not skipping a beat as he flexes one hand opened and closed. He looks down at the scar flashing every so often and tries not to think too much. That was always his problem, thinking too much.]
I — yeah. That'd be great. Whatever works best. I know it's kind of hard to say, with how I am right now.
[y'know. slowly roasting on the inside with holy light, no biggy]
Offline.
[And, just like that, Inias opens his wings and flies them to the Wastelands, though he at least does Sam the justice of pulling him up onto his feet. Angel strength is the best.]
Perhaps we should focus on that.
Offline.
Feels like all I've been doing is sleeping.
... I'm usually a five-hours-a-night kind of guy. Occasional seven.
Now it's just — kind of hibernating bear syndrome.
Offline.
[It's said mildly, and Inias looks around with a quiet frown, contemplative.]
You are sleeping because you are weak. You need to conserve energy.
Offline.
So I hear.
But I can't stay off my feet too long. Too much stuff to do back home. And here, I guess.
Offline.
[Inias stoops slightly to run his fingers through the snow, melting it instantly to get to the dirt underneath.]
Offline.
[c r i e s]
... Unless the Animus beats them to it.
Offline.
[Fucking demons and fucking Naomi. But Inias falls quiet when his fingers touch soil and he focuses enough to have shoots of green sprout up from the earth.]
-- ah, good, I was correct.
Offline.
Nerdy motherfucker that he is.
PLANTS PLANTS PLAAAANTS]
... There's one thing I wouldn't mind doing.
[that angel hoodoo you do]
This is the kinda' thing I envied. During that screwy God event.
Offline.
[Inias gently curls his fingers around the plants before plucking them up, examining them curiously before turning to Sam with a faint smile.]
It is a good gift to have.
Offline.
[Sam can't help but be a little jealous. All of his 'gifts' are courtesy of hellfire and evil. He tries not to dwell on it, but the God event brings up some pretty sad thoughts. He refocuses on the plants instead.]
What's this?
Offline.
[Inias offers a thin smile.]
I believe you call it 'fennel'.
Offline.
Offline.
[Pause.]
It also assists with coughing.
Offline.