I thought you knew I was filthy rich
I thought you knew I never answer my phone
I thought you knew I was a late night with a bad bite I thought you knew.
That soft sniffle was so utterly uncharacteristic of the usually healthy vampire as his fingers gingerly massaged his temples. God, his head was utterly pounding, the very pain caused that soprano voice to feel more akin to needles as Petra searched so diligently for him. A frown tugged deeply at the corners of his features as Sebastian's hand fell from his forehead. The urgency of her voice prompted the vampire to replace the towel that hung around his waist for the comfort of cotton pajama pants. It was, admittedly, a struggle to forgo the warm embrace of the bed as he passed it, particularly when he felt.....so...cold. A shudder ran down the length of his spine, those goosebumps prickling up upon his bare arms as he moved towards the hallway. Softly, the vampire bid the young woman to quiet, as if it might somehow lessen the headache and building pressure within his face. God, he couldn't remember the last time he felt like this. Even so, Sebastian strove, all the same, to reassure her that this was not what death felt like. At the very least, it hadn't been what dying to Anna-Marie had felt like - or like every morning when the sun rose and stole life from his veins over and over again. No, this was a different kind of misery. He was aware of that quiver to her lower lip as if the girl's hysteria was getting the best of her. How she reminded him of his own sisters, long gone though they were. "We have both died before, love. This does not feel like that - does it?" Sebastian inquired, attempting to reason with Petra when he had strikingly little desire to do so as it was.
It was that mention of that green ball of...slime, however, that marred his very features with discontent. Ever since Petra had touched that thing, he had felt.....uncomfortably different. From that soreness in his throat to the general, ever-present feeling of malaise - nothing had been the same, even after washing that goo from his figure. His eyebrows furrowed in thought, that dull pain in his head an ever constant companion as the man slowly nodded in agreement. "Yes...I think it did." Sebastian responded as his own hand reached lightly for his arm, as if that slight friction of rubbing against his skin might give him some resemblance of warmth. His navy hued irises turned towards the woman as Petra began to speak, only for her words to be cut off entirely by a voice he knew intimately well. Dorian. It was, admittedly, distinctly foolish of him to find the comfort he did in his lover's simple presence and yet, with how utterly awful he felt, Sebastian wanted little more than to curl up within a blanket in Dorian's arms. His gaze shifted immediately towards his beloved Monarch, the vampire offering his husband a weak simper. "Ma Biche, I'm sorry I had to step out so suddenly." He muttered softly, his trip out with Petra entirely....unexpected. Still, it was the distinct weariness to his husband's silver irises that drew Sebastian's gaze towards the equally as feeble woman in front of him. Admittedly, the Englishman had all but forgotten, when coated with that disgusting neon substance, the very reasons why he so often refused to bring guests of his own species home. Even so, the vampire hardly believed that Petra would make any effort to attack his fae - the woman thus far had been altogether quick to turn over her victims to him and in that display of submissiveness, she had gleaned some sort of trust from him.
Sebastian watched in silence as Dorian moved to his side, the vampire failing to fall to those usually polite tendencies when he felt so...awful. Thankfully, Dorian was all too quick to make up for his own lacking as the Monarch presented Petra with a small smile. Those introductions were relatively short, however, before Dorian's attention returned back towards him. He was hardly oblivious to his lover's veiled, gentle childing, after all, it wasn't often that Sebastian returned to the manor with company - particularly without informing the fae King of his intentions beforehand. Tonight, he had broken all of those unspoken rules and, frankly, Sebastian had little but suffering to show from it. "I know, I'm sorry." He muttered again at Dorian's mention that Charles too had failed to inform him of Petra's presence. Sebastian, it seemed, was quick to fall back into those age-old tendencies of British politeness when his thoughts were too muddled to have anything else to offer. The touch of his lover's hand against his arm was hardly unusual and yet, the manner in which Dorian's words so abruptly ceased most definitely was. He was oblivious to that inquisitive tilt of Petra's head as her teal eyes lingered upon them, Sebastian's own attention, after all, settled upon his husband at his Monarch's rather keen observation. "Am I?" He inquired his eyebrows furrowing in consideration as another shiver so wracked his frame. He most definitely didn't feel hot - or maybe he did, beneath that cold that also managed to cling to him at the exact same moment. "I don't know what I feel," Sebastian muttered, more to himself than either of the two individuals present.
Slowly, his navy hued irises turned towards the pale vampire woman, following his lover's own gaze towards her as Dorian inquired after whether or not they were okay. Frankly, he was beginning to wonder the same, Dorian's own uncertainty all but shatter the once confidence he'd had that everything would surely be fine. Petra's abrupt addition that they looked like death only furthered that glimpse of concern upon his features before an audible sigh left his lips. "We're fine." He interrupted as Petra once again insisted that her green...radioactive substance was killing them. Any protest she might have had, however, never seemed to leave her lips before a sneeze echoed within that hallway - one that left him staring at the woman before him. It was that sneeze, it seemed, that cemented within him the very idea that they were most certainly sick. How were they even sick? Vampire's weren't capable of being sick. His body should already be naturally healing itself back to that state of utter, unending perfection. What if he never got better and everything just stayed exactly like this for forever instead?! He was only just beginning to fret after the possibility of that awful stabbing within his head lasting for an eternity with the very scene of that hallway melted away into those Parisian streets that he had requested of Petra only an hour before. Those illusions were, admittedly, something Sebastian was quickly becoming accustomed to - the vampire hardly perturbed by that abrupt shift in the hallway, nor the way it melted back into those familiar damask walls.
"She has...." He paused at the sudden cough that took over, racking his body for a moment before those eyebrows furrowed all over again. That had unexpectedly hurt his throat far more than he cared to admit. The back of his hand rose to his mouth, the vampire pausing before starting again, his voice softer and slightly....gruffer than usual, the vampire hardly bothering to correct that distinctly British accent. "She has the power of illusions," Sebastian informed his lover, just in time for another sneeze to leave Petra's nose, resulting in a chicken upon the hallway rug. That steady tapping of its beak seemed to echo within his skull, further worsening that headache. His hand rose to gently grasp at his temples, his own whispered voice decidedly distracted. "Petra....try to make sure the bloody bird doesn't....ruin the carpet...." God, what he wouldn't give for some tea.