Wanted: Intact or Vapourised

Chapter 3

Joon Gregor wanted the world to stop spinning, but it wasn't as if he could just ask politely, was it?

Excuse me, universe. If you could give me a moment?

So the world spun out.

And he sat up.

Well this was just worse. Like he had stuck his head fully into it. Now he was spinning on the rim of whatever terrible invisible wheel he felt like he had been strapped to.

Well there was nothing for it now. He lurched forward and vomited. Gripping his stomach as it clenched.

A container seemed to thrust in sideways out of the spinning maelstrom that was the world, and his ejection was caught in it. He closed his eyes, having little intention at looking at his own mess.

At the same time, he felt a hand on the back of his head. Instinctively, he grabbed for it, expecting it to grip his hair and yank him some place painful. But it didn't, it just sort of patted the back of his neck. The whole thing did not make him feel especially dignified. He'd rather have vomited onto his own knees, now that he looked over the whole thing.

It occurred to Joon that his life experience so far had caused him to develop inappropriate reactions to kindness from anyone. But presuming kindness itself was painfully optimistic, he knew.

The container that had caught his sick went away, and he heard a voice that must have belonged to the arm that held it. He recognised it.

"Sorry about the gas. Got any bugs?"

The question added to the net weight of his confusion.

"Sorry?" He croaked from a throat burned and strained where his own fluid had passed through. There was still some on his lip, so he wiped it with the toughened sleeve of his jacket.

"Any contagions you might have picked up? Fortuna knows you've slept places, and I don't want to catch anything airborne at least. And no biting either, come to think of it."

Joon squinted and looked around his surroundings. Blessedly, the spinning had stopped when he had vomited. They were back on one of the Easter streets. A hidden corner somewhere not so far from food, judging by the smell.

What was he doing back here?

Had he imagined the whole Furry affair? Looking over, he saw the white seamless humanoid shape, still shimmering and undulating, though less severely. It had a sort of fizz, like little white grains were popping all over it. He closed his eyes and rubbed them, but the effect didn't stop.

It was kneeling beside him, it's hand on the back of his neck.

Well, he hadn't been dreaming.

"Contagions? How should I know. . I. . no, not unless Fury Talax had any. But I don't check it every day or anything. You can imagine I can't afford many check ups from reputable physicians. I mean, you know who I am, right?"

The voice, garbled, sighed.

"Us humans have bodies less integrated with the pathogens here, which means if you have caught something, it has to be pretty resilient. Can't be too careful. Come on, I think you need to fill the free space you just made in your stomach."

As she said this, she dropped the vomit-filled container, which sloshed grossly, and then pulled him to his feet by the arm.

He saw the container grow a film of green mould-spores in a matter of seconds.

It felt as though in a million years time his little accident would learn to walk.

Well, he could see why she was worried about contagion.