[ Stress responses vary wildly between people. This place has so many of them: there are some that grieve, unprepared for the situation, afraid and shaken into quietude or shrieking. Some shield themselves with morbid humor, some are furious, though there's usually fear behind those, too. Others seem to shut down. Rudbeckia seems more the lattermost. Not pushed into hysterics, but likely no less affected, wrapped up in whatever terrible emotion has visited her.
In this particular moment though, he almost wishes she'd stayed distracted. He's quick to raise a placating hand, petals caught in the other one as he clears his throat, which still strangely stings. ]
—It's nothing.
[ He chances a look down at his palm, closing his fingers over the small blue flowers there. ]
...No surprise that some sort of sickness would spread in a place like this. [ The conditions are abysmal. ] That's likely all this is. [ A totally normal flower-coughing strep throat. ]
no subject
In this particular moment though, he almost wishes she'd stayed distracted. He's quick to raise a placating hand, petals caught in the other one as he clears his throat, which still strangely stings. ]
—It's nothing.
[ He chances a look down at his palm, closing his fingers over the small blue flowers there. ]
...No surprise that some sort of sickness would spread in a place like this. [ The conditions are abysmal. ] That's likely all this is. [ A totally normal flower-coughing strep throat. ]