CHAPTER 71: Ah!... Ah!... Ah!... BOOM!
She was sick.
Full on nose explosion, coughing lungs out, a pile on the couch under a mountain of blankets sick.
And because she's a void being, none of those are hyperbole.
"A… A… AchBOOM!"
"You ok in there?"
"'ave en'ugh 'owel."
Wiping up the splatter, she shapeshifted her nose back to where it was supposed to be. How it had managed to spin around to the other side of her head, she had no idea.
When an employee is sick, they can't change form and are stuck in whatever form they happened to be in. They can look as much like an Eldritch Picasso as they want, but no adding or subtracting to the form.
And what she was most frustrated about, even feeling this bad, she couldn't puddle.
"A… A…" She slapped the towel in her hands over her face, "AchBOOMF"
She peeled the sticky mess of strands that was once a towel from her face and tossed it into the nearby trash can. Then she grabbed the next towel and wiped her face down, adding it to the pile of mostly used towels.
Oh, how she hated being sick. How her skin itched and her insides quaked and her energy nonexistent.
The worst thing about this? She can't even work.
You would think that would be obvious, you can't greet humans looking like a collaborative art project between Cthulhu and Picasso, but she has a managerial desk job. Which is mostly paperwork, scheduling, and paperwork, things that you would think she could do.
"Cogh, cogh… cogh ChoGECH."
If it wasn't for how messy a sick void creature could be.
She slumped farther into her pile of blankets and stared at the far wall.
"Uhhhhhh," she groaned, trying to get her son's attention from the other room.
She heard the chair move back as her son poked his head around the corner, "What do you need?"
"Read 'o me ple'?" She asked pitifully.
An'uns smiled at his mother, "Ok, do you want 'There Is No Loot Here' or 'I Woke Up As A Dungeon'?"
She pushed up two fingers and gave as good of a smile as she could through the blankets. Om'uns loved her boys so very much.