(no subject)

The world was a strange and cruel place and only after time a mostly of experience did it make any sense. Or mostly sense, when you were the personification of insanity the things that made no sense made perfect sense and the things that supposedly made sense were complete nonsense. To Delirium being happy in mind surely meant being happy in body but apparently not her stomach kept rioting inside of her. Little goldfishes swimming about and making her feel sick or made her be sick and it hadn't stopped for hours.

Curling up in bed, a burrito of Deliriumness, made her feel better and she had mostly journeyed through her brother's realm. Until it was time to wake up and cook food, not that she mistrusted Robb's cooking and would eat it happily but everyone else seemed to think burnt or uncooked was not peachy. Wiggling out of bed, she tried dress after dress but everything was too tight or just made her mind all squirmy until she finally gave in and wore one of Robb's shirt (all loose and peachy) and a pair of leggings. Much peachier.

Yawning, she rubbed her stomach thoughtfully as she wandered through Summerfell. Eyes alighting on Bran, she smiled tiredly and dropped her hands onto the top of his head. And ran her fingers through his hair.

"Do not worry Bran Stark, I will not let you starve or eat Robb's cooking." Del said, wrinkling her nose as she wandered about. "Do you want to help? Everything still feels-" She wiggled her hands about as if that made perfect sense. "-we can make curry or oh burritos. Maybe curry. Have you eaten that before?"

(no subject)

The world did not feel right, Sol fell beneath the Moon and turned and tossed. The boat felt uneven and troublesome on calm seas. She dreamed of her brother falling and falling and falling. Waves of unpleasantness and sticky things rolling onto the shore before crashing over. Sheep endless spinning sheep on a spinning spinning-

Waking up with a start, she pressed her hand against Robb's chest and half wiggling-half falling out of bed. Nimble, pale, hands grabbing the emergency bucket she had tucked beneath the bed after the second-third-fourth-fifth day of this awful stomach ickyness and ran towards the bathroom. Her feet carried her much quicker this time and she even made it before she was sick again. It looked very pretty, all pretty colours of last night's dinner but it made her feel awful.

"If I sing nicely will you shush now tummy, shush." Delirium muttered, shivering a little. She wished it would go away, sometimes she felt better but not until very late and then it would start all over again. Again and again.