[Upon walking into the kitchen, Connor may be a bit surprised to find that what looks like every single available cup or bowl or glass - in short, anything that could hold liquid - clustered on the available flat surfaces in the room in apparently esoteric categorization. Some of the groupings are still steaming hot, some long-since cooled, a plethora of drinking vessels holding liquids both clear and cloudy, fragrant and otherwise.
Jing is leaning against a wall with her eyes closed, looking considerably worse for wear, her hair down and loose rather than looped into her usual elaborate and neatly smooth styles, her clothes damp with sweat from exertion and fever both. When she apparently hears someone approach, she blinks her eyes open slowly and observes the room, gaze skittering from whoever is standing in front of her to the army of improvised cups beyond.]
How are you feeling? [She asks, her tone still warm and concerned.] What symptoms do you have?
[Action (i have no idea what i'm doing)] - early in week 2
Jing is leaning against a wall with her eyes closed, looking considerably worse for wear, her hair down and loose rather than looped into her usual elaborate and neatly smooth styles, her clothes damp with sweat from exertion and fever both. When she apparently hears someone approach, she blinks her eyes open slowly and observes the room, gaze skittering from whoever is standing in front of her to the army of improvised cups beyond.]
How are you feeling? [She asks, her tone still warm and concerned.] What symptoms do you have?