House of Cards RP

He's been expecting this, really. The smoking had been the most obvious and most easily corrected trigger, but stress is a major one two, and the last two months have been mostly stressor after stressor, piling up and being ignored. It was a matter of time before it manifested in a more physical state.

With the migraine.

Not that many people know he gets them. Before he rose up to Ten, after all, he'd just...disappear for a couple of days into a cool dark room and then reappear a couple days later. He was an artist, and he could get away with it. Now it's a little different. He's known it's been coming for a couple of days. It started with the cravings - salt, everything with salt - some stiffness in his neck, a period of hyperactivity that he used to think was his mother's bipolar manifesting in him. Then the auras.

And now, Elisha can be found moving through the halls, quietly and carefully. The attack isn't full-blown yet, and he's only a little pale - easily explained away by the recent events, really - but soon he's going to need to find his room. Or the couch in his office. Whichever's closer.

There was more than one problem with Lance's death.

The biggest one being that when Julien felt...well, felt too much, it was always Lancelot he ended up finding and needling and fighting. Sometimes talking, true. But more than a few of Julien's scars came at the Jack of Clubs' hands.

He'd re-paid that favor, of course.

But now the man is dead. Or gone. Both. And there's no one suitable to vent his rage on. No one worthy. Oh, David, perhaps, if he wanted to tear the Spades to shreds. And he doesn't. Victor maybe...if the man weren't still currently a cripple. He'd even briefly considered the King of Clubs, make it into something of a tradition, and the only thing that had stopped him was his utter contempt for the man.

So instead he's hidden himself away in some un-used room in the Castle with little in the way of furnishings, save an old, threadbare couch. And a few bottles of truly terrible whiskey, of the sort that set your insides on fire as it went down. Julien tended to believe that if you were going to get drunk, it was best to do so with something that hurt.

Come find the Ace of Spades at your own risk.