The weakened man struggles against Eames' grip, bloody fingers clawing ineffectively at the air. Each solid smack to his back jostles the frail body, and then he's dropping his head forward with a weak groan, thick, black, tar-like liquid welling up in his mouth and oozing out, accompanied with gurgling noises from deep in his throat.

Finally, finally, the small, rock-like thing that had been lodged in his throat is coughed up, dropping off the side of the bed with a solid 'thud', leaving a trail of the black liquid behind. Arthur collapses bonelessly, breathing heavily but easily. The cracks on his skin close up immediately - chapped, irritated looking, but no longer flaking or oozing blood.

Meanwhile, the Plague is gathering itself up on the floor, wheezing quietly as it rears up, staring up at Eames and Arthur with white eyes.