(no subject)

[3rdtimelucky.livejournal.com]

Goldilocks sleeps through the complicated surgery on her friend and long into the next day. When she awakens, the privacy screen is still up around Rachel's bed, and besides the Prince's soft harmonies, there is nothing audible from that station for most of the day, not even a flicker of a mental touch. Goldy doesn't attempt anything to disturb that—privacy is privacy, after all.

She's clean now and the pain isn't too bad. It's there, under the wealth of bandages, definitely making itself known through stiffness, aches and throbbing, but not in any debilitating way. The creeped-out feeling of having had microscopic machines roaming around her body causes as much discomfort as her injuries, to be fair. There are occasional violent shudders when she considers the prospect that maybe Hank didn't get them all? Not that she's the squeamish type, but such bodily invasiveness is hard to deal with.

Once properly roused, she spends a good fifteen minutes readjusting the pillows so she can sit up in relative comfort. She spends some time trying to tune out the eery chittering noises that drift over from another screened-off bed. She eats a little, and she reads a little, and she wonders about Mel. The rest of the time she spends trying to control her loathing of being cooped up here in the med lab, with its overly shiny decor, its monotonously beeping machines and its nauseating smell of sterility. She hates the pervading sense of infirmity and helplessness. It's not as if she is incapacitated, and she has to fight quite hard to suppress the urge to fuck 'doctor's orders' and go to her room instead.

However, if she has to stay, the standard issue hospital gown has got to go. And soon!

Comments

[wolfskincoat.livejournal.com]

Like her friend, Red Riding Hood never quite got the hang of knocking. The door opens smoothly, and she walks in with the casual air of someone walking into her own house, or that of family.



Dressed in a royal blue minidress and mid-calf length boots, with her wolf coat is folded over her arms, she holds a folded up note (http://www.livejournal.com/community/milliways_bar/10428323.html?#cutid3) in one hand.

On spying Goldilocks, she makes a directly for her bed.

"I feel I should have brought you a basket of goodies."

[3rdtimelucky.livejournal.com]

Goldy can't hide her smile, not just at the remark, but at the very specifically welcome company. The feigned look of dismay is belated.

"You didn't bring one?"

[wolfskincoat.livejournal.com]

"Sorry, sweetheart," Red says, pausing at the side of the bed and folding her coat over the back of the bedside chair. After this action, she sits lightly on the side of the bed. "I came straight here when I got the note.

"Back from where?"

[3rdtimelucky.livejournal.com]

Goldy ignores the question for now. There's a charade to be played out.

"You're kidding me."

She cranes her neck back to the entrance, as if checking for a hamper hidden by the door. A sly smirk follows.

"What the hell kind of friend are you? Fuck off and get me some grapes and flowers, bitch."

[wolfskincoat.livejournal.com]

"I'm sure you don't really mean that," is the smooth reply, accompanied by wide innocent eyes. "Being brought food by me has generally been considered a bad omen."

[inquisitivehero]

It is a few minutes later when Hank arrives and eyes Goldy, one eyebrow risen up. The silence is, perhaps, deafening.

[3rdtimelucky.livejournal.com]

Her eyes shift away from his gaze. Her bottom lip gets a guilty little nip.

[inquisitivehero]

His eyes miss little, as do his nose, the nostrils of which flare with a certasin person's scent. Someone he doesnt know, but soemone who wasnt... displeased to see Goldy. He nods, and comes forward, his voice quiet, but not condemning.

"I should probably let you know that if your heat beat rises and pulse races, the monitors let me know. If you plan on ah... doing such? I can turn down the sensitivity."

He smiles slightly.

"I would ask you to be careful. But I wont ask you not to... make accommodations. Just be careful."

[3rdtimelucky.livejournal.com]

"Oh," she says to his initial revelations, pulling a face that reveals much. "Careful. Right. I am always very careful. I promise."

Fucking technology.

"My friend just... hugged me a little hard, was all," she explains with a sincere nod. It really is quite credible, if you don't take the previous blatant guilt out of the equation. Which she doesn't actually expect him to do. It was worth a shot though.

[inquisitivehero]

He raises an eyebrow. But he isnt here to guilt her, not really, nor embarass her, even if such were possible.

"Goldy? Again, it doesnt matter to me what you do, as long as you are careful. Your body is very sensitive and very ... not strong right now. You have to understand there is a fragility that will inhibit you and could hurt you without you even sensing it at first. I don't want to stop you from living, or from being comfortable, just to keep you alive and healthy. If you do nothing else, trust that I know what I am talking about."

[door-2-door.livejournal.com]

The Salesman is quite aware that there is an infirmary. He also knows that there are libraries, somewhere about. He does not know, however, where they are.

So, as he's finished his coffee, today is decidedly for exploring.
The infirmary first, seems most practical. Fortunately he's not bothered much by hospitals. Not even by the decor and smell, as he opens the door.

Then, stepping into the room, he pauses to take it all in, still slightly bemused that an infirmary is necessary at all, with all of the magical healers. He's never been one to make more work for doctors, but if they manage to keep busy, who is he to discredit their career?

Back to the point, -he's polite enough not to investigate the beds with curtains, however, there is a curious look directed at Goldy, that is certain.

[3rdtimelucky.livejournal.com]

Goldy watches him inspect the facility, smirking slightly.

"Well, lookee what we've got here," she says when he lays eyes upon her.

She's had the important delivery of normal night clothes and a hairbrush by this time, so she's propped up on perfectly arranged pillows with a powder pink tanktop visible above the sheets, and her hair is neatly layered again. Lucky Henry.

[door-2-door.livejournal.com]

Oh, lucky Henry indeed. Though it is entirely possible that he's not inclined to care either way. Then again, he would have been more likely to comment, had she still been in the dressing gown. The comment, of course, would probably not have been a sincere compliment.

He raises one eyebrow, ever so slightly, and glances about in mock confusion. "And what would that be?" He asks in a matching sort of tone.

[3rdtimelucky.livejournal.com]

"This, Henry, is the whackily-themed HospitalLand area of the theme park," she explains dryly.

A machine goes beep somewhat undramatically.

"Pretty realistic, eh? I think they did a top notch job, so I'm filling in as a 'patient' today, you know, for the proper visual effect."

[door-2-door.livejournal.com]

He smirks and looks about again dubiously.

"Well, I certainly hope that they aren't paying you for it." He remarks wryly. "You make a horrible patient, from the looks of things."

But he knows better, and is curious, to say the least. "But I admit, I did not expect to find you here, whatever the case."

[prydeful]

"Looks like someone found a bed that was just right," says a voice as Kitty leans against the doorway, smirking a bit, arms across her chest.

[3rdtimelucky.livejournal.com]

Goldy's bored face brightens spectacularly at the voice.

"I wouldn't say it was that good," she concedes with a smile. "However, beggars and chicks who drink nanites can't be choosers."

She pats the edge of her bed invitingly. "How are you doing, Kit-Kat?"

[prydeful]

"Who, me? I didn't get a knife in the chest," she not-answers with a laugh and sitting next to her. "How're you doing?"

[3rdtimelucky.livejournal.com]

"I feel like something's missing now," she says sadly, patting the bandages under her tanktop. "I'm all about accessorizing, you know?"

[prydeful]

"I can always bring another one, but I think Beast might object to me dragging sharp things that aren't needles in here. You should've seen what he did the time I phased through his medlab with a sword." Eyes wide and innocent.

[prince-arithon.livejournal.com]

There is a nod over from Rachel's bed. Not, however, Rachel. She's still out of it, but the raggletag little Bard hasn't moved all night. He quirks a faint, very faint, smile toward the blond woman and watches the door.

If anything did come from there after Rachel, Arithon is waiting.

[3rdtimelucky.livejournal.com]

There have been check-ups, visitors and several uplifting conversations, as well as deliveries of personal effects, proper pajamas and food. It's been quite a busy day around her bed, really. Through it all, Goldilocks has become increasingly impressed by the minder's endurance, yet she has tried to be respectful of the job in hand. The overly-bawdy moment with Red was a regretable necessity, however. Hopefully, he understands.

She takes the nod as an invite to break the ice, and offers a warm smile in return.

"Hi there. I'm Goldilocks."

[prince-arithon.livejournal.com]

He understands. He's got a wife, after all. When Rachel went under he sent the music after her in a stream of empathy tinged with song. He couldn't do that if not for the magic of the Masterbard, but he did it.

His speaking voice isn't quite as lovely as the singing one, and right now its a little ragged around the edges, but the accent is still faintly musical when he responds,

"Arithon s'Ffalenn, Master of Shadows. There are better ways to meet."

And worse ones, his rather impressively green eyes add.

[3rdtimelucky.livejournal.com]

"True. But I'm pleased we finally have anyway."

Her gaze is soft, matching her tone.

"I've heard a little of you from Alanna." And of course, she has had his singing voice as company for most of her waking hours. There's plenty that can be gleaned from song, even in a language you cannot understand.

"How's our girl doing?"

[prince-arithon.livejournal.com]

There is more to be gleaned from the foreign words of Arithon's song than a speech in someone's native tongue. It is, quite literally, magical.

He looks down at Rachel and smooths her hair back gently,

"She rests. Not well, but she rests. She will improve."

Not, alas, prophecy. He just refuses to face the idea that she won't.