ways_infirmary | (no subject)

"It's not..." Rae glances with partially-lowered lids at one of the bright jars, considering. "I'm still learning the ins and outs of it, myself, but soaking in sunlight isn't like healing. Not exactly. It's more like sleep, or a different sort of food. Sunlight's my elemental affinity - the source of my strength. I kind of... tapped my magic flat yesterday. Recharging is needed."

But it won't help heal the physical injuries.

"That makes prognosis easier," Dr. Lecter says. "I wouldn't want you to go back to fighting anything for the next three weeks, and no physical exertion at all for ten days. You should get out of bed today, however."

"Thank all the listening gods," Sunshine murmurs in reply to his last statement. "What was it you called it? Za-zen? Doing nothing is not for me."

She'd rather not be left to think, especially not after yesterday. Painkillers have helped with the nightmares, but she doesn't trust that to last. She needs to be doing something. A distraction.

"If possible, I'd much rather not sleep overnight in a... public space any more than I have to." Anyone can walk in uninvited, he understands. "Think I'm all right enough to stay nights in my own room?"

"I'd recommend taking a medically trained wait rat along," Hannibal says, "or at least allowing it to check your vital signs from time to time, but yes, you can do so, starting the next night."

He offers his hand.

"Do you think you can get out of bed yet?"

"Hope so," she says with lightly wry amusement to cover how sincere the sentiment is. Rae takes his hand with her left, and moves to stand up.

It's not easy. Certain movements and pressures are strongly discouraged by her injured body, but she soon works around those to stand on the cold infirmary floor. She stands with a slight wince, most of her weight on her uninjured right foot to spare her sprained left ankle - you never realize how much you move your ankle until it hurts to do so.

"Youndont have to run a race or fight a vampire yet," Hannibal says with what seems like wry amusement. "It's enough if you can hobble to the bathroom."

He is still lightly holding on, exerting no pressure but offering support in case of need.

"Darn, I'll have to cancel my registration in that 5k I signed up for," she says with a wry smile, testing her balance to find it much improved from the previous evening (not, she figures, that improvement from that level would be difficult). "Terrible timing."

Without thought, a familiar, automatic movement, Sunshine's free hand ghosts over where her right-front pocket would be were she wearing jeans. The pajamas she's been provided are comfortable, thankfully not putting too much pressure or friction against where the bandages cover her, but they don't have pockets. Not finding what she hadn't been aware she'd been looking for, her hand then moves to her throat.

"Do you know what happened to... I had a necklace and a pocketknife with me last night."

"We bagged your possessions," Dr. Lecter says. "Would you like me to fetch them?"

"Yes, please," she nods, somewhat disturbed that it had been so long before she had missed them.

It takes him a while. Then, he brings everything she had on her, in an open wash-basket.

"I did not want to rifle through your things," he says, as if apologising for the state of her clothes, sticky with old dried blood.

"I appreciate that," she replies, accepting the wash-basket, though her face darkens somewhat at the smell of old blood. "...I doubt there's any use trying to salvage the clothes."

The necklace and knife in their bag are clean, at least. The knife, a sturdy little Victorinox, is not new but is well-kept. The necklace is a silk cord, upon which is suspended a ring of amber and silver-gold alloy in the shape of a blazing sun. Rae hasn't any pockets, so the knife will stay in the bag, but the necklace she puts over her head with little difficulty.

"We might ask the little orange men to do their best?" Hannibal suggests. "If you want to keep the clothes. Otherwise, tell me what you want thrown away."

"They've... cleaned clothes this far gone for me, before, but they're never quite the same."

Though that's possibly just her perception of those clothes.

"The sneakers might be salvageable, but the rest..." Burn it.

"I will tell them that," Hannibal says. "Anything else you need from your things? Wallet? Keys? Any books or notes?"

Rae smiles slightly, feeling a bit better now that she has her talismans back with her. The ring on its cord lies over - though not perfectly - the necklace-like burn scar looping her neck.

"No, I didn't have anything like that with me. Just the knife and the ring."

Hannibal takes care to get rid of the offending bag of bloody rags, instructing a rat whoo carries it in an outstretched paw.-

"Can you walk around for me a little so I can see how you are doing?" he says to Rae.

"I can do my best," she says. Simply from how difficult it was to get out of the infirmary bed, Rae can guess how this is going to go.

And she's right.

Slowly and somewhat awkwardly.

Hannibal watches her very intensely.

"Well enough to hobble to your room to be waited on by your own personal waitrat," he declares. "But not much more."

Rae doesn't do well, being waited on.

"Whichever waitrat takes on that Herculean task will deserve a medal," she murmurs, putting a steadying hand on the counter to spare her injured ankle.

"...How long do sprained ankles usually take to heal?"

"You should keep the weight off for a week, and might be well again after three," Hannibal says.

Yeah, she caught that 'might'. She winces.

"Well, some of my visitors brought me books, so hopefully the time will pass quickly."

Anything to keep her from just... sitting, and thinking.

"Books," Dr. Lecter says, "movies, music, and maybe more visitors that entertain you. I for one would feel honoured to cook for you occasionally."

"That's a very kind offer, thank you. I'd like that," Rae smiles slightly. "If I catch you in the kitchen, I may just... you know, hover and watch."

Vicarious cookery, because she'd bet her shoulder isn't going to tolerate things like mixing and kneading and lifting heavy baking trays.

"You will be very welcome to do so," Dr. Lecter says. "Quite a number of people I know finds that entertaining."

"If I'm not going to be able to bake, I'm going to try and get whatever vicarious cookery vibes I can," she says, wry. "The last time I went even two days without baking something or cooking something for others... was years ago."

And only because she spent that weekend chained to a wall.