ways_infirmary | (no subject)

"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.

"You can make the batter, and instruct me me to do everything else," Dr. Lecter suggests.

"Maybe," she smiles at the offer, but it's short-lived. "I don't know if it'd be the same."

No, it wouldn't be. Possibly, it would be worse, because it's the hands-on nature of baking that she craves. Knowing her hands can still make something good in the world.

"No problem," Dr. Lecter says. "You can watch me cook as much as you like, meat-free, if you promise to eat some of everything."

"I wouldn't let all that effort go to waste," Rae assures him with a slight smile. Especially since vegetarian fare isn't exactly his specialty.

"Good," Hannibal says. "May I suggest that you get back to bed, and after your supper, we move you upstairs?"

"Sounds like a plan, Dr. Lecter. Supper, then I shall hobble my way to freedom," she smiles, wry. "Or semi-freedom."

Trading one bed for another, really, but having her wards between her and any potentially unwelcome visitors will be a good feeling. Though everyone has been very kind and supportive - some of which is evidenced by the stack of books and various groups of flowers by her bedside, there has still been a certain restless kind of boredom to being stuck in a hospital bed all day, especially once her head started to clear.

(no subject)

cook_the_rude - 2013-08-30 20:27 (UTC) - Expand