[open] general hospital: envy edition

[thereneverwas]

WHO: whoever
WHAT: infirmary catch-all for the envy demon shitshow
WHEN: yknow
WHERE: The Gallows infirmary
NOTES: injuries, gore, all that you'd expect

[Throw in your healer toplevels or your injured characters dragging themselves in. Go hog wild. Live your truth.]

Comments

[elegiaque]

“I don't know her well,” Gwenaëlle admits, thinking through the handful of conversations they've had— pleasant enough, she thinks, the offer she'd made about hair care having been offhand and sincere enough with the expectation it'd be no hardship to follow through on. Still; not someone who she'd confidently speak on, either.

There'd been a reason, before the true pair returned, that she'd volunteered for that demon over the one impersonating Vanya. It had seemed

less personal. At an easier remove.

“She seems clever and pleasant. I wasn't there for that wretchedness,” she'd been dead, “but I would expect her to be thoughtful. Considerate. Enthusiastic, in my knowledge of her. And Florent likes her,” as if that settles the matter and she must be good.

[dissolving]

What would help, what they deserved. Well, alright. Cedric squeezes his shoulder, pulls back his hand at last.

"It'll be good to meet her," Eventually. If she's in the same shape as Vanya, she could do with some time. "Clarisse was worried. I've been bringing her buttons - not Clarisse, Gela, I mean."

He trails off, brows pinching. A beat:

"- Sorry."

[wearyallalone]

"For the sewing," he says, after a brief moment of puzzled confusion. "Ah. Well, the real Gela may appreciate it, when she feels up to doing something with her hands. I imagine the healers will clear her for sewing sooner than I'll manage to get back to the training yard." This last is a wobbly joke, especially considering the state of the man who makes it.

[elegiaque]

Tranquilly, “If you want a more debilitating injury to enforce the rest, Orlov, it can be arranged.”

[dissolving]

"So that's buttons for you,"

Lest he be preventatively kneecapped.

[wearyallalone]

"The last time I was on bed rest I was frequently delirious," he points out to Gwenaëlle, not quite cross but closer to exasperated that she's generally seen him. "I'm not going to disobey the healers when I'm lucid. There's no need for maiming."

A series of sentences that's definitely not alarming in any way.

[elegiaque]

It is in precisely the same placid tone that she says, “Good,” perfectly satisfied and completely unmoved by his exasperation. Men who march off with a sword into a demon fight when they ought to be already in the infirmary don't get to be snippy about being frowned at, in her view; she isn't dignifying that he was with acknowledgment.

Instead, to Cedric: “Who's seen to you?” speaking of needing to bribe her with buttons.

(It won't work, but she will take the buttons.)

[dissolving]

"Rifter, the new one,"

He's searching for the name. Made such a point of it before - but all that comes to call are Gwen's own words. Later, maybe, he'll think on this: The manifold ways one can sink out of their own skull. So Vanya was delirious, Vanya was ashamed,

Well. No one needs lyrium for that.

He gives up. Regretfully, offers: "Yappy."

Cedric pulls a hand through damp hair, moves to stand. There's a very tempting mattress upstairs.