2022-04-04 - Hospital Visits

Hospitals. Never fun, but ultimately necessary when you need them.

Ariadne isn't an urgent case, no red marker for immediate care, but even the usually-peppy barista is looking frayed around the edges. Her eyes are red-rimmed, sans mascara, and she's lying back on a gurney in the main ward beneath a warmed blanket with a saline IV in her arm. Her own wounds, a laceration to her leg and a gnarly-looking series of cuts from sternum diagonally down to floating rib, has been explained away as attempting to get to Jules on a hiking trip gone wrong. Yes, nurse, she'd tried to get to her friend in the dark because they'd stayed out too long after sunset, and nature had won.

It isn't totally a lie. Nature had just about kicked some serious ass.

She looks around for the others, lips still thinned. The shaking has stopped, but sleeping anymore at this point? Probably not happening.

Una's wheeled back in soon after, carefully positioned in a half-seated position that doesn't interrupt what has been determined to be minor, but still very present, internal bleeding in the chest. Her face and arms are clear of injury, but she looks exhausted, dark shadows beneath her eyes and a pinched look to her face. The whole cover is ridiculous, likely to fall to pieces the moment anyone considers it too deeply-- but of course, the Veil does what it does, and no one has asked too many questions.

Like why Una, also part of this expedition, came in wearing house slippers and pyjamas.

Now, trying very hard not to move her body, the redhead turns her head to give Ariadne a weak and uncomfortable not-really-a-smile. She seems to struggle for words, though, the adrenaline that kept her going in their mad dash for the hospital now worn thin, left her immobilised and exhausted, but no, very unlikely to sleep.

"Hey," she says.

Girls' night out, amirite?!

Della, designated driver and custodian of paraphernalia, has to sit it out in the waiting room until some staff with the shine -- or just someone who's so moved -- decides she's close enough to family to get to look in. After the frantic wrap-them-in-blankets grab-some-gear get-them-in-the-car maneuvering became trying-not-to-look-frantic get-them-registered get-them-seen, Della's seen to herself: hair combed back, mascara and lipstick applied, the sort of pulling-together designed to cause administration to take her seriously. Designed to put herself back together, too.

She's moved the car into the side lot. She's stuffed the bloody blankets into a garbage bag for later. Now she can play lookout for anyone else coming in, and answer texts and -- that reminds her: a quick one for Jules and Una in case they're reachable, asking if anyone else needs to be picked up; if Jules' grandparents need to be called. Then another, reminding that she has phone chargers if they run low.

Then she stops herself from sending any more.

It takes an embarrassingly long time for Leila to get herself to the hospital. She doesn't look as bad as the others, but every movement causes a wince to erupt across her face. Hugging, and favoring, her ribs, she makes her way to the nurse to see if she could find the group of ladies at least. As directed by the nurses, she finds them soon enough and a tired but 'what the fuckity fuck' smile curls her lips awkwardly as she shuffles towards the closest chair. She just needs to sit and breath shallowly for a bit. "Hey," she finally manages after catching her breath. "So...is...is that the Dream? I'm a motherfucking /Shrew/? Ugh, my mom was so fucking right." A cough rips through her, which causes another wince to etch its way across her features.

Watching Una get wheeled in, the barista manages too a wiggle of her fingers atop the hospital blanketing -- the arm not sporting the IV, of course.

"Hey," she echoes, sounding just as tired in her own facet of self. "You're looking better, I swear." Her smile is just as faint. "I was scared after I saw that branch swat you." Swat Squirrel, rather, but same difference in the sense of physical impact. Shifting under the blanketing, she then makes another face, lips wrinkling. "I know I've got stitches on my leg, but I think it's just bandages on my ribs."

But then, a Leila! Turning her head on the mounding of pillows keeping her propped upright, Ariadne tries for an up-nod. It works! Mostly! But it's the thought which counts! A very pertinent question to ask from Leila and there's a brief glance at Una before the barista nods. "Yes, that's the Dream." She has to pause and laugh, but not too hard. "I have no idea what my mother would say about me being a bird other than being flighty...but then again, that's my dad's arena. Dad jokes." Long-humoring eyeroll. Dad jokes, oy. "I'm still trying to figure out what it all means though...like...are we supposed to have somehow subconsciously chosen those animals or did the Dream assign them to us to make us squirm? Ravn's made note about how the...pho...ferberwerberts -- " She means 'phobophages', but really, exhaustion makes for sketchy memories and maybe she wants to be a little snide about them. "Those things which eat despair? They want to make us squirm."

"I feel like shit," is Una's reply, but at least she manages a smile to go with it. The truth is, it could have been a lot worse, and she's aware of it-- now, anyway, that the immediate panic is past, though Jules' continued absence remains a concern.

"That's the worst Dream I've ever had, by a long shot," she puts in, giving Leila a twitch of a smile as well. "I mean, physically. I've had things that were more terrifying, I guess, but... They do want to make us squirm. And they did. I'm not sure how comfortable I feel about pines anymore, you know?" The big inhale that follows was a bad idea, and results in a distinct wince-- and an expression that makes her look tireder and smaller than ever. "I don't mind being Squirrel, much. It almost fits. Though I'd've liked to have big claws or... I wish I'd been a dinosaur and could stomp the pines back."

It will surprise no one that she has been putting food out for the squirrels in recent weeks, too.

"Does anyone need anything? I can text Della; she's waiting outside."

"Holy shit, I think you guys forgot to tell me that the injuries /transfer/ back to this...realm?" Leila lets out a groan as she sinks into her chair some more. "I think I have a bruised or fractured ribs. I was going to go in for an x-ray but...fuck, I hate those things. Thank God I had a brace..." She trails off before blinking and lazily lolling her head towards Una and Ariadne. "Speaking of, I can 'help' one of you if you guys need a booster to get out of here faster. I didn't catch who got it worse..." She trails off before a wry grin curves her lips upwards, "Though i remember Una's breasts were the main attraction for the Pines..." At the mention of Della, Leila's eyebrows quirk upwards before asking, "Why can't she come in? Can't be fun sitting out. Though I gotta admit, coffee would be fan-fucking-tastic."

Is a nurse listening? Because that's when Della gets to come in, all big bag and wide, tired eyes and probably bags under her eyes, too. No coffee though, not unless it's instant or she has a very magical cardboard carrier on gimbals in her purse.

"There you are." Una at the very least, but then the others as well, with a slightly squinty you-look-familiar. "How are you?"

"Being a dinosaur sounds like it'd be amazeballs..." the barista agrees tiredly. "Smack the shit out of those pines right back." Her regard travels to Leila and she winces in sympathy. "I'm glad you have a brace because yeah, unfortunately, you get whalloped on one side, you get whalloped over here."

Ariadne pauses for a second and notes, drily, "It's like the Matrix and I hate how accurate that parallel is." And then comes the quip about what drew the pines to the yard -- er, swatting at SquirrUna, and the cot-ridden barista can't help but laugh. Her non-IV'd hand rises to her mouth. "Ow -- ow, I hate you -- my ribs -- " she manages through her husky chuckling.

"Coffee would be amazing," she then murmurs, glancing up as Della makes a sudden appearance. The woman is recognized from the...snowball fight, yes, where all of the snow came down from the tent-eaves and then the tree boughs' worth almost buried Ravn in turn. "I'd say we're...as good as we can be, circumstances notwithstanding?" A glance around at the other women for their thoughts on matters.

"Not that it helped Jules," allows Una, unhappily, not much above a murmur. Jules-the-bear, who fared no better (and indeed worse) than the rest of them, bear-claws and all.

She's too zoned out to make the necessary joke about her boobs, though her expression shifts for a moment, as if she's trying to get there and... nope, it's just not going to happen. Words are hard.

"Della," then, is a relief: warm and tired and-- well, a little sheepish too, but that's also fine somehow. "We're going to live, anyhow. No lasting injury, just--" Excuse Una for not waving a hand in gesture: it rather looks as if moving away from her nest of pillows is an exceptionally unpalatable prospect.

"I wouldn't say no to healing, though... Jules is probably the worst of us. I tried, but I just don't think I'm powerful enough."

Leila offers Della a smile in greeting, tired but there at least. She is slouched rather stiffly in her chair thanks to the brace keeping her ribs intact. "Alright, fuck manticore and shrew, I'm going to aim for a carnotaurus next," she agrees. "And fuck the Matrix. Remember when nightmares go away when you wake up? That was the best part..." she trails off before letting out a groan as she tries to sit up. "Jules? Where is she? If I can get to her I'll help. Don't think I've seen her here yet. As long as I don't need to access the mighty and cause even more mayhem, I should be able to do something...If not, I can at least help you out, Una." Leila offers.

"They may have Jules for a while," Della reports with a grimace. Her gaze trails over the women once more, more assessingly this time, but she settles by Una, one hand moving as though she'd like to feel her forehead; who cares that this isn't a cold. "Carnotaurus? Sounds like a meat-eating car," she half-jokes. Of more importance, "Is there a list of healers I can put on speed dial? For future reference. Seriously."

Wait, did she hear right? Ariadne considers Una in her pillow-stuffed wheelchair and squints just a little. I tried. Tried healing? She's temporarily lost to exhausted, weebly-wobbly attempting to extrapolate what this means, but conversation derails it. It's left to marinate in the back of her mind. There's naught but saline in her IV and in a way, the barista is glad for it. She'd have no idea how to get home at that point if there was anything stronger to it.

But here's Leila and Della bringing up that interesting concept yet again.

"Is there a list of healers on speed dial?" Ariadne admittedly looks, and sounds, like she's confused. "Like...what."

"I remember dreams that let go, when I woke up," says Una, wistful-but-also-not. "Well, no. I think I still have them, too, but I remember having more of them. Carnotaurus sounds like an excellent plan." She's not commenting on Jules, though the worried look in her expression suggests she's still thinking about her, at least alongside everything else.

Maybe she's missed Ariadne's consideration of her; certainly, she doesn't make comment on it, and instead answers the group.

"There's Ava," she says. "And-- well, Leila here. I think Aidan, too, but I don't think I have his number. Others, too."

"I have to admit, a speed dial for healers sounds fan-fucking-tastic," Leila groans out before she shifts up to a fully seated position. "You can add my name to that list. As for a Carnotaurus being a meat-eating car, shit, Della, you just made them a thousand times cooler." A tired grin curves her lips upwards before she finally takes a deep breath and pushes herself up to her feet. Moving towards Una, the woman closes her eyes and takes another deep breath. "Alright, lets hope this works," she mutters under her breath.

"'Dreams that let go'?" Della questions. "Ava. I remember her, though I don't have her number. Leila..." her gaze swings that way, toward the volunteer, relieved humor warming her into a real smile. "Thank you. I won't take a picture of you now for your avatar, promise," hints at mischief anyway. Names and spellings and numbers can wait, even Ariadne's, though she explains quickly, "My thought is to be able to text people who might be around and willing if something comes up." More important is leaning forward, easing her chair forward even, trying not to crowd but see.

Ava. Aidan. Leila right before them. Tiredly, Ariadne nods understanding. "Like a short list...or phone chain," she says quietly. "It's a good idea for sure, Della. Once you have it all put together, can I get a copy of it? This is no fun," -- a gesture at their little beleaguered collective. " -- and if we can flip off the Veil by getting ourselves up to snuff faster, I'm all for spite."

But what is Leila doing? Having never seen anyone use this particular facet of Glimmer power before, the barista squints, trying to kick her brain (much like one might a malfunctioning heater) into action. Logical. Watch body language. Watch Una. Golden-hazel eyes shift between her fellow red-head and Leila quickly, as if she didn't want to miss any fine detail of whatever's about to happen.

"Monroe," remembers Una, to add another name to the list. But Leila's approaching, and the redhead gives a little nod, half-closing her eyes as she waits for the impact of it.

A little sigh escapes, finally. Oh, Una's not ready to jump up and down (no cartwheels), but there's a slight ease to even the smallest bit of the tension in her shoulders, and a nod to go with it.

"I think that's helped. Yes. I mean-- no instantly disappearing internal injuries, but. Yes. Thank you. And for the moment-- it hurts less." A twist of a smile, now.

Her motions are easily, using touch as if to examine Una, but for those with the sight there is a definite brightness that shines a little brighter as she works. Its quick, that light, but as soon as she is done, Leila begins to look just a tad bit grey. She shifts her weight to immediately look for a chair to collapse back into as the tiredness rips through her. "Aw fuck," she manages to mumble out. "Sorry I couldn't help more, I guess I'm still way more out of it than I realized." Exhaustion slips through her voice and the woman reaches out to brush her hair back, away from her sweating brow. "Usually don't get hit this hard."

It takes her a moment but Leila blinks towards Ariadne and Della as she nods, "I have Ava's number, I'll ask if she wants to. Considering I think she's the coroner here, she may be more than willing. Good person to have on your side."

"Absolutely. Assuming they agree," Della quickly appends without looking up, without looking away. Because the glow's getting brighter, and her eyes widen because look. "Less is good!" before, "I saw that!" escapes -- chased in its turn by a blush. Attempting to rally, "...Ava, I'm supposed to talk to Ava anyway, if she's all right with that. And 'Monroe'? And -- do you want coffee or something, Leila, or will it make you sick? That was amazing. Amazing!"

"Trippy," whispers Ariadne to herself as she does see the shimmering briefly coruscate around Leila at her work. She too notes the loss of color and her hand twitches in an aborted gesture to reach and catch the other woman; thank god for the chair. It drives home a very important point in the barista's expanding knowledge of these powers: there is such a thing as overdraw and it appears to suck. Her brows knit as she then looks to Una and Della.

"Could start with orange or apple juice? Make sure the blood sugar's stable first?" offers the barista as suggestion. "Coffee sounds...amazing once I'm unhooked." Glower at the IV line. You're useful, but you too suck, hydrating widget.

Una's brow knits in concern as Leila sits back down; she winces, half of an apology written on her expression in addition to that obvious gratitude. "Thank you," she repeats. "I guess it's probably not ideal to try and heal when you're already--" In need, yourself.

"Juice is good. Coffee for later. I don't know if I want to sleep, ever again. Ever again. I know that'll pass, but fuck me."

"Juice it is," Della decides. "You two keep track of her," from their literal hospital beds or equivalents thereof, "I'll be back just as soon as I can."

Or almost, because more-than-strictly-necessary supplies take at least a little time, even with the most helpful of orderlies: orange juice and apple juice, even cranberry for those who like that sort of thing. No vodka, though. Or coffee. Or, sadly, little umbrellas, though there are saltines and a few fresh warming blankets, so maybe they can improvise.