paradisa | ♔ dix-sept || judge it kindly

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anne boleyn

♔ dix-sept || judge it kindly

[ The sound of a heart monitor seems to come out of nowhere, at the same time an Englishwoman's voice does, her hand having knocked her journal off the bed in her sudden awakening. With a rushed gasp she speaks before her eyes even open, for any who might already be in the clinic, but open they do when she suddenly is unable to finish her prayer. ]

Lord God have pity on my—

[ A gurgle and cough is all that follows, then more silence outside of the heart monitor as Anne takes some time to realize where she is, one hand over her throat. She's confused, but says nothing else for the moment, gaze slowly lowering to see the journal on the floor.

Stretching to lean down, the woman flips the journal shut so all sound on her end is ceased, then hangs her head and clutches the rails on the bed with such a force her knuckles turn white. She must request her clothes proper, to get out of this hospital gown and to brush her hair, but first she must allow her memories, both of home and of here, to properly blend again.

Anne makes sure there are none else in the room before allowing herself to silently cry, though the door is not fully shut in any case. No doubt the ghosts have been taking care of her this far, she can only assume. It is fitting, now that she is one. ]

[ ooc; Open for anyone in the clinic and over the journal, but she won't respond over the journal until she's back in her castle room. ]

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I didn't mean anything by it.

[Just one of those stupid things that Spike says when he's expecting to surprise her with what she's looking for. He hadn't actually anticipated not finding the ring she's talking about. Maybe he's remembering wrong.

After he hears her movements quiet down, he turns back with her belongings in hand, placing them quietly on the table beside her bed with the rings on top. For reasons he'd rather not admit to, he's inclined to go easy on her. Leave her to her thoughts unless she has any questions. He's never been the best person to explain these kinds of things anyway.]

They probably aren't going to make you sign anything, so I wouldn't worry about sneaking out of here.

You never much seem to. Mayhap you ought to practice more on thinking before speaking. I suspect it could save you more than a handful of misunderstandings.

[ Her gaze moves to the offending 'clothes' he just offered. She doesn't recognize them, really, as she's been gone for months and still trying to play catch up in her brain.

Her brow furrows, and with another awkward rub to her throat, Anne leans over to pick up a skirt with her fingertips like he just dragged it out of the garbage. ]

These are...what they have procured? My belongings are not here?

[Actually, his advice seemed to be better than he thought. He had a feeling whatever he found was going to be a disappointment. It's just as well if they don't look familiar to her.

Which makes him reluctant to remind her. He'd tell her they may have been switched with another patient's if he didn't expect her to send him to find out.]

That's what we brought you in with.

We...?

[ Her hand moves from her neck to her forehead, rubbing a bit as if that will freshen her memory. ]

You and...

Edited 2014-02-01 05:48 (UTC)

[He's hoping that's the last of the details she'll want from him. It wouldn't be too hard to glaze over the rest if she can't remember.]

Once. We were together when it happened.

Once.

[ She shakes her head, fingers drifting across her temples before he hand drops to her lap. Suddenly there's a lump in her throat, and she does her utmost to avoid his gaze as recollection finds her. ]

Master Once-ler. Yes, I recall.

[He can tell that drawing any attention to her discomfort isn't going to help anything, or maybe that's himself projecting. Kind of how he doesn't think going into any of it will make her grateful to be out of a coma.

But he also knows that he should give her a heads up instead of leaving her to find out through some stupid magic book. Someone has to.]

That was a while ago.

For how long have I been abed?

[Anne: forever teaching Spike new words.]

Three weeks. [It's surprising that he remembers, as bad as he is with time, but something gave him a reason to keep track.] I think you were going for the record.

It is no wonder my back aches so, then. It has been years since I was forced to be in bed for so long.

[ Awkwardly, she shifts under the covers, trying to turn, only for the IV to nearly topple the heart monitor in the process. Seeing the needle in her now, she's quick to rip it out. This is twice she's been in this damn clinic, now. ]

Turn, I must dress.

[There's a moment when he lifts a hand up to suggest that she let him help her with that, but it's too late by the time she attacks the heart monitor. Biting back his comment, he nods.]

...Yeah, no problem.

[So Spike turns his back, as compliant as ever. It gives him a moment to reflect how people can just wake up from comas after a month and be right as rain. Magic.]

[ She rests a hand over where the needle had been, trying to stem the blood flow with the sheet, as she has been hooked up for weeks. After a moment, fed up with the attempt and not caring if this foreign dress gets bloodstained, she drags the clothes over to try and put them on.

The undergarments mystify her, and she definitely ignore the bra, how does one even put those on? She simply pulls on the panty hose, the slip, and then the dress, straining to tie the waist ribbon behind her. The skirt barely reaches her ankles, which is off-putting, but she has limited options after all.

She is a bit overeager to leave, however, attempting to stand so that she can reach for the shoes. ...And promptly drops to the floor with a startled gasp, her legs not only asleep but having grown far too weak to suddenly support such weight. ]

[-- Maybe he spoke too soon.

Spike turns as soon as he hears her fall, and kneels down as soon as he sees her. He spots the blood on her arm and curses inwardly. The lengths he goes through to avoid awkward situations really works against him sometimes, and at her expense.]

Are you alright? [Should he get her a wheelchair? Something.] I should have told you to take it slow.

What an absurd question!

[ She groans a bit, somewhat from the ache now not just from bed sores, but from falling like an utter nitwit. She leans forward onto one hand, rubbing at one leg as if that will rub the life right back into it, before looking up at him. ]

They merely need to remember how to walk again. Find me crutches, I remember how to use them.

[He frowns, almost reluctant to bring this up.]

I think you'll have to move up to those. [And he doesn't want to leave her on the floor; that's just asking for grief.] Let me help you back up and I'll see what I can find.

[ She frowns and sighs, though it's more like a huff born out of her frustration, as she settles a hand over her eyes, fingers drumming against her forehead as she once again lets a little more memory in. Everything is still bits and pieces, but every new piece is like a dagger.

She keeps it in, and lifts her arm so that he can help her up. This time she doesn't speak, for fear of losing control of her voice. ]

[He's true to his word, carefully putting his arm around her and keeping most of her weight on him as he helps her back on the bed. Once that's accomplished, all that's left is to find her a wheelchair.

The change in wardrobe make the task easier, and yet he can't help but comment.]

They don't suit you.

Edited 2014-02-02 12:47 (UTC)

[ The last thing she wants is another wheeled chair, but he is right in saying even crutches might not be enough just yet. She leans to one side while on the mattress, continuing to try to stretch out her legs or wriggle her toes, focusing intently on that so that she doesn't on the memories strangling her thoughts. ]

What are you on about?

[Maybe he can find one with a motor in it. Or two. Racing them might make her feel better, but he's getting ahead of himself.]

The wardrobe. It's not you. [He doesn't wait for a response to his opinion though, or leave any hint to why he said it. As soon as she's on the bed, he turns back to the door to find the chair.]

[ She scrunches her nose a bit while looking from her feet to the outfit she's having to sport, sans shoes. She'll apparently need his help with the shoes.

No, it certainly isn't anything she'd wear, but is he supposed to mean it as a compliment or an insult? It's difficult at times to tell with him anymore.

Bothered by his comment but unwilling to show it, she waits for him to return, continuing to rub at her legs while trying not to think about everything. ]

[It doesn't take him long to find the section with abandoned wheelchairs, but the selection is lacking. He finds a basic manual one; an antique that he has to sit in and try before determining that it really works. Since he'll probably have to explain to her how.

He returns a few minutes later, pushing it in front of him.]

Hope you like black. [They're all black. It's a wheelchair thing, apparently.]

[ It's not like it will be her first time in a wheelchair, sadly. Seeing it only jogs another memory, and it's not a good one, either. She stares at it for a long moment, before pushing herself back to the edge of the bed and lifting an arm so that he can help her into the chair. ]

It is fitting.

[It does seem like she gets hurt more often than someone like her should. That it happens while Spike is around doesn't speak highly of his influence.

He helps her settle into it, and lingers there in case he needs to take the lead.]

...I guess it would be.

[ As if to make it clear what she expects, Anne rests both hands in her lap. She may be capable of pushing the thing, but if someone else can dote on her, that's the preference for royalty. It's hardly dignified to push oneself around in a wheelchair. ]

I was able to see her again - my little princess. One last time.

[Since he's already gone this far, he doesn't seem to mind. If anything, they'll get back to her room faster if he's the only pushing.

Just when he's about to get going, he pauses, thrown by what she says. There's a silence that follows as he puts the pieces together. She went home, didn't she?]

I'm sorry.

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ensorceler - 2014-02-03 03:33 (UTC) - Expand

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gottaknockhard - 2014-02-04 00:50 (UTC) - Expand

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