paradisa | ♔ 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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[-- 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.

To see my loved ones again is cause for joy, not sorrow.

[It's coming back here that he's sorry for. That it's not going to last. For all the aggravation he's caused her, and all the subsequent anger she's unloaded on him, he still can't shake his sympathy.

Rather than say that, or anything that will likely make an uncomfortable situation worse, Spike silently pushes the chair towards the door. They've both had enough of hospital rooms.]

♔ dix-sept || judge it kindly

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