She winced-- but frowned all the same, making it look more like a grimace than anything, a growl in a drug-relaxed throat. "Stop th-- that, gorram you, y-- stop it."
She knows what she is and he doesn't even know what she looks like.
And, there's a Delia. Delia doesn't do sympathy, doesn't do simpering fawning 'hope you feel better'. What the hell use would that be, anyways? Talk like that to someone ain't gonna get better, you're only gonna make 'em feel worse. Be gentle and sympathetic to someone as has always been strong and vibrant and fulla shit? Yeah, that's really gonna help.
So, there's Delia, lounging in the doorway, lazy smile hovering on her lips. Just the same old Delia as always.
Of course she hasn't. That'd be just plain dumb. There is a definite sadness in her eyes, though, even if she's not going to patronise Saffron. In that vein.
"I'm going to miss you."
No-one has ever accused Delia of being anything less than blunt. And it's not that she's insensitive, either. She doesn't like to be lied to or misled herself. Why should anyone else?
Illyria had watched, and listened, and overheard enough to know that short of finding whoever it was that had brought Zuko back to life, the doctors here were doing all that they could for the nameless redhead.
Privately, she didn't think it would be quite enough. And she didn't care, not really. But she found herself standing in the doorway, anyway. Just watching. This failure wasn't her own, but that of the resources available and the fragility of humanity. No concern of hers, and yet here she was.
No one thinks anything is quite enough - even those trying to keep hope are shortly stripped of it by an angry snap from an irritated redhead. She lies as still as she has been for weeks, products of pain killers, muscle relaxants, pale and - seemingly - asleep. Red hair is in stark contrast to the white linens, white walls, white skin...
The only other thing not-white are the furrowed scars on the left side of her face, only slightly pinker than the rest of her face.
Another time Illyria might have asked what had inflicted those scars, might have demanded that her curiosity be satisfied.
But she didn't think demands or even threats would work, and what passed for Illyria's brand of politeness had never gotten her a straight answer out of the woman, either.
She wasn't really expecting any straight answers today. Wasn't actually expecting the woman to wake up from her chemical-induced haze. But she stepped further into the room anyway, making only the tiniest amount of noise as she moved, and the smallest intake of breath as she considered what she would say if the redhead awoke.
Muscle relaxants and pain killers - they don't affect her brain, they just make it hard to move. But she's blinking nonetheless, turning her face toward the sound, and too-bright blue eyes are staring lazily at the goddess.
"Shenme?" she mutters low, and a brow slowly rises.
He has watched from a chair that he has positioned outside in the hall. He watched the people that go in. Lovers. Gods. Friends. Enemies. People from all sorts of places across the many lands, people who have done things both incredible, beautiful, dastardly, and wonderful.
He knows he's going to be the last one in. The kit in his lap assures that. So he waits, and he watches, and he counts the hours go by. He has nothing better to do then play at this silence, until finally there is a stretch with no one, nothing--
-- nothing but him.
He grips his cane, pushes himself up and enters the room in silence; he shuts the infirmary door a moment later, and turns the lock. There is no one else here now.
Just him, her, and the eternity that stretches after.
"Hey," he says, and his hand finds her shoulder. "Natalie."
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Which is why her lips curls and she makes a face, turning her eyes away from him. "What're you... doin' here? Go 'way."
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She knows what she is and he doesn't even know what she looks like.
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Pip appears from out of nowhere - again - and he's wearing a bright smile in spite of everything.
"'Lo, Natalie."
And ooh, he has something behind his back!
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"Go 'way..."
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And from behind his back comes a bouquet of elaborate and brightly colored paper flowers.
Pip's resourceful!
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And blinks.
"...You're not-- quite right-- are you?"
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And, there's a Delia. Delia doesn't do sympathy, doesn't do simpering fawning 'hope you feel better'. What the hell use would that be, anyways? Talk like that to someone ain't gonna get better, you're only gonna make 'em feel worse. Be gentle and sympathetic to someone as has always been strong and vibrant and fulla shit? Yeah, that's really gonna help.
So, there's Delia, lounging in the doorway, lazy smile hovering on her lips. Just the same old Delia as always.
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The redhead is pale, thin, and angry. Not beautiful.
But she does glance over, blue eyes down Delia's form, and her smirk is just barely there.
"Wei, bao bei."
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"I'm going to miss you."
No-one has ever accused Delia of being anything less than blunt. And it's not that she's insensitive, either. She doesn't like to be lied to or misled herself. Why should anyone else?
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"You'll find-- a replace--ment bitch, you'll-- see."
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Illyria had watched, and listened, and overheard enough to know that short of finding whoever it was that had brought Zuko back to life, the doctors here were doing all that they could for the nameless redhead.
Privately, she didn't think it would be quite enough. And she didn't care, not really. But she found herself standing in the doorway, anyway. Just watching. This failure wasn't her own, but that of the resources available and the fragility of humanity. No concern of hers, and yet here she was.
Reply
The only other thing not-white are the furrowed scars on the left side of her face, only slightly pinker than the rest of her face.
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But she didn't think demands or even threats would work, and what passed for Illyria's brand of politeness had never gotten her a straight answer out of the woman, either.
She wasn't really expecting any straight answers today. Wasn't actually expecting the woman to wake up from her chemical-induced haze. But she stepped further into the room anyway, making only the tiniest amount of noise as she moved, and the smallest intake of breath as she considered what she would say if the redhead awoke.
Reply
"Shenme?" she mutters low, and a brow slowly rises.
Reply
He knows he's going to be the last one in. The kit in his lap assures that. So he waits, and he watches, and he counts the hours go by. He has nothing better to do then play at this silence, until finally there is a stretch with no one, nothing--
-- nothing but him.
He grips his cane, pushes himself up and enters the room in silence; he shuts the infirmary door a moment later, and turns the lock. There is no one else here now.
Just him, her, and the eternity that stretches after.
"Hey," he says, and his hand finds her shoulder. "Natalie."
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And slowly drift to the kit.
"Got a--nother ques--tion f'er me-- doc?"
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After that, there's no more questions.
"Are you ready?"
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"Never-- gave y-you no-- answer on that."
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