whatever i got, i got it myself

[newmythology]

Predictably, Candice isn't tremendously fond of hospital stays. Her intake into the ER was something of a blur, and she's lucky she managed to punch off a message to anyone who might be interested in her welfare back home before passing out. Her ribs hurt. Her wrist is in its cast. They've given her painkillers, but her injuries don't

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[errantknights]

Martel passed through his home on the way here; had to change into something a little less likely to make him stick out like a sore thumb. (More than being a man of a certain physique standing 6'3" with long white hair will, that is to say.) He didn't bother with the tie and the jacket's just draped over his arm, shirtsleeves rolled up when he rolls in, as it were.

(He couldn't do anything about the boots, but let's be fair, here: they're very nice boots.)

Understandably, his attire is about the furthest thing from his mind right now, reining in whatever impulses he might be having in favor of finding somebody who can tell him where she is.

[newmythology]

The nurses very hesitantly will allow him access, assuming he's...the husband? Certainly not a relative, but, ah, well, they're not in the mood to argue much and it's a hectic hour; the insistent beeping from a room not far from where Martel is proves that. At least the Nexus is an adequate precursor to all the tech in here, so that can't be what's throwing him for a loop. The nurse charged with guiding him down the hall indicates Candice's room and then hurries off to take care of the way-too-many patients in her care. (These places are always understaffed, overpopulated, the employees underappreciated.)

Candice isn't really asleep, so much as kind of spacing out. There's a big window by her bed, watching traffic is at least mind-numbing.

[errantknights]

For the sake of convenience, mainly, Martel doesn't disabuse the nurses of their notion. If he's uneasy in the odd-lit building with everything so foreign (and he is, and he will be, the nexus at least has points of familiarity, things and places--), he makes no nuisance of himself, polite to the staff in his low voice.

"Am I waking you?" he asks, from the doorway.

[newmythology]

"What--oh." That startled her. Her voice is...frailer than it usually is; she's got an almost husky-note to it, normally, but now it's different. Unsurprisingly. When she smiles it looks kind of like it hurts, but she's glad to see him.

"Hey...no, I'm up. Come in, close the door?"

[errantknights]

God and goddess, she looks awful. He's not altogether surprised--or surprised at all--but that hardly makes it any more pleasant to look at. He closes the door behind himself, quietly, and goes to sit by the bed. "'Up' is not a word I'd have chosen to describe your present state." ...look, if he can crack jokes about his own death, nobody else's injuries are sacrosanct.

[newmythology]

"Yeeaah, I know." She sounds rueful about it, reaching up (gingerly) to push her hair away from her face, although it...falls right back down again. Naturally she has what some people call 'good hair', although she kind of protests the notion on the principle of there actually being no such thing, but what it means is it is curly as hell, basically. "You should see the other guy."

He started it with the jokes.

[errantknights]

"I have this suspicion there's little left to be seen." Or so he hopes, at least.

[newmythology]

"Something like that. It--there was more backlash, than I expected--" She doesn't know why she's trying to explain, in this quietly bewildered and almost academic sense, when it doesn't matter now. Still making sense of the situation, maybe. "We lost a guy, a townie. Other than that, it went really well."

...yeah.

[errantknights]

"It looks that way," he says, dry because it's been too long since he knew a better reaction, or at least one slightly less fucked up.

[newmythology]

"Mm." She leans back against the pillow (hospital-white, too pristine for her tastes) and doesn't shift to get comfortable only because she's accepted that is going to be impossible. "I'm sorry, I didn't...think--how're you doing?"

[errantknights]

It's not entirely unlike his hair, it ought to be noted. Martel puts his jacket down over the back of the chair and leans forward slightly, hands clasped over the space between his knees. "Maria's spending the next few weeks in the castle. She was saying something about a friend of hers staying with us as well, when I left..." He didn't really absorb it, as is probably not that difficult to pick up on.

[newmythology]

"Busy place," she observes, watching him, "I can probably get a hotel, if need be. Definitely no sleeping on the ground for a couple of weeks."

Martel, if you want to facepalm, go right ahead.

[errantknights]

Martel straightens slightly to lean over and catalogue her injuries in his head -- visibly -- and then tilts aforementioned head at her, eyebrow raised slightly. "Or months. There's no need."

[newmythology]

"Are you going to keep me, then?" She raises her eyebrows at him. "I'm not going to be very good company for a while, I'm afraid."

[errantknights]

"I'm rarely good company, and you have yet to complain. I think I'll manage." Nobody missed how you neatly sidestepped her first question, Martel.

[newmythology]

She laughs a little bit, which ...actually hurts, so she winces and stops that in a hurry. "You don't have to answer, it's okay."