Feb 22, 2009 17:01
Melchior drifts back into consciousness, his eyes and mouth and mind feeling dry, exhausted and wiped out from everything that's gone by. What happened is still a blur to him, though he feels as if he's dreamt of it -- silver flashing in his mind. It isn't enough for him to gather any meaning from it and he really doesn't want to; he runs away from any memory of those dreams as he wakes up and tries to lick his lips, carefully reaching a hand up to rub at his eyes. The strain hurts something in his chest, and he winces but doesn't pull his hand away; he wants to feel better in some way and that requires a good eye rub.
He sets his arm back down and tries to take a deep breath, to let out a satisfactory sigh, but the tape of his bandages pull and the cut across his chest pulls and he'd like some water but he isn't really even sure he can sit up right now to get some. He's essentially immobile, helpless, confused, and alone. If he listens hard he probably could hear other people in the clinic but his thoughts are too caught up on the sticky spiderweb of confusion and pain that the medicine's making in his mind, and he balls a hand into a fist, his eyes shutting tight.
Melchior upon waking up in the clinic. Time can be relative; for Moritz it's going to be the first time Melchior wakes up, but for anyone else who tags in we can consider it to be some other time during the handful of days Melchior is there.
mohinder,
moritz,
glen,
quatre