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[joiningyousoon]

"To hell with the markers!"

Maya Antares doesn't dream, but as she wakes -- there are voices, disconcertingly familiar; snatches of something that isn't civil or quiet enough to be called 'conversation,' that she can't quite place.

"They'll leave you here to die!"There's smoke in her lungs, in the back of her throat; she coughs, and her jaw

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[theredstars]

White sterile light, blue glows of protocols; metal instruments, white sheets, red blood. People everywhere, rushing or hunched or shouting or terribly still. This is what she'll see.

The nearest face that isn't just rushing past is Alex's. Her best friend is pale, face smudged with dust and soot and blood she hasn't had time to clean off yet. Her shock of red hair is standing more on end than usual, and her uniform's a post-battle wreck.

She's not looking Maya's way just yet, though. No tender nursemaid Alex; not by temperament, and she wouldn't have any damn time right now anyhow. "No--" she's saying to a nurse. "Look, just give me the damn count."

[joiningyousoon]

Maya sees the ceiling, first, and the glow of the medikasters' protocols, and the shadows of people hurrying past; some jogging, some running, some limping, and very few walking.

She sits bolt upright. It's a swift, convulsive movement; too fast for the liking of her head, which immediately feels as though someone has violently split it in two. She clutches at the side of the bed for balance (the sheets are stiff with the dried blood of the former occupant), her knuckles white with her grip, under her gloves.

Her face is white and streaked with dirt, blue eyes open wide, uncomprehending; a roughly fist-sized bruise is blossoming purple and blue and black on her jaw.

[theredstars]

Alexandra wheels around fast.

"Maya."

The relief in that's a bit clearer than she'd like to pretend. Damn sorceress has a rock jaw; Alex's hand stung for a while after that punch. She had to make sure that one counted, too.

Not that Maya probably appreciates it.

"How're you feeling?"

[joiningyousoon]

Maya's eyes take a second or two to snap to her.

She looks incomparably lost.

She says, "Marcus--?" before she knows that she is going to say anything, before she remembers why she's asking (except that he has been by her side, the times she has woken up here in the past), but even as the two syllables escape her, the lead weight in her chest drops; the hand that had been reaching toward her head stops, and she stills.