(Untitled)

[population_ctrl]

Title: Level of Service Quality: N/A
Setting: Modern AU.
Date: 13th of June, 2012.
Summary: The food is horrendous and the situation itself riddled with boundaries and limitations. That is, until Mireille takes over, once more servering the larger picture into something less boundless and impossible.

Comments

[unreadability]

When the nurse enters, Mireille tears herself away - without great difficulty, from an article too saturated with adjectives to be considered journalism. Fiction, rather. Its foundation in reality sparse; to a degree where even the photo selections, all of the pictures portraying altogether recognisable scenarios, seem effected by the poor quality. And affected, as a result. Jean Louis’ voice is still thick in the aftermath of his coma in combination with the medication administered to him every second hour, mainly in the form of analgesics. Over the past days, he’s been tube fed, but the anaesthetic-induced nausea should diminish gradually. Rendering him capable of eating solid foods without his system necessarily refusing the nutrition or causing him to be physically sick, at this point

[unreadability]

A few moments of unresponsiveness follow. Pass her by and them in extension. It isn’t that she’s considered returning home to her everyday life anytime soon; preferring the possibility of staying at the hospital until he’s made a full recovery. Or something, at least, that resembles it. But there have been - still are factors which must be taken into account, of course. How her leave of absence is currently only scheduled to extend to the 1st of July, after which she is to conduct a couple of summer seminars that have yet to be cancelled. She has not been incited to decide on the matter, but neither has it been implied or explicitly expressed that it would be met with understanding, were she to prolong. Stall. Regardless of the consequences, the reactions it might prompt, it is a choice she cannot avoid. Won’t. However, it will wait. They still have weeks at their disposal, before she shall have to determine what options are available to her. And which to employ. For now -- For now, she is here. With him

[population_ctrl]

He follows her with his gaze as she moves from the chair and around the bed, magazine in hand. Then she decreases the physical distance between them significantly, sitting down next to him on her side of the bed, her proximity suddenly palpable; the last remains of her YSL perfume, the heat of her body, the way the mattress moves beneath her as she settles back against the headboard. He shifts closer without thinking about it, the metal bar between them halting his movement before he can notice what he’s doing. He stops. Glances at her before leaning back

[unreadability]

Sensing how he leans in against her, she chooses to refrain from categorising it within the various clichés of expression - to think of him as a symbol of weight on or off her shoulders. Instead he is heat and the sound of breathing near her ear, evening out. Slowly. He is the embodiment of refusal, to deny oneself the indulgence of selfishness. Towards her, between the two of them. And towards the world, for his own sake alone… He doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t deny himself and neither does she. Deny him. Nor denying herself. As such, she doesn’t centre her interpretation of the present on him, well aware that had he wanted her to leave, she most likely wouldn’t. Have. He may be regarded as self-seeking, but she certainly seeks her own comforts, too. Doesn’t she? The comfort he provides