Participants:
| Scene Title | Painkillers Talking |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | That's what happens during one of the times Remi's actually awake. |
| Date | March 18, 2011 |
Remi's Hospital Room
Graeme Cormac made a terrible, terrible patient, on Thursday evening. Nearly refusing fluids, entirely too worried about his roommate, who has only woken up a few times. He's taken turns with Ygraine, and with Jaiden, and now, it's his turn. He sits in a chair by Remi's bedside, arm in a sling and strapped to his body so that his shoulder is firmly immobilised. There's a book, paperback, in his lap, and he turns the pages, occasionally glancing at Remi, who up until now has been sleeping.
"Hey," he says, as he sees her stirring. "Remi?" Graeme's voice is gentle, overall.
Soleil Remi Davignon went between consciousness and screaming, when she first arrived. Either she was out because of the blood loss and the pain killers, or she was screaming because, well…she's in a hospital, and the terrified thoughts of so many sick, ill, injured and dying are a bit much for her. Remi can't stand hospitals. Especially with a migraine and pain killers messing with her ability to tune out the thoughts of those around her.
So they put her on negation drugs on top of the pain killers. She quieted down rather nicely after that.
She's been sleeping for a while now, peacefully at last, with nothing but silence in her mind. Finally, she's waking up, lashes fluttering as she takes in the sight of the ceiling. She's definitely not looking her usual designer self today. She looks small. Frail. Slowly, she turns to look at her room mate, blinking a few times. "Greame…"
"Hey there," Graeme says. He reaches out, his left hand finding one of hers, wrapping around it. "They're going to be keeping you here for a bit." There's a nod. "I sent Ygraine and Jaiden to go and get some rest and some real food." He peers at her, and eventually, smiles. It's gentle, concerned, much like his tone of voice.
Weakly, Remi squeezes Graeme's hand in response. "I don't like it here." That much is easy to say. She'd rather be at home. With an attendant. Her drug-addled mind tries to reach out, only to find that…there's nothing there to reach out with. And there's nothing but silence in her head. As she comes into a little bit more awareness, she notices this. "It's…quiet…"
Graeme nods. "I know." There's a pause. "You're negated, at the moment," he murmurs. "You were screaming when we got here, and broadcasting, and it was pretty unpretty beyond anything else, and well, the folk here couldn't have helped you with French rambling muttering about in their heads now could they?" He's attempting to make a small amount of light of it, and he rubs his thumb over her finger, reassuringly.
"We'll get you home as soon as we can." We being himself, and Ygraine, and Jaiden. The trio of whom have been sharing the duties of keeping watch on Remi for the first half of Friday.
"I don't like 'ospitals. They smell odd, and…I can normally 'ear everything." She frowns. "Everybody in 'ere is scared…sick, hurt, dying…worried friends and family." She shudders briefly, squeezing at her room mate's hand with a fairly weak grasp. She remembers a little bit of the screaming. And why she was screaming. She closes her eyes for a moment, before shaking her head slowly.
"'Ow bad is it?" She turns her eyes down toward her leg, which is hidden by her blankets.
The man sitting by the bedside tilts his head back, though not releasing Remi's hand, but Graeme is no longer looking at her, either. "It went through an artery, but they said that you're going to be okay." That's the simplified version, and it's not his job to tell her the not so simplified version. He can and he will leave that to someone else. "And you lost a lot of blood. And I'm pretty sure neither my shirt nor Jaiden's suit are going to recover nearly as well as you will." There it is, another weak attempt at humour.
Remi tilts her head toward her room mate, frowning thoughtfully. It's almost difficult to concentrate like this, negated as she is; the silence is almost deafening. She's used to having a constant buzz in the back of her mind, no matter where she is or how quiet it is. She frowns at the news of what exactly happened, looking back down at her leg, then up to Graeme once more.
"You have an awful sense of 'umor." At least she's honestly. "I 'ope it will not prevent me from dancing…" Her part in the performance definitely wont be — wait. Performance. Suddenly, Remi's shooting up in bed as much as a drugged person can, before wincing as the pain in her leg makes itself known even over the morphine that courses through her veins. "Ze performance! Oh, non, I am going to miss it!"
Graeme lets go of her hand, his now free hand going to her shoulder and gently but firmly pushing her back into bed. "I am pretty damn sure they'll excuse you." The words are firm, even as he shakes his head. "You may well still dance again," he continues, words reassuring. Even if the doctors did say that she would more likely reach the level of dancing to teach again than dancing to perform.
"Don't make me call one of the nurses in here. You're not supposed to sit up yet, at least not without help, and them changing the angle of the bed and all." Speaking of which, when she's firmly pressed back to laying down, he takes the remote for the bed from where it'd been, nestled amongst the sheets. Just in case Remi tried to get the bright idea to adjust the bed angle herself.
There's not much in the way of resistance, Remi easily being pushed back against the bed. "It's my performance. And I'm missing it." This is mostly a statement of the obvious, with a subtle hint to her discontent behind her words. But after a moment, she seems to come out of it, turning drooping eyes toward Graeme. "Are you okay?"
"I'll be fine," Graeme says, with half a grin. "It's an annoyance, really." Because only he would describe being stabbed with a bone projection dagger halfway through his shoulder as an annoyance. There's another weak grin. "It missed anything in my shoulder that could have made it bad, so."
The woman offers a slow, sluggish nod, her lashes fluttering slightly. The effort plus the nice, steady drip of morphine to prevent her from feeling the effects of having her thigh run all the way through with the same bone dagger that stabbed Graeme. "Mmm…since we were both stabbed by ze same blade…does zat make us blood siblings?" This is asked in a droopy tone, Remi slowly losing her hold on consciousness.
Graeme looks up at the ceiling, and offers Remi's hand a gentle squeeze. "I'm going to pretend that's the painkillers talking, not you, and pretend I never heard the question." His tone is still gentle, though, as he pulls the sheets up to slightly tuck her in, replacing the remote for the bed and the call button to where she can get it if she wakes again and needs anything and he's gone. But still, there's a smile on Graeme's face, and he reaches up, tucking a stray strand of Remi's hair out of her face after she's already firmly back asleep.