[It's a little strange to be the one recuperating and doted on, for a change; she's so used to being the one seeing to the others, worrying about them and mending them however she can, that it's strange to have nothing more to do but to lie still in their bed and let herself be fussed over. They don't leave her alone; one or both of them are always close at hand, there when she opens her eyes after a doze and there as her eyelids fall closed as exhaustion reclaims her. She doesn't remember the bandages going on her arms, or the salve on her scrapes and bruises. Maybe that's for the better.
The one silver lining of her captivity, as it turns out, had been that the immobility had given her little else to do but lie still and drowse, which had helped a great deal with the concussion she'd received from the blow to the head in the morgue. Not as good as if she'd had immediate medical treatment for it, but still, better than it might've been otherwise. Slowly, the headaches are lessening, and the constant nourishment is doing her good. She's on the mend, at least physically.
Psychologically — well, that's another matter. But Trevor and Alucard are here. They're here, they're never far away.
(She'd asked them to get rid of all of the mirrors in the room, and to keep the lights on day and night. It's a selfish thing, but of course they'd given it to her. They would give her anything, these days.)
It's Alucard taking a shift with her now, and her eyelids are heavy as she watches him, not really wanting to fall back asleep but tempted to from how consumed with comfort she is, full of breakfast and warm and safe and listening blessedly to the familiar sound of his voice.]
...Did someone listen to my radio show?
[She'd been gone for a week; she'd missed the latest installment. Not that she'd had the chance to worry about it at the time, but now that things are settling back to normal, it's a small sadness to contend with.
She's also speaking French, in part because that's somehow just what her aching head had settled on as being easiest (soft consonants, familiar vowels, rolling easily off her tongue and forgiving if they mush together or slur with sleepiness), and in part because it's easiest on Trevor, while still making herself understood across the board.]
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The one silver lining of her captivity, as it turns out, had been that the immobility had given her little else to do but lie still and drowse, which had helped a great deal with the concussion she'd received from the blow to the head in the morgue. Not as good as if she'd had immediate medical treatment for it, but still, better than it might've been otherwise. Slowly, the headaches are lessening, and the constant nourishment is doing her good. She's on the mend, at least physically.
Psychologically — well, that's another matter. But Trevor and Alucard are here. They're here, they're never far away.
(She'd asked them to get rid of all of the mirrors in the room, and to keep the lights on day and night. It's a selfish thing, but of course they'd given it to her. They would give her anything, these days.)
It's Alucard taking a shift with her now, and her eyelids are heavy as she watches him, not really wanting to fall back asleep but tempted to from how consumed with comfort she is, full of breakfast and warm and safe and listening blessedly to the familiar sound of his voice.]
...Did someone listen to my radio show?
[She'd been gone for a week; she'd missed the latest installment. Not that she'd had the chance to worry about it at the time, but now that things are settling back to normal, it's a small sadness to contend with.
She's also speaking French, in part because that's somehow just what her aching head had settled on as being easiest (soft consonants, familiar vowels, rolling easily off her tongue and forgiving if they mush together or slur with sleepiness), and in part because it's easiest on Trevor, while still making herself understood across the board.]