Plourr Estillo (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fighting_mad) wrote2006-12-31 11:43 pm
fighting_mad) wrote2006-12-31 11:43 pm
[OOM] Eiattu - Infirmary
Plourr is thoroughly sick of floating in pink goo. There is bacta, she thinks, trapped in her sinuses. She's just thankful that she was unconscious for the first few days. As it is, after four days with nothing to do but float, heal, sleep, and stare at the tubes running in and out of herself, she is going out of her mind. Rial visits, though, and that helps make it bearable; he talks to her even if she can't hear a word she's saying. For the first few days, when she's in and out of consciousness, she only has one memory, of him laughing as he says something. When she's more with it, they carry on a few conversations, Rial with gestures and inaudible words, Plourr with a range of facial expressions that is fairly impressive considering that the breathing apparatus is covering most of her face.
Still, she is going mad with boredom. So when the tech appears and points upward, and she hears someone pulling the top off of the tank, she is kicking upward even before she's told to.
A shower, a robe, some new bandages, and a whole lot of mouthwash later, she begins to feel halfway human again. She tests her body, her muscles, as the techs usher her around. Her arm is in a combination cast-sling--the cast is a noxious, horrible shade of bright green. somebody thinks they're really funny--and her right shoulder--which had had a low-set vibroblade taken to it--wrapped up in bandages. Her ribs are wrapped, too, and they're still aching; enough that she doesn't complain too much when the staff insist on the repulsorchair. Her knee is in a brace but she's not too concerned about that one; it's an old injury that tends to recur if she twists her knee. Her face, from what she can tell, is largely healed; they've taped up a few cuts on her fast left by shrapnel or nobles' rings and the majority of the swelling and bruising has gone down, leaving her eyes bright and clear.
When she's ushered into the hall outside the private medbay room, Plourr talks the tech into letting her get out of the chair and take the last few steps by herself.
"A few hours, Princess," the tech reminds her, removing the chair. "Then you've got to go back in."
"Yeah, yeah," she says impatiently, and--with one hand on the doorway for balance--she steps through the door.
Still, she is going mad with boredom. So when the tech appears and points upward, and she hears someone pulling the top off of the tank, she is kicking upward even before she's told to.
A shower, a robe, some new bandages, and a whole lot of mouthwash later, she begins to feel halfway human again. She tests her body, her muscles, as the techs usher her around. Her arm is in a combination cast-sling--the cast is a noxious, horrible shade of bright green. somebody thinks they're really funny--and her right shoulder--which had had a low-set vibroblade taken to it--wrapped up in bandages. Her ribs are wrapped, too, and they're still aching; enough that she doesn't complain too much when the staff insist on the repulsorchair. Her knee is in a brace but she's not too concerned about that one; it's an old injury that tends to recur if she twists her knee. Her face, from what she can tell, is largely healed; they've taped up a few cuts on her fast left by shrapnel or nobles' rings and the majority of the swelling and bruising has gone down, leaving her eyes bright and clear.
When she's ushered into the hall outside the private medbay room, Plourr talks the tech into letting her get out of the chair and take the last few steps by herself.
"A few hours, Princess," the tech reminds her, removing the chair. "Then you've got to go back in."
"Yeah, yeah," she says impatiently, and--with one hand on the doorway for balance--she steps through the door.