knightsoflegend | OPEN ♔ I'LL FIND IT IN MYSELF TO GIVE THIS ONE MORE SHOT

WHO || Francesca and YOU [open]
WHAT || It's been a long couple of days for some and an eternity for others.
WHERE || Knights HQ; the medical wing
WHEN || Wednesday, April 11
HOW || Either actionspam or prose, multiple threads.

Francecsa's alive for quite a while before she actually comes to, her breathing slow and even. When she finally begins to rouse, her body is first to react, although it's movements and changes are slight, such as a finger twitch or a more exaggerated exhale. Her mind is a little slower to perk up, as it's quite the sensory overload to suddenly return from nothingness to life, but she soon feels the darkness give way to coherency.

The room itself isn't very stimulating, and while the lack of provocation helps her brain focus on waking up, it does nothing to ease the rapid assault of memories that are subsequently flashing behind closed eyelids. As her reminiscing approaches her present condition, her chest starts to rise and fall much more desperately. When she finds herself practically gasping for air, she finally opens her eyes in hopes it will stop the violent spinning in her head.

She knows she's not alone. She can feel him in the room, Christos that is. When her eyes shoot open, on top of the fear, she feels a sudden panic that maybe he isn't here, and this feeling is just from reliving so many memories of him at once. With the room spinning, it's impossible for her to immediately locate him, though, and she finds she can't really just move, the soreness in her body complete. All this just fuels her hyperventilation even more, and she gives up focusing on anything but just breathing for a couple seconds, desperately hoping she's somewhere safe, and not alone.

* * * * *

After he leaves, she just sleeps more, not trusting herself to walk anywhere, let alone all the way to her room. So she'll just hang out in the cleric wing, drifting in and out of nightmare-accompanied sleep. She wakes in a panic several times, desperately trying to free herself from whatever it is she's dreaming about. She can't really stop any visitors, not that she'd mind a few good words right now anyway.

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"I certainly wouldn't call it that."

She thinks back on this conversation they're having to find the part where they branched into this confusing dialogue. "I don't think all second-chances are undeserved. I was merely remarking on mine." She realizes that sounds... a little Emo, so she adds, "Not that I particularly don't deserve it, but more so that I don't know what I did to deserve it."

"You did plenty," he says, and it's deceptively close to a compliment, really. "What more did you feel you needed to do?"

She recognizes his almost compliments easily, as it's the best she can usually get out of him. "I really don't know. I guess I'm just feeling reflective. Those life-passing-before-your-eyes moments can get the best of you."

Edited 2012-04-27 03:11 (UTC)

"Nothing's passed," he says firmly. "You're here, same as you've always been."

She can't decide whether that statement is comforting or depressing. She's glad to be home but the thought of everything being the same to her feels impossible in this moment.

She studies him for a few moments as she thinks all this over, finally deciding to just say what she's thinking. "You think it will be like that? It will just be... the same?" Her tone is genuinely curious as she trusts his observations more so than her own at this point.

She's asking the wrong person this question, seeing as how there is nothing he hates more than change...

"Why wouldn't it?"

Well now she's going to talk about the thing he hates second most.

"It just feels different."

It's true. So he will try to shut that down before it can get rolling.

"That will pass. You've only just awoken."

"You're right. I probably just need... time to sort through all this. I'll figure it out." She says this more to reassure herself than him, but she nods at him anyway.

Her expression droops a little as she remembers her other concern. "I'm sorry to have put you through all this." She's quiet and solemn, knowing he's going to find her concern for him ridiculous. However, her guilt overshadows her trepidation.

"Don't be ludicrous," is his sharp retort, because yes, he thinks she's ridiculous worrying about him when she almost died. Even if it... ruined his life. "I'm simply glad you've returned."

She did die, actually, and therefore thinks she can worry about whatever she'd like. She deserves that much, at least. She opens her mouth to argue, but his last remark stops the words from coming.

Her expression softens significantly and she gives him a small smile. "I'm glad I have too." She has a strange expression on her face, something unknown mixed with undeniable fondness.

He holds her gaze for all of five seconds, before clearing his throat and going to rise. "I should probably collect Solace so he can check you out of this godforsaken room." Only Christos would call a cleric's ward godforsaken.

She snorts lightly at his pun, her eyes following his movement. She reaches out for his hand before he can move away (touch attack 33), seeking his gaze. She looks vulnerable and desperately tries to properly emphasize her conviction with her words. "Really, Christos, thank you. For everything."

He looks at her as if she were speaking crazy-talk again, though there's something else in his expression that's much more difficult to read. His eyes flicker down to where her hand is and then back up to her gaze.

"You don't have anything to thank me for," he says firmly, and then draws away.

That sounds like some strange sort of guilt to her. Either that or he's merely dismissing her, which is just as infuriating. "Don't," she responds, just as firmly. She straightens up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

"None of this is your fault. If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't even be here to begin with. You don't owe me anything." She swallows thickly. "The worst part of all this is imagining how I would feel were our roles reversed. The pain of loss is much worse than the pain of death. And I'm sorry if you felt even a fraction of the regret I would feel if I lost you."

She doesn't really care if her words make him angry or uncomfortable. She knows she would regret not saying this more than she would ever regret saying it.

He freezes at her insistence, though he doesn't look back at her again. His shoulders are hunched slightly, tense, and it's unclear which of her interpretations was closer to the truth.

He doesn't seem to know how to respond to that, but he obviously has to say something, so he lingers there, turned away from her, hesitating.

But eventually, apparently her words prove too uncomfortable, and instead of responding, he simply murmurs: "I'll find you something to eat, as well." And then throws the door open, his cloak swishing against the floor as he stalks out.

She can barely curl herself back up into the bed before the tears come. It's nothing over-dramatic, but it lasts a few minutes as she presses her face against the pillow. She's glad she could hold back until she was alone so she didn't have to share this embarrassing exposure.

Eventually, she pulls her emotions into check and closes her eyes to rest while she waits.

OPEN ♔ I'LL FIND IT IN MYSELF TO GIVE THIS ONE MORE SHOT

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