(no subject)

[sunbaked_baker]

(Somewhere Under Milliways: Sunshine's large, lovingly-collected library of gothic vampire lit will likely never be the same refuge of fantasy escapism ever again. She may burn them all when she gets home. If she survives to get home.)

From the kitchens come the sounds of startled, squeaking rats, of a large basket of paradoxes overturning as someone runs unsteadily towards the reassuring light and noise of the bar. The door to the kitchen slams open a moment later, letting through a pale and shaking Rae, clutching her wrenched and bruised right arm to her chest as she runs.

Her head is still reeling, her eyes watering and blurring her vision, the realization of what had just happened - what she had done - and to whom - causing her stomach to rebel violently.

Luckily, the cleaning crew prefer a clean bar and have put trash cans up at strategic locations, for Sunshine doesn't make it to the restroom before being physically ill. She falls jerkily next to it, clutching the trashcan rim with a white-knuckled grip in an effort to steady herself and counteract the tremors she can't seem to stop.

(Warnings in OOM for... well, gothic horror.)

(Tiny tags: A Gothic Winter Tale, Vlad Dracula)

(OOC: Mun has gone to bed. Will return to tag up on threads tomorrow. EP is open for new threads/tags forever and ever, amen. <33333)

Comments

[piesordeath.livejournal.com]

"Rae -" comes the voice of a surprised, and terribly concerned piemaking friend. "Rae, are you okay? What happened?"

[sunbaked_baker]

Rae can't talk, her throat closed up tight. The most she can do is shake her head.

She coughs and spits into the trashcan, trying to get the taste out of her mouth. She can only hold herself semi-upright with the shaking, white-knuckled grip of one hand, her other arm held curled against her chest.

[piesordeath.livejournal.com]

He crouches beside her, so he isn't so much looming over her - but he hesitates to touch her.

It's a force of habit; Ned isn't the touchy type.

"- do you need something? Um - is there anything I can do?" he offers.

[sunbaked_baker]

She wants to hide her face; she has nothing with which to clean herself up with, and a baker must always be clean, so she doesn't look up at Ned.

"Towel?" she croaks, still shaking, still fighting tears. "Water?"

A doctor? The bruises on her rather badly-wrenched arm are already beginning to bloom.

[wheatencrown]

Demeter is tired, she really does hate this identity flu and then rushes to Sunshine,

"What happened?"

[sunbaked_baker]

Sunshine can't talk; she can barely think. She can only shake and cling to the trashcan with her uninjured arm, trying to get the sick taste out of her mouth.

[wheatencrown]

"Can I touch you, my child?"

She looks like she needs a hug but also so much more than that.

[sunbaked_baker]

Rae looks over her shoulder at Demeter, her face screwed up in pain and lingering fear.

Can she touch her?

Can Sunshine stand to be touched right now?

"I-" she tries, shakily, but she is interrupted by a fit of coughing, spitting out the last of the bitterness. Self-conscious shame returns to her, then, and the growing feeling of the need to wipe her mouth. She has nothing to wipe it on, and the only hand she feels is capable of use right now is busy keeping her upright. Sunshine looks down and away, letting her loose hair hide her face. "Yeah." Her voice is rough.

[almosthonorable]

Ben looks up at the commotion, and all but forgets the half-eaten brownie in his hand.

Striding over, he crouches and puts a light hand on her shoulder.

"Hey now, Little Miss Sunshine, you're gonna worry a man like this."

[sunbaked_baker]

With the degree of violence with which Rae flinches away from Ben, you might think he had touched a hot iron to her shoulder.

She lies there shaking, sick and pale as if wracked with fever and not just fear. Rae swallows compulsively, trying to clear the taste of sick out of her mouth and to clear her throat so she might speak. Her good arm keeps her semi-upright; the other curled against her chest. Already, the bruises along the wrenched shoulder and arm are beginning to show.

"S-s-sorry," she manages a low, shaky croak at least. It has none of her usual humor in it.

[almosthonorable]

He pulls away as soon as she flinches.

"None of that, it's all right."

He takes a clean handkerchief from one pocket.

"Seein' the scare I just gave you, I reckon it's me who needs to do the apologizin'."

He offers the handkerchief, sharp eyes taking stock of her injuries and the way she's holding one arm so close to her body.

"Soon as you're ready, let's get you up."

[sunbaked_baker]

Sunshine scoots so she can sit up without holding herself up with her good arm, letting her take the offered handkerchief. Her hand is shaky, her breath uneven. She can't help it, but her right hand, the arm held so close to her chest, keeps compulsively touching the side of her neck. She can still feel the exact spot where his lips touched her.

"Th-thanks."

[stillbecoming]

Buffy looks up, searching automatically for the source of the noise. And then moving, also automatically, toward the pale, shaking woman who's moving like she's hurt.

"Hey," she says, slowing, "what's wrong?"

[sunbaked_baker]

Sunshine is torn between looking up at the person addressing her and hiding her messed face as she coughs and spits the last bitter sick into the trashcan. She doesn't recognize the voice, so she waits until she's able to awkwardly wipe her face semi-clean with a shaking hand before looking up.

Terror lingers in her eyes, her breath ragged. A bumper crop of bruises is blooming across her right arm and shoulder. Her left is braced against the trashcan to keep her semi-upright. "I... Wh-what does it loo-" she starts, before her stomach twists and another bout of gagging coughs catch her.

[stillbecoming]

"Honestly," says Buffy, in a tone less flippant than the words, "any number of things."

The bathroom's not too far. She could get some paper towels, maybe some water, or -- "Are they here? Whoever --"

[sunbaked_baker]

Wet paper towels would be a godsend, and would enable Sunshine to look Buffy in the face without feeling embarrassed.

The retching tapers off, leaving Sunshine only slightly less sick with lingering fear.

"I... don't know." Her one-handed grip on the trashcan is still shakey. Give her a bit and she may try to get on her feet again.

[ps_you_look_hot]

Nikola both hears and smells her before he sees her, and he wrinkles his nose as he realizes what just happened.

"Something you ate?"

[sunbaked_baker]

Some rather spectacular bruising is already showing up on Sunshine's right shoulder and arm, the one curled protectively to her chest. Her left hand is busy white-knuckling its grip on the trashcan to keep her upright as she is sick. Afterwards, as she coughs and spits to get the taste out of her mouth, her throat is still too tight with lingering terror to let her speak.

Forgive her if she doesn't respond right away, Nikola. Her thoughts are nowhere near coherent at the moment.

[ps_you_look_hot]

Nikola arches an eyebrow. "Something must really be wrong if you can't even come up with a witty retort," he says.

"I'd offer a glass of water, but I know how you feel about my assistance."

[3nanashi]

. . . That's less than good.



Trowa rises and -- unhurried; giving her time -- makes his way over.

(His path carries him around and into her peripheral vision. You don't approach someone shaking like that from a blind spot, in his experience.)

[sunbaked_baker]

Sunshine can see people moving within her field of vision as she leans heavily on the trashcan, trying to clear the bitterness from her mouth and stop her violent shaking, but she is barely coherent enough to take note of them.

Until one gets close enough to catch her attention. Then she looks up.

[3nanashi]

Trowa crouches, still a yard or so away. "Are you all right?"

The answer, very obviously, is no.

But she's not bleeding to death or anything, at least visibly, so she can tell him to go away if she wants.

[numbered_doctor]

No sooner has Sunshine begun retching into the trashcan, than Thirteen appears at her friend's side, holding back long hair and rubbing her back gently as she murmurs quiet reassurances.

[sunbaked_baker]

Sunshine is shaking horribly as she retches, stomach rebelling even after there is nothing left in it. It's only once the heaving subsides that she notices Thirteen, and even then she isn't able to unstick her throat enough to say anything. The look of lingering terror and budding gratitude is all she manages.

[numbered_doctor]

The look is all it takes for Thirteen to draw her close, hugging gently as she motions for one of the wait rats to fetch a glass of water.