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(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)

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"N-no," she says, and this she sounds emphatic about, despite the chattering of her teeth. She wraps her left arm around her, semi-cradling the right to her chest.

"At the very least, we should get you to sit down somewhere a little more comfortable. A booth, maybe," he suggests.

And he'll probably get her a blanket or something for the chattering.

As much as Ned deals with Dead People, he isn't exactly well-versed in Injured People.

"That'd... be okay," Rae admits, shakily. Somewhere in her mind, she knows she needs to see a doctor. But she had definitely wanted to curb Ned's questioning about what had happened to her, before he got too far.

"Let us come to an agreement. You keep what you know to yourself, and I shall forget about this -- unfortunate misunderstanding."

Rae shuddered.

If he gets anywhere with his questioning, it can be blamed upon the investigative instinct in him - he picked that up from years of working with Emerson Cod.

He hasn't quite forgotten, see. There are simply higher priorities.

"Here, let me - help you up," he says, taking a breath.

Sunshine is the kind of baker that has no qualms about leaving a slightly floury handprint on a friend's shoulder every once in a while, though there are definite times when she doesn't want to touch or be touched. She just doesn't notice such behavior in others, most of the time.

She extends her good arm to him, trying to get her feet under her.

He gently but firmly takes her arm and hoists her to her feet.

He's quite aware that there is contact, that his hand is on her shoulder; this is important, only because touch of any sort really is rare for him.

Handshakes in the bar still scare him half to death, and he isn't particularly fond of them on his world either.

Rae leans on him, grateful for the steadying hand as they make their way over to the nearest booth.

"I'm afraid I'm not good for much right now," she says, apologetically, feeling her legs shake under her.

She's lucky to be alive, she feels.

He keeps his pace slow and steady so Rae can go at her own speed.

"That's all right," he says kindly, offering her a small reassuring smile. "But you do owe me some kind of story for what happened. Maybe not now - not if you don't want to - but I'd like to know."

"Some... other time, maybe," she says, sounding uncomfortable. "I don't think I'm up to it, right now."

Not with that voice still so fresh in her memory.

He nods.

Ned is patient that way.

"Of course," he says.

It means a lot to her, not being forced to talk about what happened.

"Thanks, Ned."

"How have... you been?" Rae asks, searching for something else to focus on.

He nods again, in a sort of 'you're welcome' sort of way. It comes with no added insinuations.

He knows Rae is pretty secretive, but when you've got a pretty complicated world and a complicated life, who isn't? (He's a prime example of this!)

"All right," he says. "The holidays have passed here, but it's not even December in my world yet." Beat. "I did have a good deal of enjoyment snacking on your gift, though."

"G-glad you enjoyed it," she manages a small smile as they reach the booth.

"It's still November back home for me. I haven't gotten anything for my family yet."

She's had a lot of other things on her mind.

"I did," he assures her with a smile.

Then he helps her settle in before taking the opposite booth seat.

"Halloween just ended a few days ago, so we're at the start of November. I haven't even given thought to Christmas presents."

"Halloween's always fun," Rae smiles slightly, her left hand resting on the table. She has to fight the urge to clench her hand to help quell the lingering shakes.

"We don't get a lot of trick-or-treaters out where I live, though."

But those who do stop by the house each year always make sure to come back the next, for more goodies.

"I ... admit I don't like Halloween much. Well, I stopped liking it."

He's fractionally on better terms with the holiday, but you won't find him going all out with the costume and candy.

He pauses for a moment, frowning slightly.

"Rae. Do you think we should get you to the infirmary for your injury?"

"Why did you stop liking Hallo-" she starts, before she catches up with his question.

"I... I don't know. I don't think it's broken, but it does hurt pretty badly." And those are spectacular bruises.

"They might have..." she casts about for a word, "ice packs or something."

"Ice packs could help," he reasons. It could take down the swelling, and generally help with the pain. "Do you think you're strong enough to make it to the infirmary?"

"I think so," she says, nodding. She still has one hand, at least, to steady herself against tables and chairs she passes.

And she's got Ned, too.

He'll stay closely by her side in case she needs a leaning post. He's good for that, being impossibly tall and all.

"I've only been there once," he says. "And only briefly."

"I've been there a handful of times. Only twice for myself, though," she says.

Vaguely, she hopes the infirmary will be empty when they get there.

He raises his eyebrows.

"Other violent happenings in the bar?" he inquires - a little suspicious.

"Well, I was there once to get bandages for my wound, before it healed, then I went there once more afterwards, when I didn't need the rest of the bandages and wanted to return them. Just recently, though, I was there with... Jane Austen, of all people. She'd been attacked by a vampire. There've been a lot of instances where people've been attacked and bitten, lately."

She shudders violently, her left hand gripping the back of a chair so she doesn't lose her balance.

He frowns, both confused yet curious at such a concept.

"Attacked and bitten by a vampire? Not one of the ones from your world, was it?"

"No," she says, and sounds extremely sure of this.

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