milliways_bar | (no subject)

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(no subject)

(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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She lowers herself down gingerly to sit on the floor with the trashcan at her back, letting go of her white-knuckled grip on the trashcan rim so she can take the glass of water. Her right arm stays curled protectively against her chest as she carefully sips the water, trying to stop the violent tremors that shake her.

"What happened?" Nikola asks, taking a seat near by.

I was born with an affinity that just so happened to come with a really unfortunate counter-affinity, she doesn't say.

Still feeling slightly sick, but feeling the knots in her stomach reluctantly loosen, Rae shakes her head. "Don't want... no, m'not up to it, right now."

See also: ever.

"Uh-huh," Nikola says, arching an eyebrow again. "It's just, if you're suffering from food poisoning, it'd be nice to know what you had for dinner last night."

"Brie, tomato 'n... watercress on rosemary oatbread."

People eating Sunshine's food don't get food poisoning, Nikola.

"You're safe." Still, she shivers, gingerly flexing her right hand and wincing.

"Good to know," Nikola says.

He gestures to her injured arm. "Something tells me that's not from food poisoning."

"Really aggressive food poisoning," she nods fervently. The ferver of the nodding is accentuated by her shivering.

Strangely enough, focusing on food poisoning is helping her calm down.

"In that case, I think I'll definitely stay away from the Brie."

"The Brie instigated it," she growls, clearing her throat. "It's not like I went out looking... to get food poisoning."

Food poisoning was essentially the reasoning behind Sunshine's poisoned wound this summer. Ha ha.

Damn vampires.

"Of course not," Nikola says, smirking. "I wouldn't dream of suggesting such a thing."

"Of course," she says, faintly, trying to hold herself still until the shaking stops.

"Thank you for the water."

"Wow. A thank you. You sure it's food poisoning? You didn't actually take a severe blow to the head?"

"Har har, Sparky," her voice shakes, and it's not really a great come-back, or really a comeback at all, but it's there. It's her.

"No blow to the head, just the shoulder." And that wasn't really a blow. "And the ego." And a particularly mortal wound to her sense of safety.

"Those tend to be the most difficult to recover from in my experience."

"Well, it'd take so much to dampen your ego in the first place, whatever succeeds must do some serious damage," she says, reaching for a table with her uninjured arm, to shakily try and get to her feet.

"They always warn you about vampires' willpower being so strong; they never warn you about how egotistical they are."

That and most other injuries take no time at all to recover from.

"The two sort of go together.

"Now you tell me," she says, and shudders as if cold, thinking of the eyes hidden behind the smoky glasses. Her head is a bit clearer, though the shakes are still there from time to time, and she's able to take some stock of herself.

Apart from the injured shoulder and upper arm, she to be all there and accounted for, physically (mentally, she's still shaken. Her sense of her own capability has taken damage, and her sense of personal safety is nearly dead).

If she can get her arm checked out and taken care of, she figures she'll be fine (unless... further things happen, of course, but she's not contemplating that possibility. She refuses to). Until her hand brushes the pocket where her knife usually lives: An empty pocket. "Dammit." She had forgotten. He must still have it.

"Lose something?"

"My knife," she says, clenching her teeth to stave off a wave of shaking.

Nikola knows the one.

"That really was some nasty food poisoning, then."

She doesn't look at him.

"Yeah."

Bitterness touches her tone. "He kept it. I'd forgotten."

Admittedly, she'd had other things, like stark terror, on her mind.

"He?"

Now we're getting somewhere.

"The Brie," she says, flat, looking at him and actually meeting his eyes, despite the deeply-ingrained lessons that that it what you do not do, even if you know you're already going to die.

It's totally not the toasted cheese's fault.

"Ah, yes. The sinister cheese."

She gives him a look.

"I'm not telling you who it is, so it's best we change the subject even from imaginary food poisoning. You wouldn't like it if I told you, anyway," she says, making her unsteady way to the bar. She needs tea. Possibly something stronger.