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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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She might notice that Buffy's considerably stronger than she looks; she might not.

"Hey, I've had worse. And you are so far from being the first person I've met under these circumstances." She makes a face. "Vampire attacks: kind of like a block party. A scary, twisted block party, but..."

Well, most block parties are, in Buffy's opinion.

Sunshine has a certain amount of upper-body strength from lifting heavy trays, mixing recipes and kneading dough every day for the past 9 years.

"Not a party I'd agree to cater," she says with a weak laugh at the idea of a block party centered around vampire attacks. "They'd have to get someone else, if I had any say in it."

For a moment Buffy looks extremely confused; then she says, "Oh! Are you a caterer?"

The infirmary's -- over that way; she starts toward it.

"I'm Head Baker at Charlie's Coffeehouse, in New Arcadia," she says with a slight smile as she makes her unsteady way across the bar room. "People come from all around for Sunshine's Toxic-Sugar-Shock desserts and Cinnamon Rolls-As-Big-As-Your-Head."

She won't be able to knead much, with her arm like this.

"That sounds nifty." Buffy's keeping an eye out, just in case anyone pale and undead lurches up, but she's also imagining a toxic sugar shock dessert and feeling very deprived. "Are they really head-sized?"

"Yes," she nods. "Once the dough has been cut into cinnamon rolls and put in the pan, I leave them to rise overnight. They're huge by the time I get there in the morning."

"Wow."

Buffy's eyes aren't head-sized, but they are wide with awe. And longing.

"Too bad chances are we're from different worlds," she says sadly. "And even if we weren't, my town's barely big enough for a Starbucks."

Except for how it sometimes contains a mall, docks, a university, and an airport.

"Be glad we're from different worlds," Sunshine says, flat. "There's enough wrong with my world that no amount of cinnamon rolls could make it worthwhile."

"My city was just a backwater until the Wars; now it's one of the top ten places to live in North America."

"Well," says Buffy, sobering, "mine isn't what you'd call problem-free."

They're almost at the infirmary; she moves to open the door. "The Wars?"

"The Voodoo Wars," she says, stepping through. "Nothing to do with Voodoo, of course. Just humans versus the suckers."

She does make sure there is no actually-quite-helpful-really doctor-vampire around before she says it, at least.

Buffy blinks, distracted from the question of how to call an actual doctor.

"Suckers? Wait, does your world have vampires too?"

Or ferocious lollipops?

"Plenty," she snorts, then winces as the movement causes her shoulder to move. "Your world need any? We can spare some."

"A whole bunch, in fact. Take the lot."

Well.

Except one.

"Trust me," says Buffy, "my world's all set for vampires." She's scanning the room for something intercom-y. "My town? Has twelve cemeteries. And some days they're more like musical chairs than eternal resting places."

Sunshine's look is somewhere in the vicinity of Bzuh?

"Vampires in my world don't hang around cemeteries. They're not interested in dead people; they're particularly interested in living people. And dry guys don't get buried anyway. By law they're burned and their ashes sterilized before being handed over to their next of kin, no exceptions."

Except, she reasons, when there is no next of kin to hand them over to.

"...Don't they come out of cemeteries?" says Buffy, bewildered.

There's a button! She hits it, displaying the finely-honed self-preservation instincts of the Slayer. Luckily nothing explodes.

"...No, they come out of wherever they're staying during the day," she says, thinking of Con's earth-place.

She winces as she finds a seat on one of the examination tables (you never really realize how much you move your shoulder until it hurts to do so). Rae figures she might as well sit there so she won't be asked to move there later; she's afraid that once she settles somewhere, it'll be even harder to summon the will to move again.

It's the first time in a while he's been summoned by the call button in the infirmary.

Simon steps into the room, looking at the two young women there. "Can I help you?"

A doctor she doesn't know. Sunshine is fine with that. The only doctor she's met in the infirmary has been a vampire, and she knows she's not up for that right now.

"Um, hi," Rae said. "I kind of wrenched my shoulder, and it hurts pretty bad. I don't think it's broken or anything-"

It doesn't taste as sweet if you break your prey first, after all.

"-but I wasn't sure, and wanted to make sure it's nothing too serious."

She's a lot more focused now than she was earlier - talking about other things helped - but the warning given to her before she had been released is still fresh in her memory, and leaves a lingering fear. It's totally coincidental then, and not at all related to that warning, that no mention of a vampire is made in Sunshine's explanation.

Buffy looks up. "She was attacked by a vampire."

"But not bitten," she remembers to add. "I checked."

One would have to know Simon Tam better than most to spot the infinitesimal tensing in his face; he's in professional doctor mode already.

"I see. Yes, I can certainly take a look."

As he approaches, he adds "How long ago was this?"

Sunshine has had some not-so-great experiences with doctors back home, in the last five months, so Simon will have to forgive her for tensing slightly as he approaches, her injured arm still curled to her chest. Every so often, that hand unconsciously brushes across the side of her neck. She can still feel the lips that had touched there, as if they had burned her.

"Nearly half an hour ago."

It's not uncommon for patients to tense up, even when they haven't had genuinely terrible experiences with doctors.

He nods. "It was smart to come in right away," he says. "Can you move it at all?"

Sunshine flexes her right hand and wrist, and moves her shoulder slightly. "I can move it a bit, it just hurts even more to do so. It was wrenched rather suddenly over my head, when I was... well, when I was busy throwing most of my strength into moving my arm in the exact opposite direction."

That...doesn't sound like something she doesn't remember.

Buffy keeps quiet.

"All right," he says again. "Let me take a look."

Of the various medical technology from other worlds that have collected in the Milliways infirmary, the one Simon's often found most useful is the medical tricorder. Right now he's retrieving it from the cabinet and calibrating it to look for muscle/tendon/ligament damage.