Mizu dreams fitfully, memories blurring together in ways that they should not. Ways that don't make sense. They continue in odd ways, even as she recognizes that they cannot be real. Vergil has no place in them, nor does he have any reason to wield a sword of her making. They are foolish dreams, the melding of common injuries repeated. When she wakes, Mizu tells herself that's all there is.
She comes to in an unfamiliar bed and reaches for her sword. Still in its scabbard, Mizu takes in her surroundings, memory muddling to the fore slower than the pain. How long was she out? Not long if those sounds are Vergil in the kitchen. She hopes. Mizu sits immediately, not good at staying lying down when she's uncertain about anything in her environment. Though it's safe to pass out around Vergil, Mizu still hates losing consciousness when it's not of her own choosing. The pain pierces through the rest, and Mizu accepts that, normal as it is.
The water is cool and refreshing, greatly appreciated. Mizu looks across the room at Vergil. There isn't anything else to do but sit and wait and slowly recover. Things she can all do here in safety. Only when the thought that Mizu should ask Vergil for a needle and thread does she remember her healing ability, foreign and unfamiliar as it is. If Mizu can heal herself, she doesn't need to sew the wounds shut. A convenient fact given the act only causes more pain. She could ask him for drugs to lessen the pain (not opium, more the pills that come in bottles). However, it is best Mizu masters this ability without any aid, so she does not.
Once again, Mizu arranges herself for meditation, staying in the bed for the process. Closing her eyes, Mizu repeats phrases softly to herself under her breath. For all that her anger burns cold within her, she can find peace and calm, at least for a few moments at a time. Her mind stays on swordfather and all he taught her. When she loses her focus and cannot find it again, Mizu considers her injuries. She slides one hand under the shirt to feel her wound. The skin has sewn shut, but the area is tender to the touch. Her arm is similarly much better but not fully healed. Most annoyingly, her head still feels woozy and light. Nearly drunk, Mizu wants to say, except that she does not drink and could not say with certainty that's how it would feel.
"I'm awake," Mizu declares, in the unlikely case Vergil hasn't noticed. Even under normal circumstances, whenever two people share a room, it's hard not to notice the other person. With her injuries, Mizu has no doubts Vergil's paid attention. "Thank you for your generosity."
The bed. The clothes. The food soon to follow. That isn't part of the obligations they've made to each other with their sparring. Mizu could have laid on the floor well enough. She's slept in less comfortable places.
no subject
She comes to in an unfamiliar bed and reaches for her sword. Still in its scabbard, Mizu takes in her surroundings, memory muddling to the fore slower than the pain. How long was she out? Not long if those sounds are Vergil in the kitchen. She hopes. Mizu sits immediately, not good at staying lying down when she's uncertain about anything in her environment. Though it's safe to pass out around Vergil, Mizu still hates losing consciousness when it's not of her own choosing. The pain pierces through the rest, and Mizu accepts that, normal as it is.
The water is cool and refreshing, greatly appreciated. Mizu looks across the room at Vergil. There isn't anything else to do but sit and wait and slowly recover. Things she can all do here in safety. Only when the thought that Mizu should ask Vergil for a needle and thread does she remember her healing ability, foreign and unfamiliar as it is. If Mizu can heal herself, she doesn't need to sew the wounds shut. A convenient fact given the act only causes more pain. She could ask him for drugs to lessen the pain (not opium, more the pills that come in bottles). However, it is best Mizu masters this ability without any aid, so she does not.
Once again, Mizu arranges herself for meditation, staying in the bed for the process. Closing her eyes, Mizu repeats phrases softly to herself under her breath. For all that her anger burns cold within her, she can find peace and calm, at least for a few moments at a time. Her mind stays on swordfather and all he taught her. When she loses her focus and cannot find it again, Mizu considers her injuries. She slides one hand under the shirt to feel her wound. The skin has sewn shut, but the area is tender to the touch. Her arm is similarly much better but not fully healed. Most annoyingly, her head still feels woozy and light. Nearly drunk, Mizu wants to say, except that she does not drink and could not say with certainty that's how it would feel.
"I'm awake," Mizu declares, in the unlikely case Vergil hasn't noticed. Even under normal circumstances, whenever two people share a room, it's hard not to notice the other person. With her injuries, Mizu has no doubts Vergil's paid attention. "Thank you for your generosity."
The bed. The clothes. The food soon to follow. That isn't part of the obligations they've made to each other with their sparring. Mizu could have laid on the floor well enough. She's slept in less comfortable places.