Oh, thank goodness. She was beginning to worry he'd been left behind, and the thought of him being stuck with that armed madman wasn't any more appealing than the thought of her being in a hospital by herself. Greta seizes ahold of his wrist, not wanting him to vanish on her. "Not your fault," she says tersely. At least he's here.
And at least she's figured out that she's in a hospital in the first place (fourth place?). She can't seem to avoid being hurled into random locations and scenarios, but there are much worse places she could have landed than here, all things considered. They'll patch her up, hopefully before she ends up anywhere else. It's only a dream. She's been through worse. It'll be fine.
... Or perhaps not. Greta glances uneasily between the doctor and the Balladeer. It's clear that he has no idea what the woman is asking for. Neither does she, which makes his bewilderment easy to recognize even before he starts to protest his own ignorance. It's when he starts to protest the doctor's hand over her wound that Greta really starts to worry. She'd just assumed they knew what they were doing. Do they not know what they're doing? She jolts on the gurney, though there's nowhere for her to go and the movement only sends a fresh stab of pain through her.
"Excuse me?" the doctor snaps, her glare intensifying. The two other people shoving her cot along - other nurses? - exchange a look. She's whisked into a room, more bright lights overhead. Somewhere in the process of being efficiently transferred to a different cot, she loses her grip on the Balladeer. "Get me that anaprovaline, or get out of my OR," the doctor orders.
"I--I don't want him to leave," Greta protests, before one of the nurses does something to her wound that makes her snap back onto the table with a gasp.
no subject
And at least she's figured out that she's in a hospital in the first place (fourth place?). She can't seem to avoid being hurled into random locations and scenarios, but there are much worse places she could have landed than here, all things considered. They'll patch her up, hopefully before she ends up anywhere else. It's only a dream. She's been through worse. It'll be fine.
... Or perhaps not. Greta glances uneasily between the doctor and the Balladeer. It's clear that he has no idea what the woman is asking for. Neither does she, which makes his bewilderment easy to recognize even before he starts to protest his own ignorance. It's when he starts to protest the doctor's hand over her wound that Greta really starts to worry. She'd just assumed they knew what they were doing. Do they not know what they're doing? She jolts on the gurney, though there's nowhere for her to go and the movement only sends a fresh stab of pain through her.
"Excuse me?" the doctor snaps, her glare intensifying. The two other people shoving her cot along - other nurses? - exchange a look. She's whisked into a room, more bright lights overhead. Somewhere in the process of being efficiently transferred to a different cot, she loses her grip on the Balladeer. "Get me that anaprovaline, or get out of my OR," the doctor orders.
"I--I don't want him to leave," Greta protests, before one of the nurses does something to her wound that makes her snap back onto the table with a gasp.