William
[BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.]

By now, news of what had happened up on the hill had spread, thanks in no small part to the bloodied weak woman sleeping in the bed in room  but she had no idea she was being rumoured about already.

Instead, she was out cold. Completely and utterly devoid of the spark of consciousness, her body lay on a raised bed in Isakstad's west end, 30ccs of morphine dripping from a bag into her arm and an oxygen tube keeping her lungs going. Nobody at the hospital really knew what she'd been through a couple of hours earlier, but it played out in her dream as she slumbered. Her legs up on the desk, a Harlan Ellison short story in her hand, she'd had no warning before the screech of death rocked the entire building– and nearly collapsed the ceiling on her.

She shot up in the milliseconds before the ceiling hit her in her dream, and was immediately and violently reminded where she was and why she was there.

She screeched in pain, laid back down, and shakily reached out for the morphine button. She got one squeeze in and the nurses followed suit, not swatting her hand away like a child reaching for not-quite-ready soup but still taking the button away regardless, changing bandages and triaging her to the best of her ability. She could barely speak, but she got her piece out, laid down, and sighed, click-clack of doctor shoes in the distance like the hands of a clock.
Delia
Akvilė hadn't looked great when Maxwell first met her.

She looked worse now. "Sight for sore eyes" Would be an understatement.

Maxwell barely had any idea what had happened himself. He blacked out, and when he woke up again, he was outside. He was an observer of the chaos more than an active participant, and even when he wanted to help Akvilė recover, he didn't do more than simply contact people he thought could help.

He felt a bit bad about that.

So, when things had settled down a bit, he decided to visit her in the hospital.

It took him a little while to find her bedside, not least because he didn't really have anything to do with her and he suspected the nurses might not tell him, but he did eventually spot her only half-living body, connected to all manner of medical equipment which kept her both alive and sedated. Still, he sat down on a stool next to her.

"Hey."
William
In the aftermath of waking up, Akvilė found herself simply staring at the ceiling, wondering whether or not she made the right move in pushing herself so far overboard.

Every perforation in her body hurt. The holes along her hands, up her elbows, back and shoulders, back of the neck. Head to toe was a dull pain, and it had a searing pain when she first woke up. Rabbits never screeched unless they were in the harshest of duress, yet she had, once when the roof first began to collapse and Palankumą's spirit drove all that she had within her out and once when she woke up and the entirety of what happened singed her consciousness and body so intensely she'd have thrashed were it not for the morphine being pumped in. She was still staring at the ceiling in an opioid haze when someone who clearly wasn't a nurse walked in. She had barely a moment to tilt her head down before–

**"Hey."**

*Maxwell.* She recognized his face and demeanour from the library a couple weeks previous, but in the moment she couldn't remember a thing, save for that he appreciated the works of Ray Bradbury. Craning her neck down, she leaned her head as well and eventually made about as close to eye contact as could be had given all her bandaging and miracles of medicine keeping her alive. For a moment she thought of Amelie, who'd been in a similar spot, and felt tears well up. Was she okay? Was she even in the complex when shit hit the fan? She hadn't even heard from her in a while. Perhaps this wasn't the time.

"H... Hi." She weakly answered, coughing lightly. She looked oddly at peace despite how thoroughly she'd overworked her powers. "Maxwell? I-I recognize the... Um. I don't forget faces." She continued at a leisurely clip, seemingly declawed. In any other circumstance she'd have been cold, distant, almost like a reverse Spaniard – *Revoke God or face hellfire,* Or something of the sort. Here in the soft light of the hospital, though, she seemed uninterested in spitting insults, or snide comments, or anything. Really, it looked like she was sad.

"Uhm... H-how are... Things? At Cradle? Are they..." She coughed, pretty intensely for a moment, before simply falling quiet and hoping the lad could piece together the rest.
Delia
"They're stable," Maxwell answered, smiling sheepishly. "They got everyone out. Everyone's pets, too. You're the only one who got hurt, I think." Not that that would be any consolation.

Coincidentally, Akvilė's appreciation for the works of Ray Bradbury was also the main thing Maxwell remembered about her. That, and she was in the hospital. He'd been in and out of hospitals a lot, and he knew exactly what it was like. Unpleasant, mostly. The food sucked, and there was nothing to do.

Maxwell hadn't brought food, but he had brought something to do. Once the dust had settled, he went back in and grabbed it — it could be charitably described as a *Tome,* Nearly the size of the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy. The cover read, simply, *The Stories of Ray Bradbury.*

"I've been in and out of hospitals a lot," He began, a little nervously, "And I know how boring it gets, so... I brought something." He placed the book down gently, close enough that Akvilė could reach it but not close enough to be in the way.

The whole situation felt a little awkward. He didn't know her *That* Well. But she was practically the only one he knew anything of at all, so when she got hurt, that felt like it meant something. Still, he didn't want to bug her too much. He felt like he was intruding already.
William
"Every... One, um... Got out?" Even in the sunshine her voice hung heavy with uncertainty and nerves, so with a hurricane recently blowing through she was about as composed as the southern town bowled over by it. "I see. Cool."

Laid in the bed, she had no idea what Max had dropped by for. Simply a visit? Making sure the one person unluckily injured in the mess was alive? Was it– *Oh.* She felt a dip form in her bed as the hefty tome was dropped near one edge, depressing the bedsheet and mattress until it appeared she'd sat in that exact spot for an eternity and an extra ten years for spare change, and she let the faintest of smiles spread across her lips. It was thoughtful. It was up her alley. It was perhaps the heaviest book she'd seen in a while. Maybe this church boy wasn't so bad.

"Th-thank you." She weakly replied, partially a sputter before she hocked a little bit of leftover bloody phlegm onto her bed. "H-hospitals are... Yeah. They are, uhm... Boring. Yes. Not first rodeo. Second." She continued, effectively rigid in her bed as her eyes fixed themselves anywhere that wasn't Maxwell's face or frame. "Maybe... M-maybe less than you, but the mind numbs its- numbs itself the same. This book should... It should help. Yes."

She fell silent, and her face betrayed the clicking of gears in her skull.

"Could you, uhm... G-go ask nurses for some water? It's... It's tough to reach the- the button... And I'm parched."
Delia
Maxwell didn't read too closely into the look on Akvilė's face, or her request. He just nodded and went to flag down a nurse.
William
And the nurse was rather receptive, thankfully.

While Max was out, though, Akvilė reached out in a pained jerky motion, pawing at the book the best she could given her rigid rigging. She clenched her hand along the hardcover, tried her best to get a grip on the book, anything to avoid having to sit up again. After what felt like an eternity but was really a minute she managed to topple the book top over bottom towards herself, letting out a sedated grunt as it smacked against her ribs. She reached down the best she could and flipped it open.

She'd never had this particular collection in her hands, and she already felt a weight off her shoulders as she realized she'd at least have *Something* To do while recuperating.
Delia
When Maxwell returned, he found Akvilė holding the heavy book in an awkward, unnatural position. She looked uncomfortable, but Maxwell wasn't sure if he should say something. So he didn't. In fact, he wasn't really sure what to say about anything at all — while Akvilė was the only person he knew *Of,* He didn't *Know* Her. Anything he might say seemed too personal, or too centered on him.

So as he returned, rather than say anything, he quietly moved the book to a more comfortable spot, then sat down on a stool next to the bed and just... Sat there, silently.
William
As Maxwell walked back in she glanced up, made eye contact for a brief moment, and quickly fixed her eyes on the doorframe out of a deep-seated awkwardness.

"Th-thank you... Thanks." She spoke in a pained voice, looking down from her uncomfortable half-mast sitting position and staring at the cup of water. Just as she'd reached out for the book she reached out for the water, stretching as far as she could until fingertips met Dixie cup. She grabbed the cup with a tender nerve-splitting grip, brought it to her lips, and took one sip before chugging the rest of it like a dehydrated sponge. "It hits the... The, uhm... Need?"

A moment of silence passed as she chewed on her own peculiar wording, spitting it out once she found it left a slimy texture on the inside of her mouth. Or maybe that was just her saliva glands kickstarted by the cup of water she'd just gulped down.

"So... H-how did you know where to..." She broke into a cough, wincing each time her chest slammed on itself and every time her stomach sucked into her abdomen and every time her shoulders recoiled. "Find me? I mean as in hospital. Th-there are a... Um, a few, no? And-and why?"
Delia
Maxwell winced a little with Akvilė as she coughed. It looked painful.

"I, uh... I think this is the only hospital in town," He replied hesitantly, "And besides, this was the one I went to last time I needed to go, so... Seemed like you'd probably be here, I guess." He shrugged.

The *Why* Was a bit harder. He could barely justify it to himself. This was quite literally his second interaction with Akvilė, *Ever.* But he didn't know anyone else any better, really. He thought about his response for a moment, before deciding to not respond at all unless Akvilė insisted. Just to give himself more time to think.
William
Akvilė quietly listened as Max spoke. It was weird to put any stock in what a Christian was saying, but she listened regardless, perhaps too worn out from the evening prior's mess and the boredom of being stuck in a hospital alone to really contest her company. She'd hoped for a break in the monotony; beggars couldn't be choosers.

"I-I see." She replied, quietly as always. She dropped the cup onto her bed and relaxed, shifting about in a cavalcade of pain until she found a half-comfortable position that didn't *Also* Set half the pinholes in her body ablaze. She wasn't quite sure of what else to say, though, so like Maxwell she let silence descend over the hospital room, the beeping and whirring of machinery all that kept the air from going entirely stagnant and noxious.

"But, uhm... Y-you mentioned hospital. Your hands. They had– they had stigmata at library." She broke the silence with the only reasonable topic she could conceive. "Are they, um... Well now? And- and what was the cause?"

She placed one hand on the back of her other and nervously kneaded the bones running along the backside. Making conversation with people she barely knew always tripped her up, and while she knew this was the only way out it still proved tough to make that leap, pop a question, do anything other than be an awkward outcast.
Delia
"I think so." Maxwell opened his palm, revealing a small, dark spot — like a bruise — where the open wound had been. He rubbed it and frowned a little — it was still sore. "I don't really know what's causing it, but I've been having wounds open up like that for a while. It's why I'm at Newton's Cradle." 

He didn't actually know what that said about him, or the cause of his wounds.

"I, uh... They told me to go back there and tell them if it ever happens. So that's why I had to run like that. If they hadn't, I probably would've just bandaged it." He chuckled a little awkwardly. He was usually better with conversation, with elegant little gifts and benign small talk, but the situation he'd put himself in was difficult. There was no way it *Wasn't* Going to be awkward. It sucked.
William
She said nothing at first. A nod sufficed, or at least she hoped it would. 

Maxwell seemed rigid, clammy, *Awkward.* At least, it seemed that way to her, and she tended to have unusual intuition when it came to reading others. She wasn't exactly sure, and honestly was too drained to really think on it much. Perhaps he simply knew what she thought of Catholics. Maybe he just felt awkward as a boy visiting an adult. Whatever it was he was there, and she was less lonesome for it, if only a smidge. The natural discomfort of socializing, bugs under her skin and cold sweat down her neck, was never far behind, announcing its presence with footsteps rather than a shout.

"Oh? Y-yes. Better if you come here." She spoke. "As, uhm... Someone who- who has been in the place, it is... It's no fun." She continued, her eyes nervously peering around as always and her words deliberate in pronunciation. "I-I caused a man to die to get– to get sent here, an-and now here I am. Only, uh... Alive by grace of Dievas. Karmic."
Delia
"Someone died?" Maxwell swallowed the lump in his throat. "I've heard that a lot. Maybe someone dies, or you attack someone, or something, and then you have to come here. It feels weird to be here because I'm sick. I don't fit in at all. It's like I'm not supposed to be here."

Maxwell paused. The idle humming and beeping of machines in the background broke up the silence.

"I saw your injuries," He admitted. "The way your body turned itself inside out like that, I don't know how else to explain it — it just seemed... Familiar. And I don't know why." The feeling of deja vu was nagging at Maxwell in all the worst ways. He had hoped for some sort of resolution, he realized, but in retrospect he should have realized that visiting Akvilė wouldn't help.
William
"Yes." She replied. "B-but it isn't nebulous claim. I." The mental image lodged in her throat. It was admittedly still weird to think about. "I-I watched him clutch his... Chest. Is that, um... How it's called in English? I forget."

She waited for the confirmation, and kept on talking. 

"He, um... Dropped, while clutching his... His chest. Like a stone into the river. I saw Giltinė steal his soul right in- right in front of me. Realistically, um... Maybe a killer an-and an ill child shouldn't be in the same room, but Cradle is weird, no?"

Satisfied with the point she felt she'd made – especially in her wording – she fell quiet, let Max speak, heard those familiar descriptions of her stomach-churning powers. Inside-out body, blood everywhere, alive by the grace of adrenaline. It was a sight that petrified people or terrified them or convinced them so surely of demonic possession that she found herself having to flee town once more. In a way she wished she could just be normal, not be marionette and master, pulling her own strings and quite literally holding herself alive.

But life wasn't so kind, and she had to deal with the cards she'd been dealt.

*"Familiar?"* Akvilė's voice pitched up slightly in surprise, an unexpected strain on her throat met with a ragged coughing fit. "I-I hope not, but you, um... You do have those sores. Perhaps your insides are as fucked as... As mine are?"
Delia
"Or more," Maxwell replied. "The doctors always looked shocked when I got scans and stuff. But I don't think they ever figured out what it was." He paused for a few seconds. "My parents didn't let them cut me open just to look."

He wasn't really sure how he felt about that. Part of him just wanted to *Know,* But he still trusted his parents' judgement — maybe they had good reasons not to let the doctors operate.

"I guess I was hoping to learn something, but I figure that's probably not gonna happen," He said. "Sorry to impose on you, I guess."
William
Akvilė listened as Max spoke, and quietly wished she had some sort of sage advice for him from one mutant to another. She didn't, though. Hospitals on their own were still a relatively new concept to her. Quietly she sighed, muffled slightly by her face now being partially pressed into her pillow. 

"I, um... I-I don't *Blame* Them." She spoke, words passed through a thin cotton filter like many a cup of coffee in Poland. Sasha had bought a fuckmassive bag of cotton balls before they had ever met, and somehow they made it work as filters for all the coffee they drank. *Sasha.* Her expression took a downturn into wistful tiredness, and she glanced at her phone. The natural exhaustion of her entire body trying to heal at once had hung cinder blocks from the lids of her eyes, and the longer she resisted the more it ached. So as Max spoke she barely caught the former and was blessedly relieved to hear the latter.

However, she wasn't cruel, nor careless. He had come out of his way to check up on an almost literal stranger. Maybe there was a nugget of goodness in his heathen heart that deserved recognition. She was too tired to really dwell on the ramifications of being at all tolerant of an out-and-proud Christian.

"Uhm... Max?"

For a moment she gathered her words, her thoughts, what lights still flickered behind her eyes. It was clear she was already starting to slip into a nap. Then she found them, lost somewhere in the depths of her injured brain.

"Th-thank you. For visit. I'll, um... When I'm– when out I will see you. Bus runs in... Um... Eight minutes. Hurry."

With those words she sank into her bed and closed her eyes. It wasn't instantly lights out, but it was close enough. She had said a lot and had a lot of shit happen. She needed a nap.
Delia
"Alright. See you."