This was likely to be a mistake, it was. Nobody on duty seemed to have recognized him yet, anyway - family members, or familiar nurses. Fionn could be grateful for that much, and keep his hat low, and his eyes down. Didn’t need a big stir about last time, did he? That unfortunate occasion where he’d ducked out a window, fees unpaid. No, he didn’t need trouble, and anyone knowing him would be that. Didn’t need it at all. Not when he could feel that fever crawling around in his stomach, prickling away those red, angry stitches. Fionn was no bloody doctor, but he wasn’t an entire fool. This was past sleeping off. Or drinking over.
And he’d promised her. Fiona.
So he came along, when the signs did. Signs of infection. He’d nodded along, back in that bar booth, as she’d very dutifully warned him of what to expect - she’d needed to, hadn’t she? The nurse in her. Or the daughter. Both. But he did know. You live a thousand years, and some, in the places he had, the ways he had, and… well, you see things, don’t you? Fionn had lived them, too. More often than he wanted her to know, so. He hadn’t.
Didn’t want to give much thought at all to how often he’d be doing that, in the days to come. When the gravity of guilt pulled him back her way. Guilt, and the memory, the memories, now, of those too-alike eyes. Bright, and hoping.
He paced away from the thought, because he’d sworn not to run, and they wouldn’t let him smoke. Round and round, in that cramped, fluorescent room. Until the warm, sickly ache in his guts and the light and the hours since he’d last had a drink started to go to his head, and set him down, lax-limbed, in the nearest chair. His chest fell, the breath gone out a raggedy, poor thing. Rose. Fell again, then he was squirming, moving about. Pausing, as a woman down the way got curious. Wan, weary, she looked. Well, they were in a fucking hospital. Stood to reason. Fionn gave her a ponder, then - lied, as per usual. With a pained smile, and no malice at all. “Ah, ran with scissors.” He mimed a good stab, two fingers jabbing towards his ribs, down. “I was warned, and all…” With a sigh, and a feeble laugh - at the sheer unlikeliness of his own survival, honestly, had to have a sense of humor about these things - he tried to settle in for the long, long wait. Failed miserably. “How about you, then? Tragic stapler run-in, was it? Ravaged by feral cats? Have to keep an eye out, for those. Sly bastards.”
When the stranger first explains how she got to the hospital, she simply stares at him, save for the small furrowing of her brows, and slowly slouches more into her seat. A look settles on her features, one that shows she doesn’t believe him, but she never says it outright. -- - Well, that’s until she casually blurts out as she reaches for a magazine, “Working here, we learn a lot of lies from patients. ‘ I ran into a doorknob, ’ ‘ I eat a full serving of fruit a day,’ ... ‘I ran with scissors,’”- She peaks over the magazine to gauge the man’s reaction for a quick moment, then decides to look away. “You don’t have to tell me anything, obviously. I just hope that’s not what you plan on telling your doctor. If anything, tell them you got jumped. - Actually, no. Then they’ll bagger you about getting the police involved. Never mind. You actually know what you’re doing. Go with the scissors-thing.” Katia sighs, tossing the magazine back on the table. Her pain medication has definitely kicked in by now which made sense to all of her rambling. Katia was also excited that there was someone here that look just as worse off her.
“Me?” She asks, looking back over to the man. Like him, she wasn’t going to tell the truth. Slowly, a smile graces her lips as she looked away, around the room, in thought. She has to laugh at his suggestions though. Her shoulders shake gently. “No. No feral cats. They are sly, though. Naturally, too. You have to give them that. -- - Sleeping walking. Fell right into a glass table. It’s a miracle I made it out alive.” Katia looks at the man then, keeping a grin. After what had happened with Luke, Katia was a little confused about how she now thought about people. She thought she was a good judge of character, now, that had been slightly skewed, as much as she hated to think it. This man before her now, though... Well, he seemed like fun. A bit of a mess. But she couldn’t talk unless she was going to say the same thing about herself because, without a doubt, she is too.
"You remind me of a thin ivory statue.” She concludes after staring shamelessly at him. Placing an elbow on her armchair, and settling her chin on her closed fists, she looks him over with slightly glazed eyes. Seeing none-the-less. “A disheveled, thin ivory statue.” If Yuri were here he would laugh and steer her away. Katia pouts for a moment. She missed his laugh... But he wasn’t here to save Katia from her nonsense. It was unfortunate for both herself and this sculptured stranger. Katia continues to look at him closer, eyes narrowing gently. Not with hostility. She just trying to place what Fionn reminded her of. “Like an image of silver...” Then, wide eyes and a gasp. “Like the moon. A moonbeam.” Yes. There it was. Pearly skin, wide broody blue eyes, and a sensitive face. Yes. He reminded her of the moon.
