The Scarecrow had the best intentions in the night: determined thoughts of leaving his room, wandering the hallways until he either found or thought of a cure for the infection, ridding himself of it, then making as much progress as he could toward one of his many goals. They needed to find a way out; they all had friends they had lost, ones who needed help because they were bewitched by Wizard Landel. He wasn't sure how to help them with his brain as muddled as it was from what he could only assume were effects of the sickness, but he was sure if he put his human mind to it, he could accomplish anything. He was getting nowhere by not trying, right?
He was also getting nowhere when he ended up staying in his room all night, weariness having set into him in the day, robbing him of even the strength to walk. The same exhaustion pushed through until the morning- though the day was early, he could already feel his limbs fighting against him, his stomach grumbling for reasons unknown. He had a hard enough time distinguishing the various sensations of the human body from one another, which wasn't entirely surprising given his unfamiliarity with them. His bare feet on the floor had once felt so pleasing in a way he couldn't describe- that sensation no longer seemed to be there as he was instead riddled with one that left him sweating almost constantly, his breath unsteady as if he'd been running from one of the witches of Landel's, body trembling nearly all the time.
The nurse gave him the same sad look she'd given him when she'd left him at his door the night before, offering him a few pills to take with his breakfast- he took them with a brave smile, scratching idly at his arm as he wondered what that strange gurgling sensation in his middle was. She wore a lighter mood that day, a small and hopeful smile on her lips as she'd found something— correction, someone— who might cheer him up, despite his fatigue. She collected a few items for him onto his breakfast tray, insisting he stay away from the food, chattering as she came back to him.
"Now you take a seat with your friend Mr. Irons," she offered, setting his tray on the table. "You remember him, don't you?"
Even before she asked, the Scarecrow was sliding into his seat, a smile wearing its way into him. The nurse hummed as she wandered away, pleased to see her sickly ward so lively for a change.
"Scar!" he said hoarsely, voice raspy. He would have hugged the former lion had there not been a table in the way. "And here I thought I might never see you again!"
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He was also getting nowhere when he ended up staying in his room all night, weariness having set into him in the day, robbing him of even the strength to walk. The same exhaustion pushed through until the morning- though the day was early, he could already feel his limbs fighting against him, his stomach grumbling for reasons unknown. He had a hard enough time distinguishing the various sensations of the human body from one another, which wasn't entirely surprising given his unfamiliarity with them. His bare feet on the floor had once felt so pleasing in a way he couldn't describe- that sensation no longer seemed to be there as he was instead riddled with one that left him sweating almost constantly, his breath unsteady as if he'd been running from one of the witches of Landel's, body trembling nearly all the time.
The nurse gave him the same sad look she'd given him when she'd left him at his door the night before, offering him a few pills to take with his breakfast- he took them with a brave smile, scratching idly at his arm as he wondered what that strange gurgling sensation in his middle was. She wore a lighter mood that day, a small and hopeful smile on her lips as she'd found something— correction, someone— who might cheer him up, despite his fatigue. She collected a few items for him onto his breakfast tray, insisting he stay away from the food, chattering as she came back to him.
"Now you take a seat with your friend Mr. Irons," she offered, setting his tray on the table. "You remember him, don't you?"
Even before she asked, the Scarecrow was sliding into his seat, a smile wearing its way into him. The nurse hummed as she wandered away, pleased to see her sickly ward so lively for a change.
"Scar!" he said hoarsely, voice raspy. He would have hugged the former lion had there not been a table in the way. "And here I thought I might never see you again!"