The whole time the food fight was going on, Claire had done a good job of keeping to herself. Maybe if she hadn't been stuck in that haze of discomfort that told her she was still recuperating from the last night's excursion, she would have been more inclined to try and sneak off, but as it stood she was doing everything she could not to fall asleep in her breakfast. That kind of ingenuity and motivation was just a little bit beyond her.
However, there was no wake-up call quite like the hiss of cans of tear gas cracking open and filling the room with the thick, offensive white smoke. Without a gas mask on to filter it out, the gas began to replace the air and, as such, got sucked into her lungs. It didn't so much do its job of irritating them (or, if it did, she couldn't tell because it was just a staunch discomfort the same as regular suffocating had proven to be) as it made her feel like she was choking on the very air she was breathing in.
Suffocating on air -- what a stupid way to die that would be, and as someone who was undeniably an expert on ways to kill yourself, Claire felt justified in thinking so. She reached up to place her hands over her throat as it dispersed, choking and gasping to try and suck in oxygen instead of the offensive gas that was just worsening her condition. The more she sucked in, the darker her vision got, and she felt like she was spinning. It wasn't until the gas had been sucked away through the ventilation system and the staff returned, a nurse helping Claire to her feet (when had she fallen off of her bench and onto the floor?) that she even became aware of the excess of bodily fluids that had poured off of her face and down her front. Great.
She let the nurse pull her up by one arm, her legs still shaky from the light-headedness that had onset so suddenly, and tried to reorient herself with little luck as she scrubbed a hand over her face, then wiped her nose again with the back of her arm. Both sides of her hand then got haphazardly wiped on the side of her sweatpants. It took several minutes for her to get a hold of herself, healing abilities or no healing abilities. The choking was gone as soon as the gas was, but she kept coughing to get it out of her lungs and her nose wouldn't stop running. Augh. At least the nurse was letting her take her dear sweet time getting situated -- apparently, even if they were heartless enough to gas the patients, they at least knew what to expect in the aftermath.
"Emma, perhaps you'd like to get some more rest," the nurse offered, and Claire couldn't help but shoot her a narrow look. Seriously? She wanted to ask. You ask me this now? Taking a moment to lean against the wall of the cafeteria, she set her mind to her conversation with Peter through the bulletin and just shook her head.
"I'm fine," she pulled her arm out of the nurse's grasp gently. She'd seen what had happened to the people who weren't so gentle. She wasn't making that mistake, no matter how unsettling it was to see this girl acting like a Stepford wife when just last night one of them had been out for her blood. Had gotten her blood. Unconsciously, she ran a hand over her abdomen where the scalpels had carved her skin, now just as flat as the rest of her stomach. "Maybe I could just spend some time in the sun room?" The kittens were supposed to be some kind of relaxing thing for the patients, right? It was hard to argue that it'd be better than a shift locked in her room.
"Of course," and with that compliance, they moved into the expansive sun room through the double doors that joined it with the cafeteria, ignoring as the other girls filtered out towards the greenhouse, and the boys headed … wherever they were going. Claire hadn't really paid attention. She'd been distracted by the way that Lydia acted like it was their fault that they decided to throw in a tear gas bomb. Since when was that an FDA approved treatment method?
1/2 lmao whoops you love me
However, there was no wake-up call quite like the hiss of cans of tear gas cracking open and filling the room with the thick, offensive white smoke. Without a gas mask on to filter it out, the gas began to replace the air and, as such, got sucked into her lungs. It didn't so much do its job of irritating them (or, if it did, she couldn't tell because it was just a staunch discomfort the same as regular suffocating had proven to be) as it made her feel like she was choking on the very air she was breathing in.
Suffocating on air -- what a stupid way to die that would be, and as someone who was undeniably an expert on ways to kill yourself, Claire felt justified in thinking so. She reached up to place her hands over her throat as it dispersed, choking and gasping to try and suck in oxygen instead of the offensive gas that was just worsening her condition. The more she sucked in, the darker her vision got, and she felt like she was spinning. It wasn't until the gas had been sucked away through the ventilation system and the staff returned, a nurse helping Claire to her feet (when had she fallen off of her bench and onto the floor?) that she even became aware of the excess of bodily fluids that had poured off of her face and down her front. Great.
She let the nurse pull her up by one arm, her legs still shaky from the light-headedness that had onset so suddenly, and tried to reorient herself with little luck as she scrubbed a hand over her face, then wiped her nose again with the back of her arm. Both sides of her hand then got haphazardly wiped on the side of her sweatpants. It took several minutes for her to get a hold of herself, healing abilities or no healing abilities. The choking was gone as soon as the gas was, but she kept coughing to get it out of her lungs and her nose wouldn't stop running. Augh. At least the nurse was letting her take her dear sweet time getting situated -- apparently, even if they were heartless enough to gas the patients, they at least knew what to expect in the aftermath.
"Emma, perhaps you'd like to get some more rest," the nurse offered, and Claire couldn't help but shoot her a narrow look. Seriously? She wanted to ask. You ask me this now? Taking a moment to lean against the wall of the cafeteria, she set her mind to her conversation with Peter through the bulletin and just shook her head.
"I'm fine," she pulled her arm out of the nurse's grasp gently. She'd seen what had happened to the people who weren't so gentle. She wasn't making that mistake, no matter how unsettling it was to see this girl acting like a Stepford wife when just last night one of them had been out for her blood. Had gotten her blood. Unconsciously, she ran a hand over her abdomen where the scalpels had carved her skin, now just as flat as the rest of her stomach. "Maybe I could just spend some time in the sun room?" The kittens were supposed to be some kind of relaxing thing for the patients, right? It was hard to argue that it'd be better than a shift locked in her room.
"Of course," and with that compliance, they moved into the expansive sun room through the double doors that joined it with the cafeteria, ignoring as the other girls filtered out towards the greenhouse, and the boys headed … wherever they were going. Claire hadn't really paid attention. She'd been distracted by the way that Lydia acted like it was their fault that they decided to throw in a tear gas bomb. Since when was that an FDA approved treatment method?