Of Calm Calamities

Of Calm Calamities (7)

The chamomile tea combined with the filling warmth of the soup worked wonders on Childe, and before he knew it, he was asleep again. His dreams were filled with glowing cores of ruin guards and bowls of seafood soup, which to the normal person would seem like a fairly odd combination, but somehow made perfect sense to Childe. When he woke up, it was to the loud sound of people talking to one another, which seemed strange. Zhongli's voice was definitely there, though it was quiet, drowned out by one of higher pitch, and the occasional growl-like word tossed out. Interesting, very interesting, that Zhongli would converse with such... questionable people. Then again, Childe wasn't exactly normal, either, and he wanted to believe that he and the funeral consultant had a very close relationship, so he decided he wouldn't judge just yet.

He managed to sit up on the bed again, noticing that the pain was a little more tolerable than it had been during his last moment of being awake. Maybe his hunger had exaggerated the pain, and now that he'd eaten, it was more or less fine. He gently lifted the hem of his borrowed shirt, prodding the neat bandage with one finger. A red spot bloomed where he'd touched the gauze. Okay, definitely not fine, then. Oh, well. At least he was better than before. He managed to get to his feet without falling or relying too much on the chair that stood just within arm's reach, which he considered to be a huge accomplishment.

Though walking was most definitely a massive pain, it was getting progressively better - he no longer felt like he was about to die with each step, which, in his eyes, was progress. To be fair, though, anything was progress when the standard was 'not being dead', so Childe wasn't sure if his view on his position was just a tad biased. If Zhongli saw him up and about, he'd probably be carried right back to bed, which was understandable, since it literally took Childe's breath away to walk from the bed to the door of the room. Luckily, Zhongli was busy talking to someone very very loud, so Childe was free to be as much of an idiot as he wanted to be.

His time of lying in bed certainly didn't do any good, considering the fact that he was basically marinating in his own sweat from the now-withdrawing fever, but his clothing was more or less fine. His hair, on the other hand... He'd deal with that later. Childe quietly stumbled out of the room, very very glad that there weren't any mirrors in sight. He probably looked as if a carriage ran him over, backed onto him a few times, and then hit him at full speed for good measure, and that would be yet another painful blow to his pride that he absolutely did not want to deal with right now. He'd just see who it was that stole Zhongli's attention from him, and he'd go right back to bed, or maybe attempt to find a bathroom to clean himself up in.

Childe stumbled down the hall in the direction of the voices with about as much grace as an elephant in a shop of delicate ceramics, meaning none at all. It was a wonder how he managed to get through the hall without bumping into the small table that held a vase of silk flowers, or how he didn't fall. He definitely had a few close calls, though each was prevented by the steady support of the wall to his right. By the archons, this was pathetic. Since when was Childe one to be weakened by a single battle? He was a warrior, not the weak little boy that still had nightmares over the Abyss. Partially thanks to the curiosity of knowing who the others were and partially because he refused to stay still, Childe managed to clamber to the door frame that led to what he assumed was a kitchen.

His entrance was by no means the stealthy one he had planned. For one thing, his usually silent steps had been impossibly loud to the point that anyone who didn't hear him would have to be deaf. He also may have stumbled into the corner of the hallway rather than around it, but he'd think about that embarrassment another time. Three pairs of eyes landed on him as Childe grabbed at the bandages to make sure that his failed attempt at being smooth didn't leave him bleeding out, and, much to his content, his head came back perfectly dry. So at least the wound wasn't sensitive enough for a few hits to make it reopen. Still hurt like a bitch, though.