Yolanda dried her hands on her jeans and wandered away from the sink pacing then turning around on her booted heel, already on edge and bored. There was a sound at the door and she glanced up, seeing an orderly tapping what appeared to be a nightstick against the bars. She backed away from the door and leaned against the opposite wall, taking a guess that that was protocol when a orderly entered a patient's room.

There was the sound of jangling keys and a lock turning with some difficulty before the door was opened and the man walked in accompanied by another, a bundle of clothes in one hand and the nightstick in the other. He walked slowly over to the bed and set down the clothes, which had a set of white canvas shoes on top. 

"This is what you wear, got it?" The orderly spoke loudly and slowly, as if his words weren't lost in translation but Yolanda was merely hard of hearing. She had the urge to knee him right in his stomach. Yolanda resisted the urge.

"You change into these clothes, okay? Take off what you are wearing and wear these."

Yolanda grimaced. She knew being able to wear what she wanted would be out of the question. What self respecting hell hole would allow such a luxury? Looking at the orderly who had spoken, she made an expression of exaggerated understanding before walking over to the bed and turning away from the two as she pulled the singlet over her head.

Her tattoo could now be seen fully, only interrupted briefly by part of her bra. The battling angel and demon were more clear now, both equally bloody. One of the angel's wings appeared damaged as his body gushed with blood, hands gripping the arms of the demon, who in turn had a long cut running across his chest, the rest of his body covered in blood. A horn appeared to have been snapped off.

The reaching, shadowy hands gripped the ankle of the angel, perhaps attempting to hinder him, while others still seemed to try and hold up the demon as flames roared up the sides. One of the orderlies made a sound, a cross between a noise of admiration and disgust.

"This one is completely fucked up. She's probably been speaking straight Devil language this whole time."

Yolanda, still facing away, rolled her eyes. She put on a plain white shirt that was a little big for her before slipping off her boots and jeans, replacing them with white pants and the canvas shoes. The orderlies collected her things, one watching her as the other opened the door. They stepped out and there was the sound of the door being locked before there was once again silence.