[b]Gratia Mindaro[/b]

"[color=66cd00]Oh, you're awake.[/color]"

Gratia stepped into the brilliant white infirmary, the dull black of her turtleneck sweater a stark contrast to the appearance of the room. Her onyx eyes clinically observed her surroundings, the dispassionate gaze picking through every nook and cranny. A thermos was hefted in one arm, while a plastic-covered sandwich roll, steam sticking to its transparent surface, rested comfortably in the other. There was, despite the general aura of chilly stoicism, a certain air of satisfaction or relief about her; barely noticeable to even those who knew her, but it was one that was usually not expected of a girl who had only recently brought down her wrath upon the Dodici Cosca.

"[color=66cd00]You look like fucking shit,[/color]" she stated bluntly as she approached Nuit's bed, any visible emotion once more clamped shut. "[color=66cd00]Like a starving cow wasting away on its own fat and faeces.[/color]"

There was no emotion in her words whatsoever, but the Mistralese huntress gently sat down beside her teammate's bedside, handing over the wrapped sandwich roll with little fanfare. The thermos lid was popped off, and the scent of a soup wafted through the air. 

"[color=66cd00]Eat up Nuit. I don't have the time to find you some asshole taxidermist to stuff you if you turn into a fucking skeleton.[/color]"