[h3]Nazca Whitehall[/h3][i]Clockwork Autumn[/i]

Nazca sighed. She had gone through most of the day in a pain-addled daze, still processing the events of what had –apparently—happened to her the previous evening. Although she appreciated the visit of a choice few people, the adopted Abayalan had grown increasing irritated as the day wore on. 

Although her frustration about her hospitalization and inability to put words to action had a hand in it, much of it had to do with her supposed visitors. Aside from the initial batch, Ryuuko, who had brought her to the hospital, and the rest of the scratch investigation team, none of the following visitors had done anything to improve her mood. Not a single one of those ‘visitors’ had even seen fit to even mention even the murmuring of an offer of sympathy. Being visited for an ulterior purpose was one thing—the treatment she had received was another. She was incredulous at the audacity of some people—supposedly civilized people that lacked even basic decency and propriety. 

One of them even had the gall to try and pry trade information about her own craft from her, right in her own hospital room, if Bang hadn’t stopped her. And like everybody else, she hadn’t even offered a single word of condolence. Not even a single flower or pastry to try to soften her up.

The audacity of that bitch!

She still had words for the Vietnamese student as well over their differences of opinion, but at least he was gentlemanly.

So naturally, once everybody had left to do their things for the rest of the day, Nazca sat stewing in her hospital bed, with only pain and some books borrowed from the hospital waiting room for company. 

When she was informed that she had yet another visitor –Where was the phone call?—Nazca couldn’t help but to scowl, but she schooled her face into a neutral one before the door swung open. 

The visitor was not somebody that she had expected to see, and the bedridden girl couldn’t help but to raise her eyebrows at Maximillien Robespierre and his ever so slightly more casual sartorial dress. Her eyes roamed over to the woven basket in his hand, decorated with a bouquet and accompanied by the pleasant puff of freshly prepared food. 

Another person here with an ulterior motive, then. At least this one knew what he was doing. Perhaps, then, she would not kick him out like the others.

[b]“Good afternoon, Mr. Robespierre,”[/b] she greeted, sitting up slightly in her bed. [b]“The gesture is appreciated, thank you. You would be surprised to know how many others that have been here today lack even basic social etiquette."[/b] Shifting positions slightly, wincing slightly as she did so, she then looked him in the eye. [b]“I assume, however, that this is not a social visit?”[/b]