Lita and Adelaide, late afternoon / early evening
Adelaide doesn't know what to think, how to process what has happened here in this place that's supposed to be safe - outside she has no illusions, but at least inside, it's supposed to be safe - and so she doesn't process it, just now. She's been helping where she can straight through since they finally found Sarge and if she's honest that much work is something she's done just about never.
She's weary by the time the doctor catches her eye across the Chapel, but weariness makes her nowhere near as useless as the girl Lita is currently working with. Adelaide hands bandages to the Old Lady next to her with little more than an inclination of her head toward the wound she was dressing, and cuts quickly, efficiently across the space to take hold of the Bitch's upper arm. She'd snap a name, but she hasn't bothered to learn it. "Oh for christ's sake." She guides the girl, not especially gently, to a crate at the foot of the table, and with a hand between her shoulder blades, tips the girl's head down between her knees. "When you can see straight, go on and get some water and then roll some bandages somewhere," she says, hardly pausing a moment to suffer the fool before she is back and her hands are on that leg. Her gloves aren't fresh, but she can see it's more urgent than that. The gray of her eyes is steely, calm and grim, though when she lifts them to Lita they're almost a touch wry. "I swear the Red Cross is pulling their volunteers from eighth grade cheerleading camp these days," she mutters. It's jarring, seeing her here, even more so seeing her here after what she knows of Lita and Jims, and so she deflects.