Viola, Krishna & Calvin | Saturday Afternoon
Viola had barely slept since she'd enacted the quarantine yesterday. She might not have slept at all had it not been for the pharmacist's urging and judgmental glare. He was difficult, certainly, but she was grateful to him nevertheless, if only for taking over the floor while she (grudgingly) slipped away for four hours to take what was really closer to a nap than any sort of deep sleep. Still, it had been more or less refreshing (though not quite so refreshing as the extra-strength coca wine that Tucker had generally sent over from his private store -- at least he was good for something), and ever since she'd returned to the makeshift sick ward a nearly fourteen hours ago, she'd barely been off her feet.
If this experience had shown her nothing else about Aurellian culture, it had at least shown her that this was a people who were willing to volunteer for each other. And that was certainly... admirable. It might have struck her as foolish, had she not known the true nature of the "illness" from which so many were suffering, and illness that she knew (or at least strongly suspected) wouldn't spread. But regardless, the Aurellians who had come out of the woodwork to volunteer in droves had no idea that they were inoculated from the sickness simply by not having had a dose of Faidoux three weeks ago. As far as they were concerned, they knew that they were risking their health, and yet they'd volunteered to clean out bedpans and vomit receptacles anyway. Viola might have been inspired by it, if she had had the energy.
As it was, she was too busy keeping her eye on everything in the ward to feel particularly inspired. Especially when blasted Llewellyn showed and started speaking with her patients in low Aurellian. Given how he'd altered her own brother's medication, she couldn't help but keep him in her line of sight as much as possible, even though it was clear that his presence was more of a help than a hindrance to those present.
During a rare moment of relative peace, she allowed herself to lean against the wall, her eyes catching the pharmacist's. "I don't know," she said, very quietly, low enough that only he would hear, "whether or not I'm hopeful that we're right and all of these symptoms will clear up soon. If they don't..." she shook her head, her fraying curls shaking gently from side to side, letting the thought trail off. "They redesigned the packaging a few months ago," she mused softly. "Maybe that's..." she sighed, letting her train of though break off a second time. She shut her eyes briefly and turned her head toward Krishna. "How are you holding up?"