[ there are a great many reasons lila zacharov should spend a good deal of time in the hospital, but she does not. she leaves almost immediately and she is not subtle about the nurses and doctors she leaves sleeping in her wake, striding out into town in nothing but her hospital gown. she doesn't seem to mind looking like a homeless street urchin either, tangle of silvery-blonde hair an absolute disaster.

she pushes into the first business she finds, pressing her palms against the counter. her voice is a hoarse, low rasp. ] I need your shower. [ presumably not the business' shower? but a shower, their shower. she needs it. ]

And scissors.

[ once showered and with hair freshly shorn into a short halo of platinum, no time is wasted in finding a coffee shop and ordering some kind of sugary mochaccino type concoction. she likes the foam. ]

[ posted at three in the morning: ]

what do you dream about?