Chapter 15: Consolation Prize
The wooden door creaked open. Slippers shuffled zombie-like into a room that was vast, Spartan, and ridiculously pink. A combination blood/IV drip squeaked after them.
Chloe plopped onto her bed, pulled the nightstand close and slammed a glass on it. She immediately regretted it. "Ow! Hand! Tendons! Stitches! Ow!"
She tried to massage it, then remembered her other arm was in a sling and gave up. She pulled the IV/blood drip a bit closer and sat up. "Ow. Back. Ow." She stuffed Mrs. Racoonypuss back there and found, to her delight, that she provided excellent lumbar support.
She poured herself a glass of milk. "Well, no reason it should go to waste!" Altena had said, when she came out of her coma. Chloe really felt like screaming just then, but the doctors advised against it (something about fractures, pierced diaphragms and staples). At least they let her wear her favourite pyjamas, she reflected, although how Alphonse always knew to bring them she'd never know.
She yawned, ignoring the cracking noises her ribs made. Such a long, long, long day, and so much more to do: her report to Altena, the halls to sweep, the new coin to add to her collection. (1) Oh, and Marennes wanted to play CandyLand again. Woman was mad for that game, she thought.
"Eh, do it tomorrow," said the voice in her head. "Now, red mouth needs cookie, badly!"
"For once we agree," she replied. "And I really need to stop doing that," she sighed.
Chloe shut her up with a cookie. She chewed, thoughtfully. "Huh," she thought. "These are pretty good, actually."
"Good cookies make everything better!" cheered a ninja under the bed.
"Oops," said the ninja.
1. Why did you think she picked it up, then?
9999. Author's note: this story was made in response to the fellow who asked for "more Chloe" in Shopping Mission and Swordskill's complaint that there were no good action fics for Noir. The author apologizes to Chloe, and asks that she stop stabbing him now, please?