(no subject)

When it comes down to it, she's unreasonably angry at nothing.

She's just plain angry.

Which, if she were the sort for self-analysis, she could probably chalk up as it being easier to be angry than it is to admit that she's feeling scared. Or worried. Or guilty. Or some horrible combination of all of those things at once.

But she's Yvaine. So she's angry.

She's angry as the door slams behind them and she's angry as she settles Tristran into the bed (gently, mind you, with a great deal more care than the bothers with for anything) and she's still angry when the door slams behind her once more on her way back downstairs.

All the wild, desparate energy abandons her when she's on her own again - dirty and dim and wildly frazzled. She takes a moment to slump down in front of the Bar - face in her hands, eyes shut tight, breathing slow and strained - before a quiet request for 'Something to make it not hurt, please.' gains her a couple of pills, a glass of water, and another trip up the stairs.

The door doesn't slam this time. Just in case he's sleeping.