Isla
It might well feel that way to Wessex - because it almost feels like it to Isla too, at the moment. With the infirmary all but rebuilt from the inside, she's still getting used to the subtle changes, the newness of the furniture and the supplies, and so when the Wraith does walk inside it will be to see Isla leaning down behind the reception desk, searching for a file she was sure had been in her office not a day ago. "Hm?" The blonde head Wessex is searching for pops up soon enough, Isla offering her a polite and sunny smile - it's only sunny because of the file that also appears with her, safely in hand.
"Good evening, Wessex," she greets. "Is there anything I can do for you?" A medic's eye appraises the other woman fleetingly and, finding no immediate signs of injury or urgency on the Wraith's part, assumes that she isn't here for medical attention. Not unless there is some poor soul collapsed outside the infirmary doors that she needs to know about, anyway.
"Good evening, Wessex," she greets. "Is there anything I can do for you?" A medic's eye appraises the other woman fleetingly and, finding no immediate signs of injury or urgency on the Wraith's part, assumes that she isn't here for medical attention. Not unless there is some poor soul collapsed outside the infirmary doors that she needs to know about, anyway.
sooner or later, we all have to wake
and try forgetting everything
and try forgetting everything
