a little place called trust

"I don't believe you one bit," Isla informs Nate with a sunny smile, all the while ushering him into the recovery room. Where he finds the pitcher is beyond her, honestly, but she doesn't try to understand it, busy ensuring the bed is set up as it should be and there's enough in the way of equipment and tools should she need them whilst he's coming around from the surgery. Not that he'll be under anaesthetic. Or unconscious at all. "Well, we'd better get a move on, else an emergency could come up and beat you to it." She grins to him. "Do you want a gown?" Given the nature of the procedure, she's not sure whether Nate would feel more comfortable in his current outfit or if he'd prefer to change into something more official. Is she excited, though? The flash of her eyes as she smiles should tell him all he knows about that, and she pats a stool that she's pulled out towards the centre of the room. "Ready for a haircut? I'll make sure you look fashionable, obviously." Isla the flesh is weak