skaikru | inbox @ comesailaway

Generally, messing around with medicines to make them tasty can make them less effective. Why fix what works? ( she doesn't even come from a world that flavors kids medicines okay, or even has much left in its own infirmary. these little tablets are a godsend by clarke griffin's standards. )

They're only difficult because you're not used to them, and they should work just fine. You're only human. ( very magically gifted, but still purple human in the end. ) It's not going to make you feel instantly better, but it'll help you not feel worse.

( she's going to carefully watch rita take each of those three pills, but then moves to stand and begin making good on her promise to leave the other girl to rest. first thing's first, though, she finds the rooms wastebasket and dumps any stray contents on the floor — those can be picked up later — then brings the little bin to the immediate side of rita's bed. nestles it between end table and edge of the covers, just in case. )

Because they're stupid.

[It's the only comeback she's capable of making right now. Does she mean the medicines are stupid or the manufacturers? Maybe both. Maybe she just needs to complain as if that will somehow make her feel better.

She does manage to hum a reluctant acknowledgement, and once the pills are all down--and maybe reluctantly noticing her stomach is surprisingly, actually a tad more settled after the saltines--starts burrowing herself back into bed. She does peek at Clarke when she hears the rustling, at first confused, and then understanding dawns. She's really...thinking of everything, huh? Rita pulls the covers up but mumbles-]

......Thanks.

( makeshift puke can set up, clarke briefly pauses to survey the scene. rita's snuggling back into bed, there's still some water in that bottle and extra saltines on the bedside table next to her. there's ibuprofen and dramamine, and she trusts the other girl can read the instructions if she decides she needs more. there's gatorade, the toilet's flushed, rita brushed her teeth to get the corrosive bile off them and the taste out of her mouth, her phone's spotted and deemed accessible...

yeah. yeah, that's about all she can do here.

pulled from mental tally by the finality of these preparations, clarke catches the quiet thanks and offers the limp of blankets that is rita a small smile. ) Don't mention it. Text me if you're dying.

( and with that, turns to leave. )

[She peeks out from the blankets at Clarke's retreating back. She really did...quite a bit to help, and she didn't need to do anything at all, much less...all of this.]

...I'm mentioning it. Thanks.

[Maybe she'd come up with something smarter if her head wasn't still trying to explode. But since that's not the case, that's the awkward response Clarke gets, and then Rita pulls the blanket over her face again.

Beddy time.]

( get good beddy time, rita. know your second mention was heard and, honestly, appreciated even if clarke doesn't stop her unimpeded escape from cabin 110. maybe pauses at the door to look over her shoulder one more time, but will be backlit by the lamps in the hallway to the point the other girl couldn't see the subsequent small smile even if she unearthed her face from blankets.

you're welcome, rita.

then the door will quietly close behind her, and clarke will leave her to sleeping off a hangover. )

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