You shift the mirror around, checking your visage from every angle to be sure that you face is intact. You breathe a sigh of relief. Despite a weird feeling accompanied by nausea and aches pulsing through your skull, there is nothing that needs plastic surgery. You glide a hand across your jawline, going up the cheek and running your fingers through your hairline. Your hand then drops down to feel your chest and ribs and despite the pain from before, there is no damage that can seen. Everything is in place. In fact, you're so glad that there is not a scratch on you that you just have to compliment yourself.
"Looking good," you smile to your reflection before handing the mirror back to the mouse. "I was expecting my face to be hamburger."
Sister Buttercup tilts her head quizzically, but smiles warmly as she takes the mirror and replaces it on the bedside table. "You must have suffered quite a shock to your head. Are you alright?"
"Yeah, I think so. Just feeling a little fuzzy and light up here," you tell her, putting your palms to your temples in emphasis, "like I've just lost my mind!"
The little mouse girl giggles when you squawk mirthfully. "It can sometimes happen that the injuries causing death will carry over to to a revival's new life. That is why you may be weak or in any pain after your revived," she explains to you with a concerned smile, adding, "--and why you may be dazed. I would venture to assume that you received quite a blow to the head?"
"Well, uh, yeah. Something like that. . ." you kind of drift off for a moment when she mentions something about death and revival, but seem to recall something involving a heavy impact. But death? You feel too. . .alive to be dead, everything seems to vivid to be death, or at least compared to your nebulous ideas of death, so you ask, " 'Causing death'? 'New life'? Are you saying I'm dead?"
"Well, you did die, yes, but have been revived in the nearby river. You are quite obviously a Dead Fan; surely this isn't the first time you have been revived, unless you. . ." the little mouse suddenly halts her explanation and places a paw over her maw, expression growing apologetic. "Unless you just died. Oh, I apologize, (your name here), I didn't mean to be insensitive."
"No need, little Sister," you assure the little mouse, "I figure I'm gonna be out of the loop for a while. In fact, now that I think about it, I'm surprised you're not overreacting to the difference in, uhm," you search for the words as your arms motion to you, Sister Buttercup and back, "species."
Put at ease by your chummy disposition, Buttercup explains, "I suppose it might be because Dead Fans will sometimes speak of their former lives as humans, but this is the first time a human has been brought to the abbey. Nevertheless, the mice at Redwall Abbey are sworn to care for travelers and revivers until they recover." She puts a clawed digit to her chin at she mulls a thought over. "Though, I suppose the abbots and abbesses will need to convene on the matter of your treatment after three days of your staying at Redwall."
"Hey, you make that sound as if I can expect a hazing," you accuse with a tongue in cheek, the facade of a piercing gaze falling when you imagine a throng of student's with paddles smacking you across the rear as you march to the other side of a room, and a smile cracks across your lips and you chuckle, "Ah, freshman year. Those were good days."
"Yes, well, that is simply a matter of business," she replies nonchalantly, "between Vermin and Woodlanders, each to their own and so forth. How we let them off helps revivers settle in to their roles. Until then, however," smiles kindly, "is there anything I can do to make yours a lovely stay at Redwall?"
You think over the kind little mouse's offer, scratching your head in thought. Your cheap wristwatch seems broken, maybe you could ask her for a sundial. The thing said waterproof to fifty yards and it couldn't handle. . .however deep is the Moss. Though being carried over here let you drip-dry a bit, your clothes are still soaking. Your shoes are completely logged, shirt and pants are clinging uncomfortably to your skin, and your underwear are beginning to chafe. Which gave you the idea.
"You wouldn't happen to have a spare pair of underwear, would you?" You look her up and down, noting the minimalistic outfit of a habit, white apron and bonnet. Maybe they don't even have undergarments, for all you know. ". . .Or does everyone 'go commando' around here?"
Sister Buttercup once again stares, completely lost as you wait for an answer. "I'm not sure---"
"Because I'm totally cool with that," you add with a thumbs up.
Her expression goes blank for a moment before she shakes her head, "I will see what I can arrange for you." And with that, the little mouse hurries off.
Once Buttercup disappears around the doorway, you lie back and stretch your arms and legs out, way over the head and foot of the bead, your frame clearly too tall for the frame made for critters slightly bigger than a mouse. Popping your neck some with a twist to the left and a twist to the right to get that kink out gets you feeling much better already. You let your limbs fall down limply over the sides of the bed while you get to thinking that some shut-eye might not be such a bad idea right now.
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