"Dunno."
Boring, that's the wrong answer.
Etna left, and Andrew decided to ignore her. It seemed that she wouldn't give him any fun reactions unless he tried harder. If he had the right approach, he could even make her cry.
Is that a bad thing? She does need to learn to act more decently, so I don't think it's too much. Besides, she started it.
He then finished his breakfast, and went back to his bed, lying on it so he faced the ceiling. His side ached as he did, it had started to hurt badly again. Andrew put a hand on it, but despite noticing a faint flow of power, nothing seemed to get fixed.
I guess it's more morphine for me.
He had to get something else than morphine soon, he knew the risks by using it. For now, he gave himself another dose, a small one, and kept waiting, either for something to happen, or for it to start working.
It's a good thing I was carrying this around.
Or... was it? He didn't like where his thoughts were going. Back to the hospital. Back to the feeling of holding someones's life in his hand. He belonged in the hospital, right? That was his life, he would save people's lives. So... why was he thinking like this? Because his mind was idle? Was it something always there, lying underneath the surface? Andrew wasn't scared, or worried, or anything that even remotely resembled an emotion. However, he still disliked it.
It might come in handy. But I don't want it to be there, I'd rather be off with these thoughts. I'm a healer, not a... killer.
He started breathing calmly, and closed his eyes. Andrew had to divert his thoughts. For a while, he lay there, the tones from the piece he had been humming still clear in his mind, playing through as he remembered the sound of the different keys. If he concentrated hard enough, he could even hear a slight hesitation sometimes, as if his mind was replaying the song on the piano on its own.
Ridiculous. I can't even play the piano.
However, it didn't stop there. Sometimes, he replayed songs played by entire orchestras in his mind. Other times, he created songs from the bottom in his own mind. He did that now, it started with a piano, a dark, melancholic sound. And then, he added the violins and the cellos, like a lingering chill under the surface. Then the flutes, and slowly, the rest of the instruments.
It fit his thoughts, yet had a reassuring sound to it, as the instruments went from C minor to major in a single breath, and the orchestra found a more cheerful tone. He found it a lot easier than before, for some reason. He supposed it might be the morphine, or the recent events. No matter what it was, he hoped it would stay like that.
I suppose this might be a gift from dad too.
Dad? Had he just... no, it had to be something else. He thought Apollo, right? Andrew's musical piece collapsed, but he changed the mess into something new, as he removed the thoughts of Apollo and anything else from his mind.
I should try learning an instrument.