[ the scent of blood fills the air like smoke, thick and choking. she's hungry, and laura is bleeding — it's too much, and she's been too greedy lately. what little restraint she had has ebbed away, replaced by complacency and hunger; it takes all of caroline's effort to wrap one slim hand around a metal post on a set of shelves, squeezing tight until the edges begin to press into her own hand.

it's only the scent of copper coming from her skin that startles caroline out of her reverie. her own blood bubbles up, dripping splish splash one two onto the concrete floors.

gross. but. also practical? caroline holds out her hand, a jerky, unrefined motion that's as thoughtless as it looks. ]

I need a cup. A — a measuring cup, something.

[ laura just stares at her, because that's the normal reaction, and so caroline naturally flies back into her normal whirlwind of activity, rustling with her unblemished hand through shelves and bags and boxes until she finds a cap from a children's medicine container. holding the cap up to her skin, caroline flexes her now-bleeding palm until an ounce or two fills in; only then does she replace her outstretched hand with the cap itself, a proffered dose. ]

Here. It'll, um. It'll help you. I know it sounds weird, but it's. It's a weird thing, I don't know, I figured it out after the dreams? I bled on somebody in a dream and they got better, and I guess it works here too? Somehow?

[ that sounds plausible, right? probably not, but it's caroline's knee jerk lie. please note: she is a horrible liar. ]