The chicken soup moment with vertigo attack (non-Brit-picked, so something may have fallen through the cracks):
Seward lurched sideways when he moved from the bed too quickly. Mina was at his side as he sank down onto the side of the bed and covered his eyes. He took two deep breaths, and the world righted itself. “It was just a mild touch of vertigo, Mina,” he said when he could look up again.
He had lost so much blood, Mina realised. She had recurring thoughts that he would surely fall and strike his head before they could ever reach the stairs. He was already in a bad way.
“You need to eat, John, but only if you can,” Mina softly pointed out before he protested. She directed his gaze to his desk; upon it was a small saucer with a dainty cup of tea placed on it. Beside that, a bowl of chicken broth was cooling beneath a towel. “I did not even have to ask for it, or leave you alone in this room; your cook brought it, when he heard an abridged version of the events between you and Jonathan from the housekeeper. He only knew you were resting. All seemed to understand that you wouldn’t desire something too heavy for your stomach at this hour.”
He nodded uncertainly, but was touched. It was thoughtful of them, and Mina must have kept it almost warm by its placement near the fire. Seward wondered one thing, though. From where did his lack of appetite originate? Was it from the bite, or the shock, or from his personal knowledge of the way the cook occasionally ruined even the simplest of meals? What could he have possibly done to ruin chicken broth?
“There’s just enough time,” he mused. Mina was right, but he mustn't eat and run. He could sit here and quickly eat all that he could stomach; sipping it as he ran from one place to the next was simply crass.
It wasn’t truly a test, but she felt he should have something in his stomach before they went up against something frightful. She saw a struggle on his face, as though he would argue.
He gave in at last with a sigh and a small rueful smile, and stretched out one gloved hand for the spoon. Mina placed it carefully in his palm, mindful of causing him further pain.
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Seward lurched sideways when he moved from the bed too quickly. Mina was at his side as he sank down onto the side of the bed and covered his eyes. He took two deep breaths, and the world righted itself. “It was just a mild touch of vertigo, Mina,” he said when he could look up again.
He had lost so much blood, Mina realised. She had recurring thoughts that he would surely fall and strike his head before they could ever reach the stairs. He was already in a bad way.
“You need to eat, John, but only if you can,” Mina softly pointed out before he protested. She directed his gaze to his desk; upon it was a small saucer with a dainty cup of tea placed on it. Beside that, a bowl of chicken broth was cooling beneath a towel. “I did not even have to ask for it, or leave you alone in this room; your cook brought it, when he heard an abridged version of the events between you and Jonathan from the housekeeper. He only knew you were resting. All seemed to understand that you wouldn’t desire something too heavy for your stomach at this hour.”
He nodded uncertainly, but was touched. It was thoughtful of them, and Mina must have kept it almost warm by its placement near the fire. Seward wondered one thing, though. From where did his lack of appetite originate? Was it from the bite, or the shock, or from his personal knowledge of the way the cook occasionally ruined even the simplest of meals? What could he have possibly done to ruin chicken broth?
“There’s just enough time,” he mused. Mina was right, but he mustn't eat and run. He could sit here and quickly eat all that he could stomach; sipping it as he ran from one place to the next was simply crass.
It wasn’t truly a test, but she felt he should have something in his stomach before they went up against something frightful. She saw a struggle on his face, as though he would argue.
He gave in at last with a sigh and a small rueful smile, and stretched out one gloved hand for the spoon. Mina placed it carefully in his palm, mindful of causing him further pain.