Infirmary

Rush rush, hurry hurry. The paramedics were carrying the grungy young woman to one of the beds. She was in bad shape, and none of these simple-minded individuals understood why. The ringed scar on her neck, the blood that had been pooled on the floor, and the blonde-haired man that had been looming over her after dancing with and kissing her, none of it made sense to them why she had passed out without visible injury. You'd think in a world filled with lunatics, fanatics, and all sorts of mytholgical creatures that trained medical personnel would be able to discern the details of a vampire attack. Perhaps they were stuck in the mindset of looking for twin puncture marks?

Catlyn's pale-skinned form was settled onto a table, and immediately tests started being run. A blood sample was taken. She was connected to all sorts of monitoring equipment. The determined cause for loss of consciousness? Extreme blood loss. Fucking duh. They discerned her blood type, and began preparing for a massive blood transfusion.

KB had played his role of a blood-sucking fiend well. He had left her with just the bare minimum count to keep her alive, albeit for only a short time. The medics were afraid they might lose her, and so their actions were even more hurried.

Within Catlyn's unconscious mind, she was still pristine and unaware of the real world. Her thoughts were racing in that empty void KB had created upon his feasting union with her. Her seemingly ever-staring emerald eyes took in the details of memories she had thought long forgotten, and the details of memories she didn't recognize.

The vampire's embrace had left her with more than just scars and a weakened body. He had left part of himself, part of his history, with her.

She wouldn't speak, now, because she had no one to talk to, but instead silently watched as she walked unnoticed through the demented memories of this creature of the night.

A team of the best medical mages in the Infirmary were in a surgery room, their hands pointed at the large behemoth of a body that was Vincent Alaphare, the dragon humanoid of the tournament. Some of the people in here were a bit scared that when he is revived, he was going to be angry as hell. Fortunately, there were strong security guys in here with them, just in case. The white magic continued to circle through his body as a main doctor was at the head of the bed, chanting words as the resurrection spell was being cast.

This ritual took a total of fifteen minutes to do, but by the time the last second had passed, life breathed back into Vince's body. His lungs felt breath again, his heart returned to racing, and his brain was back intact, the regenerative magic of the team doing what it could to mend such an important organ back together after that unfortunate stab through the skull. The wound on the back of his head and on his left arm wasn't fully mended yet, but that was why they were going to recommend him to stay in the infirmary for at least two days, since there were three days before the next round.

One thing was for sure: Vince wasn't going to be at full capacity. After having your brain struck like it was then having your spirit forced from your body, there was a lot of hoops that Vince was going to have to jump through physically, mentally, and spiritually before his body would feel at good health again. He might even feel a loss of a few memories. Memories weren't easy to heal back. For now, he probably wouldn't even be able to sit up without vomiting.

[ -playing a rookie- emo ]

Little Lana rushed quickly back and forth around the infirmary. The new recruits were not often given so many errands to run, but considering the havoc that the tournament seemed to consist of, they'd been hopping since the night of the ball. And the healers found Lana's knowledge of medicine impressive and useful considering her age. Growing up on earth, rather than Gaia, meant she had little training in magical healing. But that also meant she'd never relied on the powers like some of the recruits.

'Uncross-matched blood; more packets!'

'Aye, ma'am!' She was careful not to run into anyone as she slipped out of Catlyn's recuperating area. No sense bowling the nurses over. Once the coast was clear, she walked quickly down the hall to the cold storage room. Zipping inside, she snatched some O-positive and headed back. Her footfalls slowed to a crawl, then stop, as she passed by the surgery room though.

Of course there were no windows in the door for her to glimpse anything through. Her avid curiosity would have to go unsatisfied. Leaning towards the door cautiously, she tilted her head to try and hear anything. All of the best healers were in there. Rumors said someone had already been killed-- a competitor, no less! She would have to catch the replays later on the television, on her nonexistent break or over a scarfed-down dinner-- and they were actually resurrecting him at that moment.

Her skin crawled in a vicious shiver. Whether some powerful magic from inside was provoking her, or merely her own passionately interest and whirling thoughts, it gave her enough of a start to send her rushing back to bring the blood to the paramedics.

'Here!' She chimed out as she slipped back inside in a whirl of her white and red uniform. The on-duty healer nodded, setting up the transfusion while one of the nurses snatched the packets and hung one up. Another of the nurses, one only a few years Lana's senior, flopped a giant tangle of bloody sheets into the young girl's arms.

'To the laundry!' The older girl quipped. Lana nodded and headed back out into the corridor.

Darkness, darkness, more darkness.

In Vince's life, many things had scared him; commitment, the fear of living life alone, and the fear that he had been a failure among his people; if any of his people even lived. In Vince's life, nothing about death had scared the dragon; he'd accepted that as part of the natural cycle, something that came about eventually and had to be dealt with accordingly. Vince, also had accepted that as a warrior, the greatest way to die was to die on the battlefield; however, Vince had never expected what was coming, and hadn't even had time to mutter a single prayer to his evil goddess, which surely displeased her.

When Vince's soul was yanked from the murky darkness of death, and air filled his lungs, which hadn't worked since spikes were thrown through his head, one emotion smashed into Vince's quickly returning being. The dragon began, as he took his first few breaths of his new life, by muttering incoherently curses against the fools who brought him back. Then, as soon as Vince went to react with rage, his hands curling in rage as he thought about what these people had done.

They'd robbed him of an honorable death; a death of warriors, and instead did the same thing that the figure of light had done many years ago. They'd subjected him to a life where he owed something to someone; whether it was deity or human, the dragon didn't want to owe a single thing to any entity, immortal or non. The dragon's emerald eyes snapped open, taking in the harsh light of the operating room with an inhuman hiss, something akin to that of a snake before it lunged.

"What have... Why... WHAT HAVE YOU FOOLS DONE!?!?" Vince's voice, though it took a moment of stumbling over them to get the sentence out, rumbled in the room. His hand's clenched around the bars of his bed, and although his left arm and hand was pretty severely torn up, he still managed to crush the bar in pretty heavily. The muscles that weren't completely torn in his arms flexed, though no where near what they would have been previously.

That's when it hit him; Vince was missing something. A part of him that he'd normally felt all of the time; just tensing his arms in the way he did, and proceeding to pull himself up, ignoring the wave of dizziness and nausea, Vince was dead tired. Of course, Vince had gone through dying once before, and his time of actual death was nearing him regardless, but the resurrection had done something to him that it hadn't done before; possibly because before he was revived by a god. The healers in this case had not done the job as well as the god, obviously, and had robbed Vince of some of stamina and strength.

The dragon's eyes struggled to find the person closest to him, the person that he could reach out with his good right arm and strangle them to death. Vince blamed them for bringing him from his resting place, and someone, surely, would pay. Vince snarled, yelling again, this time to no one in particular as he thought of the punishment he'd surely receive from his goddess. "THESE FOOLS HAVE DAMNED ME!"

Someone sent Vincent a get-well present!

It was a stoically framed picture of KB smiling.

The massive man immediately recoiled from the feeling of her touch, trying to ignore the soothing warmth that rolled off of it. Vince's neck strained as his muscles bulged, obviously a side-effect of the rage that was boiling beneath the surface, threatening to blow up at any time. Of course, the massive man seen the bouncers or guards, more-like, and couldn't help but feel defeated; in his current state, there was no way at all that he could possibly defeat all of these healers and the massive guards standing by.

Instead, the man was subjected to the words of this other woman, not believing a single letter of the words she spoke. "A damnation if you knew of the deity that presided over my life. Why can't these fools leave a warrior to die when he indeed wants to be dead?", the dragon snapped, his emerald gaze falling upon the smaller woman with a cruel look. Indeed, his mind almost willed him to send her flying, just for the sheer joy that her pain would bring his troubled mind, but instead he stilled his mind, although his right hand returned to the railing, squeezing it as hard as his hand would allow.

A question was growled, then, his eyes not once leaving the woman before him, "Why, then, if not to damn my soul, have I returned?"

It had been several hours since Catlyn had been delivered to the infirmary and her massive blood-transfusion engaged. Her color was starting to return to her flesh as this last set of bags emptied, the four I.V. units posted around her bed all sporting a crimson-filled tube that connected to a vein in the nearest limb of her dirty body.

The commotions and passages of time were wasted on her. For all intents and purposes, it would have seemed as though she were in a coma.

As far from the truth as that was, Catlyn's body remained motionless except for the steady rise and fall of her chest that indicated her silent breathing.

Things were much more lively within the void of her near-death. Her pristine projection of herself was wandering through one of KB's memories, and judging by the architecture, this memory was several hundred years old.

In the midst of voices, Catlyn's ears heard something out of place. It was as though she were standing next to a waterfall, yet she was in the middle of a lantern-lit cobble-stone street, follwing KB's stride. To her surprise, his figure turned around and looked directly at her. Those piercing red eyes...

More accurately, KB had been looking at someone else that was following him, and Catlyn happened to be between them, but that didn't matter, because as she turned around in this memory, she found the source of the strange noise. A crimson cascade was pouring over the rooftops and into the street. Faster and faster this flood poured, and filled the streets as Catlyn watched in horror. A great wave of blood came thrashing itself down the street, splashing and rolling off the buildings as it hurtled towards her. She started to scream, but no one would hear her. The people walking the streets were consumed by the cascading crimson river. The wave was close, now, and as she turned to face KB, looking desparately for help, his lips conveniently split into a wide-toothed grin as he peered straight through Catlyn's eyes.

The crashing wave was upon her, and in its path of destruction, she stood. The crimson tide crashed down upon her, and just as she was to be swallowed by the bloody river, a drastic glare filled her eyes.

The heart monitors were beeping insanely fast as Catlyn sat bolt upright in her bed, wrenching the two I.V.'s attached to her arms and causing them to fall to the floor with a clamor. She peered around the room, wild-eyed, as paramedics started to rush her. She was disoriented, couldn't see well, and couldn't comprehend what had just happened to her. Cold-gloved hands reached for her, and the cold sweat that had formed on her brow and throughout her hair was flung in all directions as she thrashed against them, screaming incoherently.

On top of her panic, her fight-or-flight instinct was kicking in, and when you've been through as much shit as she has, and there were people rushing and grabbing at you and you couldn't see properly or think straight, you wanted to run but had no choice but to fight.

And fight she did. Kicking, punching, screaming with tears derived from fear and panic streaming down her cheeks. One man caught her heel in his sternum, and a distinct cracking or popping sound would call out to everyone's ears.

All she wanted to do was go home... just to go home...

Catlyn panted quietly as she started to settle down a bit, but it wasn't for the reason the doctor was assuming. His touch didn't hold any sort of magical I-make-you-feel-better-now quality, at least not for her. It did, however, give her something to focus on as her vision started to come back.

His words seeped into her ears as she started to confirm what he was saying by comparing it to her own observations. She looked up at him, still with her eyes wide. She couldn't see the details of his face. They were hidden behind those eerie glasses.

Catlyn's spiritual experience was still fresh in her mind, and the mention of the vampire brought her memories flooding into her vision. What happened could probably be attributed to the halucinations she might have due to the blood loss, but it was also part of her defensive instincts.

As she peered up at the featureless doctor, who grinned and hid behind his spectacles and had his cool grip on her head, his face was replaced with that of the grinning KB. The calm and cool grin was then detailed to show the vampire's many sharp teeth, and the reflective glasses took on the appearance of KB's own spectacles. Essentially, to Catlyn's mind, the man touching her appeared not as a doctor, but as the vampire who had nearly killed her coming back to finish the job.

The heart monitors erupted again as Catlyn pushed herself up against his hand, and threw a hard straight right punch into the center of his face. She packed quite a whallop for a human girl, and the punch would most likely break his glasses, if not his nose.

"GET AWAY FROM ME!" She screamed as she punched at him, and whether she hit him or not, she jumped off the bed and tried to run. The other paramedics were still there to try and stop her, though they might have been distracted with the man who had caught her boot in his solarplexus.

"GOD DAMNIT LET ME GO!!!"

She kicked and flailed and screamed as she as forcibly restrained. The doctor's quick thinking had saved him a fucked up face, and his pressure on her body used to make her submit was something excrutiating to her because she'd never been grappled in such a manner.

Catlyn's heart was pounding, and it kept pounding as she was restrained fully. The tears that had been upon her cheeks before were nowhere to be found.

Her eyes were instead filled with rage and hatred for the KB-looking-doctor. She glared up at him as the rest of her body was stilled.

She muttered something under her breath, then followed it with an exclamation.

"Fuck. You. Ptu!" And she spat in his face.

It was quite a feat for the girl, and probably unexpected as well as improper. Then again, she was far from a proper lady.

Catlyn was exasparrated. Her chest heaved with all the effort she'd been exerting to try and escape. But, to her relief, the vision of the vampire she'd been struggling against was washed away as a glowing aura crept into her vision.

At the center of this aura was a dark-haired woman with soft, caring eyes.

An angel?

Catlyn blinked in disbelief, and looked up at the doctor she had been fighting. Inwardly, a painful realization siezed her heart as she realized what had been happening. Outwardly, in an attempt to hide her weakness, she turned her face away.

"I almost died. I just tried to break your nose, and I kicked all their asses," she was referencing the paramedics, "I've got needles stuck in me god-only-knows-where, and my head is killing me. How the hell do you think I feel?"

She glanced back, to look at the angelic presence, again. The girl was beautiful. Not necessarily in a sexual way. She was just, pretty, regardless of the blood spatter on her cheek. Catlyn felt bad for being so rude in her presence, but she wouldn't let that show.

Perhaps Sey would catch the look Catlyn cast to her. Maybe she would understand.

Inus_Miana Wrote:

> She had no idea of dosage or where to prick this pincushion. The girl promptly growled into her palm as she massaged her temples. Trying her best to be incredibly gentle, without moving him at all (good god, who was beating on the cat?), she felt carefully along his front leg for a vein.

Fortunatly for the both of them, this didn't wake up the most likely feral cat. Considering that he wasn't providing and resistance, it shouldn't be too hard for the nurse to find a vein somewhere on the cat.

Minomusho Wrote:

> Joseph didn’t flinch the entire time, his mind fixated on the petite woman. For a few moments he could have sworn he saw the wings of Mosura behind her. His body took to the magic quickly, the Organizer G-1 in his body working with it to heal the teen. > “I don’t get it, how can you not be aligned with Mosura and heal so well….” Joseph called as Sey walked away.

"Deities go by different names in different regions. Perhaps your Mosura takes the face of Falis where she comes from?" The lone healer left to Joseph offered, her hands gently inspecting his wounds, prodding the tender tissues and newly set bones.

"Your wounds are set, however I strongly recommend that you remain here until you've been cleared by another healer. I also think that you should lay off the fighting for a few days, to make sure everything knits properly. I'd hate for you to come back to us and need to have your bones broken and reset again." She said her assessment with clinical efficiency, taking the chart at the end of his bed and scribbling several deft notes that summarized what she'd just said.

"Did you want us to notify anyone of your injuries? We can send messages both magically and electronically for your convenience."

Joseph took the torn remnants of his coat off, wincing a bit but feeling better, the Organizer G-1 continuing to heal his body. “Maybe. No I’m fine I’ve been through worse, fought Dzan before coming here.” Exiting the building one of the healers gave him a coat, a simple affair that was soft to the touch. “This should replace what you lost.” “Thanks”

Catlyn Ryft Wrote:

> "I almost died. I just tried to break your nose, and I kicked all their asses," she was referencing the paramedics, "I've got needles stuck in me god-only-knows-where, and my head is killing me. How the hell do you think I feel?"

The good doctor didn’t seem at all flustered by her angry retort, he simply continued to smile down as her as he checked her chart once more after retrieving it from the floor.

“I’m glad to hear it actually, if you weren’t feeling such I’d actually be more concerned. That swing at me at least lets me know you’ve got a strong will to survive. That’s never a bad thing.”

He patted her upon her bound forearm.

Sey Wrote:

> "A Vampire?" > > "... Do you know whom?"

“Well I’m not familiar with the line up as of yet but if there is an undead among the combatants I’m betting he’s at the very least a viable suspect.”

The Dr. went about looking over the women’s vitals asking her to breathe when necessary as the stethoscope around his neck probed her innards for signs of distress. Once satisfied she’d not damaged her veins or caused any accidental harm to her body; the stethoscope was placed back about his shoulders as he went about removing his gloves.

Catlyn Ryft Wrote:

> "I never learned his name, but he's tall, with a mouth full of sharp teeth. He was wearing some fancy clothes, glasses, blonde hair...and he dances like a total doofus."

“Miss. Ryft, once you’ve gained enough strength where I’m sure you won’t lapse back into another episode, I’ll have one of the nurses remove the IV’s and restraints so we can get you some fluids. I’m sure you’ll be feeling quite dehydrated after your ordeal. Later, I’ll be sure to contact security for the tournament so they can take your statement once you’ve gotten some rest. For now, you’ll be fine as long as you try and relax.”

Turing to the head healer he noted her strange form of dress for the first time since coming to aid the over worked ER. When things where as chaotic as they had been it was sometimes hard to notice something as glaring as a white mage dressed in an elegant gown for no particular reason.

“Why don’t you take this lull to go change, from the looks of it you’ve been working since the ball. Which I was told, ended a short while ago. I’ve got things covered here for the most part Miss..?”

He searched for a name, the relaxed smile still playing upon the good doctors features.

Although the first round had yet to conclude, Claire had left the stands to see a certain individual she hadn't for a long time. While they may not had left off of the field on the best of terms, there were no hard feelings for her former opponent. She wished that the judges had let their battle come to an end on its own, and maybe they could schedule a conclusion at some other time, but right now that would seem to be unlikely. Besides, Claire wouldn't want to fight this man, or beast, at anything but his best. What value did a victory have if it were a hallow one? It was a shame that Claire had to meet the dragon under these lousy circumstances, but then again, trying to find him anywhere else on this campus would have probably been a failure.

She walked through the infirmary, turning her head from left to right, her eyes searching for Vince. It didn't take long before she could spot him, she could remember the face of a formidable opponent with little effort. She made her way to his bed in earnest and then stopped at its side, placing a hand on the side rail while looking down at her fallen rival. It was a relief to see that he was alive, that meant that sometime in the future they were going to meet on the field again. She had a warm glowing smile across her lips. He probably already felt pretty bad about the whole situation, there was no need for her to encourage any moping.

"I'm rather surprised to finding a tough fighter like yourself in here."

She spoke in a friendly tone, like if they had actually been close to each other. Despite the fact that they were still for the most part strangers, Claire felt some kind of bond with him. She knew that he understood, and she understood too. That's probably why it was easy for her to approach him in this manner.

"I was disappointed that your match ended so quickly because of bad sportsmanship. It is good to see that had been blessed to not have your legacy ended by that mockery of a warrior."

The dragon might not recognize Claire unless he remembered their encounter from the Dark Tournament, and even if he did, he might not recognize her out of her full armor. Her long golden locks draped her bare shoulders and she wore a modest forest green dress that flowed from her bust to her ankles. Her wore a soft perfume, a soothing scent of flowers from her home country. Hopefully seeing a familiar and friendly face might warm the dragon's spirits a bit.

Claire tried to stifle a chuckle at his response, but her her smile only widened. She could understand, or at least she thought she could, as to why he might feel such a way. Anybody with his luck would probably have the same cynical outlook on the world. At least he recognized who she was which would make answering his questions a bit easier than otherwise.

"You do not have to worry, Diagoule nor I hold any grudge against you."

She paused for a moment to look him in the eyes, her expression the most sincere it possibly could. She had no malicious intentions, and she held no ill-will for the man. She could only hope that he would believe that. She had learned that many fighters outside of her realm were often fueled by revenge, and so Vince's concern was quite logical.

"It was too late for me to enter the tournament myself, but I made sure that I would be here to watch the competition. Ever since our contest was ended prematurely I had been searching for you to request a proper conclusion to our bout. But I do not feel that now would be the appropriate time to challenge you."

She paused to take a shallow breath,

"In fact, I'm here now to ask you if there is anything I can do to help with your recovery."

It was a charming request and Claire felt flattered by his compliments, but she knew better than to take Vince away from his caregivers. She could empathize with his feelings being a free bird herself. Confined to a small space when you were ready to go out into the world and live, that was the context which allowed her to have met this fine warrior. But her conscience would not allow her to give the dragon what he wanted. She tucked her chin in closer to her body, her eyes drifting off to the side. It was difficult for her to look somebody in the face while telling them that it was in their best interest for them to stay put. She had been told that before, and she was not proud of the feelings she had when that did happen.

"I am afraid that I will have to decline your invitation. It is in your best interest to remain in the care of the staff here until you have recovered."

Claire felt a bit uneasy telling Vince that. Not only because she hated being told that herself, but because it would have been nice to have time to learn about this man. She thought he was interesting, and just because she viewed him as something of a rival, it did not mean she didn't seek his friendship. That was probably why Claire started up again quickly as the thought suddenly popped into her mind,

"But...After you have recovered from your wounds I would be honored join you for dinner so long we have the chance to conclude prior engagement."

Her eyes moved back up to his face and she smiled. She hoped he'd at least return the smile and find a bit of happiness out of that, even if he may be disappointed that she had to reject his offer.

Medics rush in the body of a young male who appears to be a dark elf, with a large trident still under his ribs, and no pulse. The medics didn't try to defibrillate the patient because his injuries are so grave that massive blood loss would be certain.

notmuch_23 Wrote:

> Medics rush in the body of a young male who appears to be a dark elf, with a large trident still under his ribs, and no pulse. The medics didn't try to defibrillate the patient because his injuries are so grave that massive blood loss would be certain.

A doctor was standing out in the hallway. He appeared in his 40s. Still a bit good looking, but had age slowing creeping onto his face. Regardless, he held a cup of coffee in his right hand, sipping at it away. He was standing next to a nurse as they watched a fighter struck down in the tournament rolled by them into the emergency room. Interestingly enough, the doctor didn't display any sort of urgency. He was so casual that he just rose his cup and gave a good drink from it. "These people have a death wish," he said to the woman nurse, who clinged to a clipboard as she watched with the same lack of emotion.

"If we didn't have the power of white magic, maybe I would care more about their lives."

The dark elf was in critical condition, but, just like a previous fighter before him, fixing him wasn't a hard task. It was just going to take a good thirty minutes to stabilize him and return him to a fair recovery state. The doctors went to work, removing the weapon from his side, followed by bandaging his wounds quickly as white magic flowed over his body, orchestrated by a team of four medics.

As for the doctor outside the room...he continued to sip at his cup.

"Glen, Dr. Jonathan Glen. It's a pleasure Miss. Kaik-..."

It was then that the doctor noted the arrival of the dark elf.

"if you'll excuse me..."

With a curt nod and a flash of his pearly whites, he was off to assist the man. Pulling up his coat sleeves and pulling a pair of pristine white gloves, he quickly inserted himself into the throng of nurses and began to work. Unlike the Nurses the technique that the doctor used was no form of white magic. The ability to craft flesh was a useful talent he'd was versed in extensively. White magic was far more effective in healing at an accelerated rate; fleshcrafting a far more technical art requiring a great deal of patience and discipline.

He started by placing the fingers of his right hand around the impaling trident. The other moved to the elf's head after quickly reading the fair one's weak vitals. With the use of his technique he was able to pool the circulation in the places that required the most attention. Within seconds, the blood flow from the gaping wound would cease and vital life giving blood sent to the ailing parts of his brain and limbs.

"Get this man on a IV, now."

Once he'd effectively stopped the bleeding he went about the arduous task of removing the pronged weapon. Like most similar weapons, a trident was designed to do more damage when it was removed than the initial impact. Gently he inserted his fingers into the man's wound. With so little blood keeping him alive and the nurses preoccupied with treating a patient that didn't respond to their usual methods; morphine was a afterthought. Glen himself was more preoccupied with saving the elf's life than sparing him discomfort.

Had the man been awake, it was sure to hurt like hell as the doctors fingers probed the wound to slowly unhook the prongs deeply embedded into his tissue.

"When I say when, pull the trident out."

The task was excruciatingly slow as he did his best to do further damage than the sad state the man was already in. As he worked the nurses stood by tentatively, grasping the shaft of the weapon to support it as it lost it's grip. As he freed the third and final prong the tissue was pushed backwards enough to prevent further slicing as it moved outward.

"Now!"

The nurses pulled and found that the weapon was surprisingly easy to remove, sending the three nurses sprawling on the floor.

The obstruction removed, Glen probed deeper to distinguish what the trident had done to the man's organs. Surgery was almost certain.

Couldn't a man, a dragon, or a fuckin' field mouse for that matter get some kind of peace and quite in a hospital? Even in Vince's private bed and curtain, he was still being bothered left and right, and by more than one of kind of person. Claire's arrival had been a rather welcome sight, but other than that, people had done nothing other than piss him off. First was the white mage who claimed that he wasn't forsaken, which he knew damned well that he was, and then there were multiple visits from his son, his sister, and even his brother, who had wandered in drunk and immediately called him a pussy.

His emerald eyes snapped open from their peaceful rest, in which he'd been staring at his eye-lids without so much as a rustle of his bed-sheets, and set upon the female. Rather, they would have set upon the female, instead, they were greeted with a giant metal-orb made of mesh wiring attached to a plastic flash-light looking thing. Vince sighed as soon as he realized it was a microphone, and the giant black box upon the male's shoulder was.. God damnit.

*"If you must know, I'm feeling well enough to get up and put my size eighteen boot up your ass."*, The dragon spat, his right hand tightening around the metal rail for a second before his left came out of no-where and aimed to smack the microphone right out of the woman's hand and send it flying. The dragon was definitely not in the mood to be interrogated, and especially not by some woman who wouldn't even take the slightest bit of sympathy even if Vince told her he was dying.

Such was the way of journalism and media. They came for what they wanted, and what that was, Vince still hadn't figured it out after many times dealing with these people. The dragon's head hurt, and trying to figure out all of his memories that had been rushing back and trying to remember how to function properly, was only making the pain worse. Adding reporters and television crews to the mix was surely a dangerous thing, and they would soon find out.

Vince's eyebrow raised at her questioning. God damnit, these journalists and fancy reporter types didn't take threats for what they were; serious. They also didn't take a hint, because regardless of the dragon smacked the microphone away from him, she put it right back towards him, and kept up with the un-ending barrage of questions. He just wanted to stare at his eyelids, and he didn't want to deal with these ignorant people who had probably never even been in a fight who kept battering his already hurting head with more pointless questions.

The dragon's eyes narrowed, his mouth opened, and his muscles tensed as Vince registered the meaning of her question. Regardless of if she meant it or not, her question was accusatory in Vince's mind, and in that regard, he didn't take it lightly. Basically, by asking him that, he took it that he was being scrutinized for having died. If Vince would have known his opponents intention, well, obviously, the dragon wouldn't be here; his opponent would have been, and Vince would have killed him repeatedly, if it would have had to be the case.

The man's right hand tightened so much that the bed rail actually crumpled, bending beneath his hand's power before a response was spit angrily from his mouth, *"I don't give a fuck about the ruling. I'm perfectly content with death, and if my opponent would have fought like a man, I would have killed him with my own bare hands. Instead, in a bout of pure sport and competition, he killed me. As I realized I was dead, I was fine with it. To HELL with this place, these people, and FUCK the rules."*

Vince's eyes narrowed considerably more, and Vince's left hand shot to the table at his bed-side and came up with something else a moment later. Nearly two seconds after his words were spit, a black remote would come flying across his bed-side, aimed right at the man who held the camera. The target on that man? His face, which as a reporter, he likely valued highly; without his face, he couldn't talk with all the ladies and see what he was taping.

Fuckin' media.

*"...FUCK the rules."*

Is was an interesting phrase for Catlyn to have greet her ears as she woke up, again. Somehow, probably due to the excessive medication she'd been given, she had managed to pass out again after her struggle.

She looked down after trying in vain to move, only to find that she was still strapped to the bed. She shook her head and laughed.

"I second that notion!" She yelled from her bed, unsure whether or not the disembodied voice's creator would hear her. The color had come back to her flesh, and with it had come her spirit.

At least she was feeling better, now.

The story of Vincent was over, at least for the reporter and camera man. They received an order from the president of their company, which led them towards the mother and father of a fallen participant; Thurgood aka The Dark Elf Guy.

There was no formal introduction to the family, except that the fact that the reporter and cameraman were standing in front of the parents.

"Excuse me, do you mind if we ask you a few questions?" The reporter asked, and it was obvious the parents weren't being filmed or recorded at the moment.

Disappointment of a match? Perhaps there was a reason someone was interested in Thurgood after all. The female reporter shook her head from side to side softly.

"The people that control our station see something that most do not, potential." The reporter explained with a gentle smile. There was no forceful interview as when Vincent was involved, it was complete kindness.

The female nodded to her counterpart, who brought the camera up and began filming.

"Your son, in the eyes of some, preformed valiantly. He was a new face to this tournament, and despite not reaching past this first round, someone in particular wonders if this man will return in the future to test himself. Do you have any thoughts on his future, be it this tournament or another?" She asked and once she was done speaking she waited patiently for either parent to speak.

The woman let them banter back and forth before interjecting herself further into the conversation. Her smile remained, her body and face showing complete business like qualities.

"The President of Shinjiko Enterprises has released a quiet statement in regards to your son. In this statement, he explained that under the right advisement your son could become a top competitor in the future. Do you think your son would object to training under the President of Shinjiko Enterprises; Tous Shinjiko?" She asked, though there was more to this than was let on. Tous had watched most of the matches up until the point that Tous himself was summoned to his match.

The massive man ignored the woman's questions, chuckling to himself as he heard the woman yell in agreement to his earlier statement of fuck the rules. After a moment of them not getting a response from Vince, they eventually left, moving off to interrogate some other poor people. However, as they left, Vince's muscles tightened, and his in-human strength made it possible for him to rip the railing off of the bed he was lying in.

The railing, seconds later, would go flying across the room with a sudden woosh and a burst of laughter from the massive man. The target was the retreating forms of the two reporters, even though it was unlikely he would do damage even if he hit them; still, another camera broken would be interesting. To the woman who had yelled for Vincent, he replied;

"Ye've got a beautiful voice, whoever the hell you are. Have them wheel your bed next to mine and lets chat." The grin on Vince's face was ear to ear.

"I'm circulating his blood myself to keep him alive. If I was to start his heart before addressing the trident I'm afraid your son would end up pumping the life right out of himself."

Glen smiled at the couple only to take a breather from his work upon the elf his one hand placed upon the man's chest acting as a surrogate heart. It seemed that the infirmary was being flooded with non medical personal.

"I'll ask that anyone not specificly here to do the job of helping the sick and dieing leave. There is a waiting room in the corridor to my left. "

It was then that a gaggle of orderlies entered the ER and began ushering out anyone who did not belong. As with any hospital reporters and parents would have to wait till the patiences where in a stable state before visiting. The fact that the healers had let the elf's parents in was a massive breech of protocol.

As the orderlies took care of the non medical personal, glen turned his attention back to the boy. A crash cart had already been brought to his side as the elf's lack of pulse was very apparent. With his free hand he grabbed the paddles for the defibrillator pack and placed them against the Elf's chest.

"CLEAR."

The Jolt was sent directly into the elf's heart, guided by Glen's steady hand. Using his technique he was able to stimulate the cardiac muscle back to life with a slow steady rhythm. He was still keeping the blood from pumping out of the three massive puncture wounds under the elf's ribs, but it looked as if the trident had nicked a lung as well as the poor man's liver. Placing his fingers back into the boy's wounds he used his hand to guide the regeneration process as he knit the gaping wound that had damaged the lung. It was a grueling 15 minutes as he patched the rest of the elf's wounds. All the while a nurse was pumping life giving oxygen into his lungs with a ventilator.

With the heart pumping once more and the wounds patched for the moment, the steady momentum of the rise and fall of the Elf's chest would return. He would be unconscious for a while yet but due to the fact that Glen had pumped his blood while his heart was out of commission would spare him any ill effects.

"He's not out of the woods yet; he'll need surgery to fully patch up those wounds in his torso. For now we just need to watch him."

Glen had not missed the sounds of Catlyn's cries, nor that of the vicious dragon that was destroying the bed he was confined to. Perhaps some company would quell him in the long term. The doctor casually walked over to Catlyn's bed as he changed his gloves, before picking up her chart once more.

"Good to see your up, I think we can remove those restraints now, but promise me you won't get up and I'll have the nurses place you next to your dragonic friend over there."

He was as charming as ever with his clam demeanor and looks. Though those glasses could never let anyone remain wholly comfortable in his presence, as if he was looking right through you.

The reporter was about to say something but instead was forced into the waiting room. Her fingers pushed through her own hair as she took a look back to her cameraman then to the parents.

"You stated it was not his idea to enter... if that is true, why enter him?" She asked rather bluntly.

The woman listened carefully to their reasons, giving a nod of understanding. "There are other ways to get those results, I'm sure. If you were him... would you now strive to continue to get better even knowing that you almost faced death?" The reporter asked, a mere hypothetical role reverse question.

Again she listened to their words with eager ears. Intriguing.

"How well do you know your son... would he do either of those things? I believe he merely plans to go back and continue mining to scratch together some sort of wealth." She explained. And how she got her information was rather secret, it helps to work for people who monitor a majority of people on a daily basis. "I mean, that is what he was doing prior to GTB."

"From what was left on my bosses desk, the Black Sands area. I believe that he believes that he must do whatever it takes to get money to support himself." The reporter explained with a shrug. All this coming from a reporter, imagine what kind of insight someone higher up and not in the media realm could shed on the dire situation.

Catlyn liked the idea of joining the big man and being in his company. She was drawn to people with strength or power like a moth to a candle. She also liked the idea of having the restraints removed. Freedom would be nice, but she wasn't allowed to leave the bed? That simply wouldn't work.

She mumbled something under her breath, then nodded at the doctor.

"Ok, I won't get up, but... there's a bit of a problem."

She glanced away for a second, trying to hide her mild blush. She hoped he would ask, he was a doctor after all. It was his job to address any problems his patients had.

So, her eyes cut back to him pleadingly, as she continued to face away from him. Her body was stiff from being held in such a stationary position for so long. She really wanted to get up, but she would follow along with the doctor for a moment longer.

Hurry up and ask me, asshole!

"Damnit, I keep tryin' to tell you people, no! No sedatives or painkillers!"

Robyn's southern-tinged voice would fade in to the room as she limped inside the medical area, her tone rife with anger and annoyance. A couple technicians from the field followed her, waving various needles and begging the girl to lie down. Her arm was already in a blue sling, and her leg was splint, but the instant they'd tried to jab her with medicine, she'd pushed them away and gotten up, half-hopping her way along since her right leg still doing just fine.

It was like fighting a swarm of bees or something, seriously. Angered, the fox girl halted suddenly and turned around, causing the fellows to nearly run into her. Her hat was off, sweaty and damp hair plastered to her forehead, but nothing shadowed or otherwise hindered their view of her eyes. While her usual bright green was still mostly dominant, bright red swirled in and out of the iris as well, flickering in and out like so many flames.

**"You ever think that when an obviously not-normal person tells you not to do somethin', they might have a good reason? Do ya'll wanna die?"**

The technicians were speechless, and she took that chance to continue hopping along inside. If one were to take a closer look at her injuries, they'd wonder how she was still moving so easily. After all, she did have a small crater in her arm, and her leg was obviously damaged as well. But it was also easy to notice the grit of her teeth as she fought the excruciating pain. She'd heal up fine, eventually, and in way less time then most people. She figured a week at the most, and she'd be good as new. Less, if she could speed up the regeneration. That was what took the longest.

And even through all that, she still had no idea if she'd won the fight or not, since time had been called just when she might have been able to do some damage.

"Clear the way! Clear the way!"

Some staff called as a stretcher was rushed into the building. On said stretcher was crowd favorite and poster boy for GRAPPLE co., James 'Bear' Kearney. A young human who gathered a huge following after grappling to a draw with Athena, though it was clear his most recent fight did not go so well.

Matched up against a wolf with daggers who preferred to try and kill people rather then fight them he barely managed to survive and put the larger foe to sleep with his trade mark grappling, but he paid for it in a dagger to the left knee and a dagger to the lung, and he was on the verge of dying.

Blood caked the stretcher as he was rushed in, consciousness coming in and out for the young man no older then eighteen. The grappler was set on a bed and quickly a doctor would be called to save his life, but in the few moments before then he tossed in his pain.

Light moans escaped his barely conscious mind as he reeled from the feeling. If he recovered it would take serious time for his mind to catch up with his body, fear would surely be placed in him.

"Oh wow," Carolyn says as she looks out the door of the waiting area, "Looks like the place is getting busier..."

"I wonder if Thurgood is actually making enough to live off of..."

Of course, the white "silver" which is mainly platinum group metals, is quite valuable once refined to hydroxides and oxides, and Thurgood has hit a large pocket of it. Actually, he's establishing residence on Rhoslyn's island.

Meanwhile, now that Thurgood's heart is now pumping and not leaking blood out of his body, his brain is thinking, dreaming rather, of a weapon that might het him past the first round in the next year's GTB. Thurgood in his dream sees a v-twin engine; a large one, and a little part plate reads 1L, DOHC, DOHV as in one thousand cubic centimeters of displacement, and dual overhead cams controlling dual overhead valves for each cylinder. Onto the v-twin come two large turbochargers, a giant carburetor, and to the free end of the crank attaches a sprocket and centrifugal clutch. Next a long chainsaw bar comes down and mounts, with a chain. The chain teeth though, seem to be special, and actually diamond-tipped. The whole contraption gets a couple of controls, a starter, a small battery, and a large gas tank. It's like a divine inspiration!

TO HELL with the fucking disguise!!! It wasn't as if they were after her! And besides, they got what they wanted, right?! Her father in jail?!?! She really couldn't think of what further interest anyone would have in her!!!

...or, that was the rationalization, at least. Truth was, the hoodie and sweats were terribly hot, even for one of her tastes, and her tail had been so cramped she was certain the entire bloody thing would be sore all tomorrow! If the enemies of her father wanted a fight with her...Well, fine then, bring it! She refused to return receding and hiding like a coward! She was a Jaeger, dammit! A fucking Devil!!! Devils didn't hide!!! Where was the pride in that?!

In any case, that had brought on the change of outfits mid-rush out of the hotel room, and subsequent mess--but no worries, the ever-loyal Daria Jade could handle that matter~! Faustina was on a much more important errand, one that involved an audience with a certain dragon she'd met just last night...

This brought her to the Infirmary's Reception Desk, hurrying right up to the counter. "Excuse me? I'm looking for Vincentius Alaphare. Are visiting hours still open?"

The woman behind the desk looked up from her paperwork, rose an eyebrow, then sighed and returned to her work, giving little more than a pointing finger in response.

The girl turned to look, noticed the curtained beds arranged in the middle of the room, then pushed herself away from the desk with a violent blush and half-hissed mutter of, "Thanks."

It took her a bit of searching, but she finally found Vince, resting in his stretcher while white-clad medical personnel tended other patients. Glancing hesitantly about, she skittered quietly over to the dragon, there to look him over quickly before whispering urgently, "V-Vince! Vince! You awake?"

Faustina jumped at Vince's anger, withdrawing slightly while he came to his realization. She herself relaxing with him, she moved back toward him--though still hesitant at first--and then she, too, took a frantic look left-and-right before leaning in close to Vince, her eyes intent upon his. "...V-Vince...." she whispered, her voice desperate, "...I...I need your help. And probably Mr. Barsait's as well. Anyone who can, really..."

She paused, caution rising, her eyes shifting about in paranoia, and then she leaned closer, moving her head to place her lips right beside Vince's right ear, gentle hands grasping his shoulders for support. She urgently whispered her plight, the situation that brought her to such anxiety, then pulled away, finding his eyes once again.

Her mis-matched gaze was wide and pleading, and though she tried to be strong slivers of uncertainty and fear slipped all about those glistening orbs of emerald left and garnet right. She bit her lip, then begged, "...please, Vince...can you help me?"

[[post pending

Also...Lol rofl ]]

Robyn wasn't completely refusing treatment; she just didn't want to be doped up during said treatment. Painkillers weren't gonna make her wounds any better now, were they? She was doing it for their own good, anyways. And she didn't mind waiting, she was gonna be in pain no matter how quickly they got to her, and as the doctor was thinking, she was not the worst off of the bunch.

Noticing the flurry of activity that suddenly seemed to appear after she entered, the fox girl groaned at the sight of the figure slumped against the door. Not now. Not so soon after the fight. Her head pounded as the "flames" in her eyes grew, and her good hand started dripping blood as she dug her suddenly extended claws into her palm. Concentrating mostly on keeping Selene down, she still had enough mind to press the fist against her pants in order to dirty the floor as little as possible. Hey, she was rude and crude only when she needed to be.

Robyn's tail lashed and her ears were completely back, but she managed to control her dual impulses to either run (or hop) as fast as she could away from Omi, or to go over there and try to finish the job. She was left with the third option to stay where she was, and eventually get something more than a quick field patching for her wounds. Damn if it wasn't hard as fuck to do it, though.

Brian and Carolyn just stare at the large man, at first not sure of how to say no, this adviser of Shinjiko Enterprises, that he could not, in fact, see Thurgood, without getting seriously injured by the man...

"Well, if even we can't, then what chance do you have?" Brian says.

The rather large man stood there for a moment contemplating. This was a man that enjoyed having people make their own decisions, instead of someone else doing it for them. It was now a predicament.

"Hrm. We need to find out when he'll be able to have visitors... where's the doctor?" This for now nameless man asked the family of Thurgood.

Well then, if the doc was busy... this man had his own idea as he held up his finger to keep the parents where they were. For a larger fellow, he moved quite quietly out of the waiting room and into the area that Thurgood was in. His left hand rested within his suit coat, grasping something which in fact was identification. He'd end up next to the bed, remaining rather silent as he watched this boy to see how he was doing...

He watched for a moment before turning, grabbing a chair and sitting on it backwards facing Thurgood. "My name is Alexander Gabrielus. I work for one of the fighters here in this tournament... Tous Shinjiko. I come, even in your state, to make sure you pull through." Alexander explained to the more or less knocked out Thurgood. He didn't really expect a response, but doing what he did he knew that in that state Thurgood would hear him without a problem, even if he was on the edge of death. Lucky he was almost better.

Of course Thurgood couldn't hear the aide, he's too busy dreaming about his newest tool: the one he really hasn't built yet, but he's dreaming of cutting the tough igneous island rock into blocks with it and using them to finish the retaining walls at either end of his driveway in no time flat.

Alexander watched for a little bit longer until his cellphone beeped once. He gave a sigh, standing up and turning the chair back the way it should be. With his left hand he pulled out his wallet from inside his pocket. It was opened, right hand taking a few folded pieces out and a black business card.

The pieces were foreign currency from Tous' homeland, two bills with the number 100 written on all four corners. They were folded around the business card, which simply was more of instructions to meet with Tous Shinjiko if interested in the prospect of more currency.

Alexander then walked away after shoving the folded bills and card into the right hand of Thurgood, heading past the waiting room and past the family members without saying a word... with that... he left.

The laugh of an estranged hyena filled the room.

"Lookie at what I found." Kenji Hood, Fighter #7, said aloud as he busted through the medicine cabinet. It was chalk full to the brim of Vicodin to give to as samples before the patients left to go to their local pharmacy. They were packaged in small little wrappers which were ripped open with his teeth like a pack of Skittles. Dropping the tiny, white pills into his hand and dry swallowed two of them quickly and then shoved a two hand fulls in his pockets. It had been a few days since he had a good fix, so the itching and cold sweats were going to start hitting him hard if he didn't do something more than Marijuana.

A few seconds later a calming effect swooned over his body. The initial euphoria was yet to come, but it was nice to know the drugs were already coursing through his system. He walked over to a sink and began to wash his hands and stared at the blank wall.

"First the dragon... now Mengele." Kenji said just as the crazy doctor lunged at him.

Every time he entered a place of health it always turned into a place of death. Either he was killing someone or ER was having a zombie episode. This time a bloodied up doc was enraged that the drug dealer was stealing... drugs. Could he blame him? All these painkillers just laying around for the taking would entice the best of men. Hell, if Yusuke had bills and child support to pay he'd be selling baggies of weed to middle schoolers. It wasn't his fault that the infirmary staff were fucking retarded, but it was up to him to quell his addiction while keeping up with supply and demand.

As the scalpel headed his way he would rotate his left arm counterclockwise from the bottom up so his forearm would strike against the man's arm deflecting the incoming stab. Following that would be a right fist to the face.

"Well, as far as I know I'm not evil or undead, so that should be fine," she said, smiling.

Adaire couldn't help but blush, she loved Nekos, especially the ears, the soft furry ears. Must not search for the soft fuzzy ears. It would look rather rude to glomp a nurse from behind just so she could find and pet those velvet ears. There was certainly a sweat drop on the back of Adaire's neck as she elegantly restrained herself so no one would ever know what she really wanted to do at that moment.

As she nodded and sat at the examination table to wait, she sighed to herself. Then she sort of squinted, this was like being a kid at Disneyland and not being allowed to go over and hug Micky mouse. She looked around for any cat guys. Scratch that, she looked to see who else was around. Then she remembered they had a roller coaster somewhere around here.

whee

Brian and Carolyn grow more concerned about Thurgood's condition, so they go out to the reception desk to see if anybody is there to offfer an update.

The odd doctor's arm was indeed deflected, although that deranged grin on his face was still plastered over his features like an over-tight band-aid. His mouth seemed to split apart at the seams, as though the flesh was just play-doh, that mouth extending into a toothy maw, before POW

The doctor flew to the floor, landing a couple of feet away on his rear. His scalpel flew from his hand as he was socked in the face. He looked up at his opponent with surprise on his face. The doctor was fast though, and in an instant, he was on his feet again, this time though he just stared at the drug addict, his hungry eyes looking him over.

Had his mouth really extended and warped as Kenji thought, or were those just the drugs? Who WAS this man? Was he really a doctor?

"Midus really needs to hire better hospital staff." Kenji said slowly as the doctor flew back up on his feet.

The guy laden in a Ph.D only lab coat had begun a vicious staring contest. His jaw seemed to have dropped to the floor after the hit, but it was hard to tell if it was his punch... or something else that made his mouth appear that way. Sharp teeth seemed to protrude from his seemingly normal gums from two seconds ago.

What wasn't helping this situation was the simple fact that the drugs he had just taken were much stronger than he had thought. A hazy veil enveloped his thoughts like a misty fog creeping up the road from a mysterious lake. A calming sensation hit him hard as he too with dilated eyes stared off at the zombie. His body began to feel a little less becoming more numb. He was losing all normal thought processes as the cloud of intoxication over took him. Like a computer going to sleep his screen went blank waiting for someone to jingle the mouse.

"Heh he won't be looking pretty for the ladies for a while. Names Joseph by the way. I'm from Houston myself, but my dad grew up in west Louisiana."

Joseph winced as the charred spot on his abdomen was attened to.

"Heh glad to meet someone around here who is somewhat closer to home."

"I'll be looking forward to it." Joseph was finally to the point where his blood loss had been negated, but the painkillers and what not that had been added to the IV where starting to knock him out.

His eyes started to flutter and before the meds knocked him out he called, "I'll meet you in the hotel in about four hours, I'm just gonna take.....a....nap... Zzzzzzz"

"Mm?" It appeared he had fallen unconscious, though where was a good question. For a spell, Omi Barsait could not recall where he was, nor for that matter what had occurred the past day. Like any whom wake from a deep slumber even if one could hardly call his tumble this.

It turns out mere moments prior to the good orderlies & mage assisting his way into the room the fighter had so closely reached, the "swordsman" in some terms at any rate had fallen entirely unconscious against the lovely wooden frame. How his body remained upright enough to not slump onto the floor yet was anyone's guess, but then again, this was a stubborn man after all.

Still, to be on a white bed was nothing unpleasant. All of his limbs except the bottom left, upon trying to make himself sit up at likely protest by those caring for him, functioned fine- but, it was that very left leg that prevented the mercenary from doing so. Gone from the wiles of his opponent, removed from the blood lust, plucked from adrenaline's good graces - that left leg's pain finally set in proper.

In a sense, this was a blessing as it allowed Omi to come unto an alert status enough his face contorted with withheld agony, no doubt again withdrawing sounds of pain out of sheer dominant will. However, his left leg beneath ring-mail armor, was bleeding a considerable bit by now, and was twisted and mangled horribly. What was originally a minor twist by the woman Robyn, Barsait had accelerated by abuse of it to stand in his battle.

The walk to the infirmary lost him some blood, which coupled with his grandiose and unexplained range fading, a tired body after extended combat, and a horrendous amount of suffering in his left leg, explained all too well the man losing his strength suddenly. Giving up the notion of simply "getting up," Barsait let his tense body relax best it could to try and offset the left leg.

No doubt they would give him some form of pain medication or numbing agent. Always tended to, and Barsait was.. "weak" as a little went a long way with him, so to speak. Nothing he looked forward to. The plight outside of his room, the [Serpentine Manipulation Artist] was not made privy to with his dance upon the door rendering the world around him hard to make out.

"Oi." Speaking plain as day and as though his left leg wasn't a bloody mess, Barsait calmly requested of those standing around his bed frame: "Long as you get my leg working proper, I'll be obligated to you. Nothing else feels out of the ordinary, very minor bruising and scratches here and there at the best, but my left leg was twisted to a significant degree at the kneecap, and though my memory is hazy, I believe I worsened its condition by putting pressure on it. Feels like something's broken, and I think I bled a good deal getting here 'cos the rest of my body's weaker than it was when I stood in the ring by a lot. BUT, I'll leave that or any conclusion to your finesse." A single confirming nod..

..then his head crashed against the white feather pillow again, the air conditioning reaching his sweat adorned flesh a true boon. Omi knew he could no longer stand. There was no point in passing away a potential speedy recovery.

(empty)

That was strange, but it worked, she actually felt better.

"Quick, a mirror!"

That was odd, her wound was, healed, the swelling down. Adaire had to be careful, coming here could be an excuse for being reckless in battle.

"You're really good at healing, yep!" Adaire said, making sure to rub the girl on the head so she could feel for those soft velvet ears, "Yep! Yep! Yep!"

For some reason, Red felt really, gleeful, upon being healed. Very unusual for her. Well then, technically she could check out and go back to the hotel and let her unusually cheery demeanor wear off.

Esouna no longer wanted to hang around in the pool, and injuries needed treating. The fairy hoped that all the nurses weren't still busy, since her stock of willpower was draining away from enduring the aftermath of so much blunt-force trauma in her fight.

The 2-foot-tall fairy staggered into the infirmary, wincing and grunting. Okay, seriously, there better be someone. In the previous GTB, the staff hadn't treated her with any respect, but after getting to Top 10, Esouna yearned .d glancing arounfor some real attention. Everyone else got it; why not her?

She tool a few more steps forward, searching for some sort of healer.

The nurses have now gotten Thurgood into the operating room furthest away from the main emergency reception area, and are now just waiting for a doctor to make the necessary surgical procedures.

Faustina narrowed her eyes first at the man with the ice cream and then the creepy doctor--a sight which admittedly made her uneasy but was thankfully relieved of her when he soon moved off and away to tend to his patients. She scowled after him, then turned back to Vince, mouth opening to repeat her question.

However, the question never came. As her eyes trailed back to Vince, another crossed her sight, and in that single instant she choked. Her tail wriggled, withdrawing to linger among her legs, and she bit her lip, unable to keep herself from staring at the young man seated upon a stretcher just a little further away. She hesitated, then returned her attentions but briefly to Vince, a slight fluster apparent in her manner. "Please consider my request, Vince, and find me when you've decided."

Excusing herself from his side, Faustina moved swiftly, skittering eyes looking to see if any more of the doctor-folk were going to come bother her. Precariously making her way through rolling stretchers and rushing nurses, Faustina came up behind a familiar young man with bright red hair, her pace slowing and her voice softening so as to not surprise him--her appearance had changed significantly since their last encounter, what with her transformation from a 16-year-old half-human half-Devil to a 20-year-old full-Devil, her body shedding any resemblance it once had to her mother save for that sparkling emerald eye. Her hair had grown long and wavey, clinging to a rich auburn hue, and her right eye was allowed to proclaim its garnet majesty. Her body was, for lack of a better word, perfect, as if carved from the Roman Masters themselves. In other words...beyond her emerald eye and spaded tail, she looked--and sounded, for that matter--hardly like she had back then.

It was hard to keep her nerves from proclaiming in loud excitement, but she somehow managed it, knowing full well how bad it would be for her, for the other patients...and for Snow.

"...Snow...It's been a while..."

Faustina's eyes trailed to Snow's chest, worry instantly seeping into her glistening eyes, but she didn't say anything about it--it was, after all, expected that Snow should be injured, given their surroundings. Instead, she put her efforts towards a small smile, forcing her gaze back to meet his eyes. "...I suppose it's quite a difference, huh?" She walked carefully around his stretcher so she could face him, watching to not knock over any equipment or knock into the stretcher itself.

She blushed slightly, her spaded tail swaying bashfully behind her legs, and replied with a light giggle, "It's me, Faustina! Dad's fighting in the tournament." Then, after a brief pause, she added on, "...I saw your fight earlier. I admit, I got a bit worried at times, but you did well, Snow."

Faustina left Vince in quiet then. The man closed his eyes and peacefully fell into a quiet slumber; not really a slumber, but instead, a wandering of the mind whilst behind darkened curtains. Moments before, Faustina had left Vince a question, an aching for the dragon's help. An aching for the help of a broken man, not even a sliver of the strength he had been days before. This mind-set disgruntled the dragon, pushing his mind farther back; of course, the mental strain sent a wave of pain coursing through Vince's body. He grunted in discomfort as his body jerked, his mind prying at the memories that it had instinctively shut away as it had been deprived of oxygen and of the sweet embrace of the dragon's life.

"No, y' shan't be allowed out t'day, m' dearest boy. Mama don' wan' nothin' to happen t' y', understand?" Too early. The memories caused another jerk of the massive man's body, his grip tightening on the bed-rail that still existed, and the one that didn't, the hand instinctively grasped at the metal railing along the side of the bed, gripping it even as his muscles groaned in protest.

More memories, then. More speaking. "M' boy... why.. why would you wrong me so..." "Shut up, you useless wench." There was a roar, not a scream, as massive fangs plunged into the long sinuous neck that held the wedge-shaped head at the end. With a vicious shaking of a monstrous neck and head, the giant green reptile ripped and shredded the scale and flesh beneath, eventually breaking the other creature's neck. That creature? A green dragon; the same as the creature that had slew it. The blood that the offender now carried in his mouth? His mothers. Did he know that, and did he care? Perhaps yes, perhaps no: It would be hundreds of years before he even remembered what had happened on that faithful day.

This time, Vince's body shook so violently that the bed trembled and his eyes snapped open, though they registered nothing. Pain coated his eyes, and in the few seconds that they were open, the dragon's gaze looked everywhere yet no where. Then, as soon as it had begun, the gaze snapped shut, and the shaking stopped. For a few more moments, Vince was once more at peace with himself, absolutely content with the fact that he had suffered terrible pain just then, but in doing so had recovered memories he may have lost.

Satisfied he was indeed until words rang true.

"Daddy.. can we go to the forest? I want to see the bunnies today.. You promised that we could..." Emerald eyes peered down upon a small boy with a mop of silver covering his tiny head. His pale features were so unlike Vince's, dark and muscular, well-tanned and looking completely foreign to the land that he inhabited. The little boy looked up at his giant of a father and flashed him a smile, then reached his hand out towards his father's. Vince's hand reached out--

Reached out to choke the life out of that same boy that had held out his hand many years before. Striker's pleas of mercy came as sweet music to Vince's unforgiving ears. His son, although he was adopted, had given his life to Vince and the greater good of the family, and by defending his lover whom had accusingly pointed a finger at the love of Vince's life.. He had sentenced himself to death, and death he would find indeed at the hands of his father.

Perhaps it was fate that saved the boy that day, though. Even though Vince's claws had burst forth from his hands and torn right through the stomach of his son. The massive man left his stunned lover, and his son's stunned lover, there to stare at the ruin he'd left in his wake. He walked off in grim satisfaction that the deed was done. He was indeed proud of the killing blow that had...

"Not offed me.. close.. but Dominique helped me. Why did you do it, Vince... What brought you to this?" Vince had no answer.. no escape.. nothing would end him from this torment.. nothing at all..

"VINCEY! VINCEY! ... Please.. Vincey.. don't die on me... y' can't do this.. It's not fair..." The dragon had fallen. His wounds had cost him dearly, and as he stumbled through the snow, freezing, blood falling from the numerous wounds he carried, he could only think of one thing. A small girl with auburn locks that rolled from her head like an avalanche that was set ablaze. Vince smiled as he fell face-first into the frozen path, his goal so close yet so far.

Months later, Vince stood before the small girl and he looked down at her with a smile, noting that she wore the necklace he'd crafted for her. Made of the finest silken cord he could find, a necklace was laced around her neck; at the center of the necklace, Vince's gift on the day he'd thought he was done hung. A large tooth from a creature that looked akin to a bear but much larger hung from the necklace; that tooth was glowing slightly, enchanted by a protective magic that Vince had placed within it.

"Y' will be back soon, eh Vincey? I'll miss you!" "Yes, my dearest Amie. I'll be back before the sun rises two weeks from now. I love you, and please, don't wander too far. Though, you've not much to fear with Striker looking over you." Vince bent down and kissed the top of the girl's head, smiling into her soft blanket of hair as he thought about what he was going to do. It was more than likely that he'd never return, but still.. something had to be done.

Back in reality, Vince swallowed hard, shaking his head at what he knew was coming. He knew the moment was surely around the corner, but he didn't want to face it. No, he didn't want to face it just yet. The dragon's eyes snapped open once again as he struggled against his mind, but as soon as they did, they snapped back shut, the dragon's thoughts immediately being taken over by the memories that were swarming him.

VINCE! NO! The armored bear smashed the club into Vince's crossed sword, and despite the muscle and power that Vince possessed, the clang of metal and the sparks that flew clearly showed the bear's strength as superior. Vince grunted as he was thrown forward, towards what seemed the end of the marble hallway. Vince looked grimly at the bear and placed his sword out in-front of him in a two-handed grip. He began to rush forward when suddenly he was met head-on by a charge of the bear's accord.

The bear smashed into Vince, immediately halting his movement and swatting the sword aside with a simple slap of one of its massive legs. From there, the bear stood on two legs, and hefting Vince easily up into the air, soon began its death grip. Massive arms wrapped around the armored man, and soon he felt his fingers loosening in their relentless grip on the sword. Vince's eyes rolled into the back of his head as the grip continued, and then, he was jolted back to consciousness as they fell forward, smashing into ice cold water below the floor at the end of the hall-way.

Vince struggled, cast hand-signals which amplified his claws with electricity, and slashed away. The returning grip only intensified, but soon, Vince was tearing away at flesh and fur at a rapid rate, almost sure that the bear couldn't continue for much longer. There was absolutely no way that the bear could continue with its onslaught, seeing as how Vince was battering away at it. The girl who witnessed the plunge from above was sobbing, screaming Vince's name, completely unaware of the danger that was awaiting her.

Seconds later, Vince emerged, gasping for air, and pulled himself up from the water. He crawled towards the girl, trying to get air between the painful gasps he received from the broken ribs at the hands of the bear's powerful hug. A second later, Vince heard what sounded like a rush of the ocean, and water covered him again. The bear angrily smashed one of the supporting pillars, and it gave way, falling right towards the girl he loved.

Vince screamed in anger, hefting his sword up and engaging the bear once more. The battle raged on for a few more minutes, but then, the battle concluded tragically. Vince was impaled upon the bear's outstretched paws even as the sword slid through the bear's throat. They both gurgled, and with Vince's blood spilling onto the bear's fur, he died. At least, Vince would have died, but minutes later, the god resurrected the dragon and promised Vince that if he changed his ways and fulfilled a task, the dragon would be allowed to live.

He didn't want to. Not after the female he had come to love had died because of what that god had done. The god had set the bear upon Vince to rid the world of his supposed evil nature. The god had killed an innocent human girl and had revived that which he sought to destroy in repayment for the girl's poor soul. Vince hated that god with a passion, and he vowed to destroy him. With tears filling his emerald green eyes, Vince stumbled out of the cathedral, his fists clenched in anger and sadness, and then walked.

He walked his way into the Dark Tournament with a smile on his face with a sneer hidden beneath. The dragon's eyes darted around at all of the competitors, and he thought he'd have it easy. He knew for a fact that he'd have it easy. First round his team had pulled through. Second round his team blew through. In the semi-finals however, his fear and doubt of the god that had resurrected him overtook his fear. He was cut down mercifully by a woman that he had taken a liking to, but in the end, it was he who struck a telling blow. Vince's sword cut through her like warm butter and left her dying, while he clutched at the sword in his belly and stumbled away.

He had intended on leaving then, had intended on swearing all of this business off, but instead, a sign presented itself. The dragon's path led him later that evening to the infirmary where the girl he'd cleaved was dying. He cast all of his energy into his runic tattoo and sent the energy pulsing through her, collapsing in a heap on the floor. His deed to the god was done by seeing that the woman would indeed make it to the finals of the Dark Tournament.

In reality, Vince's mind was screaming at the blocked walls the memories were forming. It screamed for release and re-entry back into the realm of the living, and it would get its wish. Rudely, Vince's mind snapped back to reality, leaving him feeling as if he'd been smashed in the skull by a mace. He felt at his head but felt no blood. Nothing was there; no damage at all, yet.. he didn't feel right. Vince's eyes darted back and forth, and with a snarl, he ripped the IV's and all of the tubes from his arms. He stood up and dizzily stood, angrily flipping his bed in a fit of rage.

"The FUCK out of my WAY!", the dragon roared in rage as a male nurse went to hold him down and subdue him. The nurse went to grab him and took a step no farther. Vince's claws burst from his hands and smashed into the man's rib-cage, ripping it out in an act of brutality. The dragon stamped on angrily, moving past everyone, throwing guards to the side, and making for the door.

Blood stained his gown that he wore, and his claws were dripping with the sweet crimson life-source of his latest victim. The door was inviting, and that's where he headed, a wild look in his eyes. Would anyone stop him? Time would tell.

The girl blushed under the swordsman's gaze, by no means used to such things, and found herself unsure of just how to react--some innate instinct told her to shy away, but she could not deny the sense of satisfaction and pride his captivated stare awarded her. Caught between the two opposed reactions, she was left to stand and watch his trailing eyes, her lips stretching into a shaky and awkward smile when it seemed he had at last taken in all he needed.

He began to speak, and Faustina found herself blushing perhaps even more intensely than before. "Um...sort of..." she replied, soon turning her head to look for some sort of chair she could pull up beside her. There wasn't a chair, but the area was prepped to serve a massive number of patients, so an empty stretcher was close at hand and would serve the purpose. Pulling it closer to Snow, Faustina slid back onto the mediocre mattress, her feet lifting off the floor to swing childishly, her hands gripping the edge and a smile set upon her youthful features. One hand soon let go, however, at it found its pointer finger lifting to point at the deep, rich garnet hue of her right eye. "I took my eye-patch off. I'm...not entirely sure why, but it turned my body into a full Devil. This is the physical age it chose to mold, I guess..."

She paused, a hesitant silence falling over her as she became wrapped in shy insecurity. "Is that...weird...?"

The stillness was quickly shattered, however, by the roars of rage booming from behind her. Her eyes widened and she gasped in fright, hopping off the stretcher and spinning around, "V-Vince...!"

The room was turning to chaos as the dragon raged among the patients and caretakers. Faustina flinched, uneased by the show of ferocity, and began to back up, moving closer to Snow. Frightened as she was, she swallowed and spread her arm slightly out, as if to protect the swordsman. Indeed, the backing had occurred of her own desire to find protection, but Snow was injured while she remained unscathed.

She felt the tenseness in the air around them, eyes trained warily on the man who made to impede Vince. It seemed some sense of order was struggling to contain the situation, but she remained poised in front of Snow, just in case. Still, to try and recover their conversation, she offered a half-laugh, and an only very distantly amused murmuring of, "...never gets boring on tournament grounds, huh?"

((If a bit of scramble-age occurs like in my last post, it's because of this damn seizure-prone touchpad.))

It appeared the infirmary was very understaffed, and certain people got special treatment. Esouna couldn't stay strong much longer. The fairy slowly took a seat on the floor, considering just going back to the pool, heading to the bar, and drinking enough to ignore all the bruises. That would at least alleviate it for the moment.

The fairy wondered if the nurses could free up enough to actually take care of her before the next round...assuming she made it there, anyway. Esouna sort of broke down near the end, so a loss seemed likely. Assuming she made it, though, she certainly couldn't win again in her current state.

Esouna closed her eyes, still dealing with the pain. A few tears leaked from her eyes.

Oh, finally! The fairy sighed lightly partway through the man's speech, obviously relieved to have some assistance.

Alright, explain the condition. "Rrgh...I, I have--" Interruption. Specifically, one hand bolted up to clasp around the syringe, stopping it before it could reach her neck. Esouna held it sideways, so that no part of her hand could be injected by simply pushing forward. Yes, she had heard the explanation that it was for pain, but this situation reminded her of what happened at that damn restaurant, with the druggie who wanted to rob her. Her face went blank here, holding the syringe lightly.

Esouna was....twitchy.

Slowly, she unclasped the medicine, coming to her senses again instead of letting FIGHTIN REFLEX hijack any responses. "...I got hit a lot, everywhere. No broken skin," the fairy finished explaining, and lowered her arm. She seemed apologetic, but too weary or irritated to speak that thought.

Faustina's cheeks flushed almost as red as Snow's hair. "Ah...th-thank you, Snow..." she replied, a small, pleased smile set upon her features.

When the chaos struck, her attentions were too held by the commotion to catch exactly what was going on behind her, until a few seconds after the fact. Her brow frowned at the belated realization, and her head twisted around to glance back at Snow in confusion. "Huh?"

Before that could continue much further, Snow was waving making to stand up, his grunt raising Faustina's worry back to the forefront of her mind. She bit her lip, the rest of her body turning around as her arms poised to assist Snow, but it seemed he stood well enough. Still, she stayed readied in case something happened, her eyes shifting to glance at the doctor that had been called over.

Thankful more assistance had arrived, she relaxed somewhat, backing a few steps away from Snow so she wouldn't be in the doctor's way. Her eyes turned to look over the wounds as Snow showed them to the doctor, and the frustration at loosing her alchemy tinged the edge of her awareness. She flinched slightly, wanting to be of help but not sure how, and so resigned to standing by their side, lest the good doctor call on her assistance.

The fairy actually did want something for the pain, but her reaction convinced the man to hold off on the medicine and....that was really frustrating. Maybe fighters in general had perfect control over their don't-tase-me-bro reflexes, but shouldn't a healer be prepared for some degree of struggle?

Whatever the case, Esouna convinced herself to endure for a bit longer, until the healers totally fixed her. Forgoing the injection might be better anyway; considering that she was pretty small and her species was very sensitive to poisons, that pain medicine might make her pass out or be a zombie for a while.

Anyway, it seemed a magic-user had an orb and little ghosty things, for healing. Esouna idly batted at one of the wisps, but wouldn't fight against the body repairs. It's exactly what she wanted.

*Two Days Earlier...*"Gah, dammit! Watch the wrist!" Yasuo howled in pain over the burns that he had received on his arms from his previous opponent. That Gold Alexander really had some fight in him, but he hadn't at all taken advantage of the short bout the pair had - at least in the shinobi's opinion.

The doctor dictated to two nurses what needed to be done, what with the antiseptics, bandages and special creams to make the burn nothing more than a memory in a day or two.

Blah Blah Blah "Ouch"

*Skip ahead to the next two days of rest.*

Yasuo is ok by the end of the third day.

He says, "Thanks doc!", and puts back on his equipment for a day of prep for his next match. Slightly damaged bracer, sensitive skin and what not was all that was left of Gold's damage. Whether he had made it on to the next match however, was something he soon had to figure out.

Oh hey, "that guy" was back. Esouna looked up at him and nodded in response. She already felt better from the healing, which was a major relief.

Since she'd been fully attended to, the fairy no longer needed to hang out here. She stood up, turned around, and wordlessly walked away. Next round, hmm? Did he think she'd advance? Whatever the case, Esouna decided on the "better safe than sorry" principle. Time too get something to eat, so she'd have the energy to compete.

[Cyrus]

One of the suited men motioned for one of the mages to take care of Cyrus, to which was met with a near instant movement from one of the five female mages.

Stopping near the man's side, the mage gave no emotion and remained silent. An orb was pushed into the right forearm of her own body, to which both hands were placed on the chest of Cyrus.

The magic within would pulse throughout the fighters entire body, slowly and surely taking away the pain and slowing any bleeding down considerably. Within moments, the mage was finished as all that was left on the man's body were a few scrapes and minor burns that would heal before the next fight, if he made it to round 2.

The mage made her way from Cyrus, returning to the other mages as well as those suited doctors.

Faustina watched the mage work her healing magic with quite a bit of intrigue, mis-matched eyes following the motions of her hands, cheeks flushing a bit when they slid over Snow's torso. Feeling the heat rise in her face, she quickly bowed her head to avert her eyes, hands grasping idly low before her. "Ahh..."

She remained quiet for the rest of the procedure, head lifting again only when the mage began to speak, her smile turning up the corners of her mouth. As the mage walked away, Faustina looked back upon Snow, pleased to see that he at least seemed fine now. She chuckled lightly, one hand moving to rest gently on his shoulder as she replied, "Well, at least you're all patched up now, hm?"

The cool flesh that met her fingertips caused her to flinch at first, but after the initial surprise her hand quickly got used to the sensation, laying the full of its palm upon his shoulder. She laughed lightly at his words, partially to mask over her own shyness, and at last allowed her hand to drift reluctantly from his shoulder. It was strange...usually, the young Devil avoided the cold like the plague, but something so fundamentally essential to the very nature of contact seemed worth the hurdle, seemed important enough to endure what would usually cause discomfort. And while Faustina couldn't quite pinpoint just what it was that made it worthwhile when it came to Snow--perhaps his was a different cold? perhaps his personality? perhaps the environment? perhaps even something else?--she didn't let it bother her for now, her mind drawn to things much more interesting and important to the nature of their brief contact.

Namely, it was a television set into one of the room's corners that called her attentions from out of the corner of her eye. Her head turned, gaze summoned by a familiar mixture of garnet and auburn...and suddenly Faustina grew grave. It seemed the last of the fights had drawn to a close, and the reporters were reviewing some of the first round's highlights, both in and out of the ring. At the moment? A recap of her father's arrest, just in case anyone missed the GPD's "triumphant" capture.

She hesitated, biting her lip, then forced a smile back over her visage as her head turned back to regard Snow. When her eyes came back to meet his, they seemed somewhat off--distanced, somehow. Still, Faustina did her best to appear pleasant and cheery, offering up a suggestion posed as a solution to Snow's unease. "Well then...are you feeling well enough?" Turning, she took a few steps before pausing and glancing back over her shoulder to Snow, her spaded tail writhing in an almost inviting and beckoning manner. "Come on, let's walk around a bit...get you some fresh air."

Reading expressions and gestures was one of the abilities the swordsman excelled at. While it doesn't mean he could read minds, it did however allow him to guess within a fairly good percentage what a person is feeling, or planning to do. He noticed Faustina's distracted attention when she turned her head elsewhere, her expression showing some unease or worry - a tell-tale sign to the swordsman that something is bothering her.

The swordsman kept quiet however, watching her mask that concern with a forced smile. Taking into consideration that she might not want to talk about it, the swordsman let his concerns be placed to the side for the time being when she directed her attention to him. "Well I hope I'm all right and well; otherwise, I'll be hunting down that mage that healed me!"

A light tone of protest to bring the mood up, give or take. Might work or not, but it was worth a try to make the topic a bit more lively. The swordsman rubbed his torso for a few more seconds before he reached for his shirt and longcoat - wearing it back on with a few stretches here and there, and hopping off the stretcher to comply with Faustina's suggestion. His gears, blades and the Halberd would be quickly attached back to the respective holster, and with a few tugs to adjust his clothes over his body, the swordsman followed suit behind Faustina, giving a light sigh of relief.

At least he won't be cooped up here any longer, unlike the more unfortunate fighters that were in the infirmary.

Dr. Turk emerges from the operating room wearing his Tabasco sauce print do-rag, green scrubs (of course), and is strutting to the emergency area. "Best surgery evah! I haven't been this 'on' since my first solo operation back at Sacred Heart. Now who's next?"

Dr. Turk looks at the seated fox-woman and sees her sling and splint. "Oh, hey. You must be Robyn. Surprised nobody got ya ready for you next fight, and it looks like you might need some hardware too. Don't worry, I've got an OR open and I might be able to get a couple mages too."Now Turk turns around and shouts: "'Ey, can we get a stretcher ovah here?"

"Well, those bones won't set themselves, and you probably won't have enough time to let them heal normally before your next round, which you will be goin' on to, so we'll be putting some screws and bars in there for now." Turk explains as the stretcher he asked for is brought next to him by a couple mages. "Now up we go, hop on to here and I'll try to keep it as painless as I can if you don't want any morphine or anesthesia, but orthopedic procedures are very painful."

"Oh, by the way, I'm Dr. Chris Turk here from Sacred Heart,and don't worry; you'll be ready to fight in no time!" Turk, the nurses, and the mages now push the stretcher and Robyn down the hallway as fast as they can for the first operating room. As soon as they reach it, Turk says: "Hey, could y'all get her ready while I scrub up and get my tools?"

((PIME TARADOX))

The mages performed their magic skillfully, and Turk was able to insert titanium bars into all of the broken bones, screwing them in with at least three screws per side: these will have to stand up to a fight, after all, as well as replacing the closed-up section of the damaged femoral artery with an artificial one that works in much the same way the real one does, only this one biodegrades when the body restores the artery by itself, but not a moment sooner. "Normally I'd like ta keep ya around for a bit, but you gotta go whoop some ass! And you betta with all that metal!"

((end of PIME TARADOX, now at present time))

"Yes Carla, I've been keeping a sharp eye on my blood sugar... yeah, I know. At least we'll finally have quite a bit of breathing room. How's my baby girl doin'? Really? Awwwwww!"Turk says to Carla over the phone.

_________________ In two days, Thurgood actually felt well enough, from a couple IV bags of morphine, to remove it, sneak out of the infirmary, and go back to Rhoslyn's island, home of the Black Sand Bar, to go and get something.

Makenshi reached the end of his second round. He lost..

But it was a good fight. A close one.

The paramedics took him in and would begin the healing process of his body.

[Post to be edited in the near future]

((Dont feel like editing my previous post lol))

Makenshi lie in the bed cringing his teeth, fangs bared. He wasnt one of those n00b vampires, or demons or werewolves. He was a kitsune. A creature somewhat of the spiritual nature. He was gripping anything he could, holding tight, claws covered in blood. Funny thing was, it wasnt his blood. He groaned and somewhat growled in pain. "Rngg..! Ahh!" The Paramedics would look at the doctor and answer.

"He's suffered severe holy burns, a broken nose, a broken collar bone, and some minor lacerations, mostly on his right forearm. His condition wouldnt really be so bad if he didnt immerse himself in the burns, doctor."

The paramedics said as they would begin their bedside proceedures before leaving to let the nurses and doctors handle their business.

A particularly peculiar creature entered the infirmary: resembling a dog, for the most part, but this one was about the size of a small horse and was composed of steel. The sharp claws tapped the floor lightly, the bottom of the animal's paws obviously padded or else it would have certainly made a loud clanking noise as the metal hit the ground.

Immediately following the large metallic canine was none other than Dan Luca. On his back was his trusty mechanical companion, 'Nad, and in his right hand was a capsule: one of the mechanical devices that turn into one of Dan's inventions when activated and destroyed. Dan had been following his HUD, even after the fight all of his information on his opponent stood there, and the goggles led him right to her.

When finally entering the place, Dan just stood there, scanning the room. He wasn't looking for Robyn because he knew where she was already, instead he was taking in everything else, and becoming aware of everything around so as not to make a silly mistake and wind up having to stay here due to his own injuries.

"How is he not dead?!"exclaimed a doctor, struggling to lift the bloody stained cutlass onto a stretcher. The patient, after hours under the knife and healing hands of certified white mages, was recovering rather poorly in his own room. His personal doctor visited often and made the surprising announcement that the politician would be fine in no time at all. The staff were skeptical, especially since Vrael would never walk again unless he managed to get a new pair of legs. Both Vrael and his doctor shared a smirk at this before the politician went back to sleep.

"Well, this is Gaia but y'know at least he-"

"He got stabbed through the spine! What the hell was he fighting?!"

"Erm this guy called Krauss. It was a pretty violent ending but when the Pedo-God came it kinda toned things done. By the way, did you hear we have a..." the young nurse leaned closer to the doctor before whispering into his ear. "We have one of the colored folk working here...Y'know. A black guy!"

-.-

**"Erm Darnisha, you are black. What does that have to do with anything?"**

Darnisha looked outraged at this and stomped off leaving a confused doctor to scratch his hair and glance down at his patient. The politicians doctor arrived earlier to say Vrael would be leaving soon much to his worry. Another squadron of white mages should be arriving soon to try and improve his chance of survival. For some reaosn Vrael wasn't keen on living evidenced by his lack of cooperation and secretive smirks. He countinued to remind the doctor that he may get a better job working for him, once he returned in a few days time. The doctor, known for his intelligence and intuition, believed Vrael would soon be undergoing a body transfer only to receive a kind smile from Vrael and the promise of a tripled pay check if he chose to work for the entrepeneur.

Doctor Cook was far more interested in discovering Vrael's secrets and he was sure such a man, powerful in his own ways, had many secrets lurking within those 'government' buildings of his.

As the woman spoke the animachina by Dan's side grew stiff and it's ears fell to the back of it's head, a low growling sound coming from it. The computer's AI in this particular machina was impressive, and although it was technically battle ready, Dan hardly ever used this Canine in battle.

Dan didn't bother speaking back to the girl, he knew that his attack had to have had some kind of effect on her hearing, all of that blood that came from her ears had to mean something. After looking around for a moment, the boy saw the whiteboard and reached over to grab it. Pulling the marker off of the top clip on the board, Dan wrote out a simple message on the board, then turned it to face Robyn.

"Help?"

Giving Robyn a second to read, Dan slowly brought up the hand holding the capsule. It was small, just as small as any of the others, but this one had a green button, the others were all just steel colored. Rising his eyebrow, Dan waited for an answer.

Smiling and nodding, the Al Bhed tossed the whiteboard, he didn't care where he threw it or who it hit, if it did indeed hit someone. As for the kind of help that he was offering? Clicking the button on the capsule, Dan closed his hand, and closed it hard. After his palm completely swallowed the ball, a crushing sound could be heard by those able to actually hear. Then the technology rebuilt itself in the form of a pair of aviator shades. Black in color, the sunglasses were pretty a pretty gender neutral accessory.

Stepping forward, and doing so cautiously, as well as keeping the Canine animachina back, Dan held his hand out. As he did that he also took his free hand and took the goggles off his own face, then replaced them, as if showing her to put the shades on... It wasn't until she did so that she would really see what the sentiment here was.

Dan Luca Wrote:

> Smiling and nodding, the Al Bhed tossed the whiteboard, he didn't care where he threw it or who it hit, if it did indeed hit someone.

The whiteboard would hit no one, because Rylen entered the room at that moment and caught it effortlessly in his good hand. The half-wolf took a measured step into the room, beaming a cold, grim glare at the boy and his (robot) dog. Seeing as he had no reason to visit the infirmary for himself after his match--a busted nose hardly qualified as any sort of medical emergency--Rylen had come to see how Robyn was doing. He had been too busy tending to his own extensive injuries after his first match that he had not had a chance to meet up with Robyn then. He had heard that Robyn's last visit to the infirmary had made for quite the spectacle, and so he expected much the same after her bout with Dan.

He did not, however, expect to find Dan there standing over her, and he did not like it one bit. Oh, that is not to say he was surprised the moment he stepped in the room to catch a wayward flying clipboard. He had known Dan was there long before he saw him with his eyes. Like Robyn, he had a nose worth the bump on his face. He had therefore done his best to keep his approach muted so that Dan would not be able to perceive his arrival until the moment he entered the room. Of course Dan had his machines and cameras, and there was a distant possibility that his canine had some kind of artificial sense of smell equivalent to Rylen's, or greater. But Rylen did not know any of that, and he had simply attempted to enter as silently as possible--not difficult given the dull hum of activity around the medical ward.

But the fact of the matter was that neither Rylen nor Dan had any reason to cause the other harm, at the moment. Even if Rylen was successful in masking his approach to the very last moment, he would not seize on the opportunity to try and make some kind of sneak attack on Dan, since Dan had made no apparent move to harm Robyn. Of course, Rylen's mere presence was warning enough.

Twisting his wrist to turn the whiteboard over in his hand, Rylen caught the single word scrawled across it. His crimson eyes then shot up in another silent glare at Dan and his machine, both in front of him and presumably with their backs to him. He watched the machine in particular, leery of having it turn around to confront him. If it did, Rylen was ready himself to move if it then tried to make some sort of attack. If it simply turned around to let out a few mechanical yips, well, he would be content to let it for the time being.

He tilted his head to the side a bit to peer around Dan's side to Robyn, watching her carefully for any sign of distress or, more importantly, any sign of possession by Selene. He knew for a fact the demon had taken hold towards the end of their bout, and he knew that in her current state and depending on Dan's intentions it was entirely possible the same would happen again. Most of all he looked for some form of affirmation from the fox girl telling him that he should allow Dan to proceed, knowing that he would be there to assist her if needed.

As soon as Robyn put the glasses on, the young man's smirk finally disappeared. Dan almost always wore that smirk, he was pretty cocky, but when Robyn put on the sunglasses there was a genuine smile on Dan's face. After licking his lips, the boy spoke quietly. Immediately following the sounds that left Dan's lips, an HUD screen activated on the underside of the Vixen's shades. On the bottom left corner there was, in parenthesis "Al Bhed", on the top left corner there was a figure of Dan, and just like the real life one, it was standing there, it's lips moving in conjunction with the real boy's.

"Dryhg oui vun dra vekrd, E ys kmyt du ryja ryt cilr y fuhtanvim ubbuhahd. Ev oui't mega, E fuimt muja du ryja y funt fedr oui, pid ev huf'c y pyt desa druca kukkmac femm cruf oui ruf du kad du sa. Zicd ycg ed du veht 'Dan'"

Those exact characters (^) showed up on the screen, almost like subtitles, in green. If Robyn were to focus on Dan, the HUD had his body highlighted green. This showed that the Aviators were focused on him, and that he was the one speaking. A second later those weird, jumbled up letters flipped around, and legible words were formed for the girl to read: *"Thank you for the fight, I am glad to have had such a wonderful opponent. If you'd like, I would love to have a word with you, but if now's a bad time those goggles will show you how to get to me. Just ask it to find 'Dan' (Pronounced "Dohn")"*

The way these shades worked in particular, were very different from Dan's. Unlike the goggles that Dan wore, they could only focus on one target at a time, they had cameras on the side of the shades where Robyn was looking through, and followed her eyes, so when she looked at a person who was speaking he or she would be highlighted for the viewer. Tiny mics on the rim of the glasses picked up whatever sound was being made, and deciphered what was being said, then subtitles appeared in the same highlighted color for the viewer to read. The glasses knew most common languages, as well as Al Bhed. This was only a temporary solution, or tool, that Robyn could use until her hearing came back... Hopefully, it would be useful. As for finding Dan, if she gave the command, an arrow would appear pointing her where to walk to find the boy, almost like a GPS.

One more step forward, and Dan offered his hand to Robyn. Outstretched, the boy was offering a handshake. Although there was a chance that the girl could have just as easily shook his hand as swiped at it and possibly broke it, Dan didn't care... More and more of his old sensei was showing in the boy every day.

As for Rylen, Dan was aware of most of the people entering his general vicinity, but this person was a stranger for Dan. When the half-wolf walked into Dan's immediate area, the Canine turned to him, it's eyes immediately turning red and shining dully on the male. It didn't growl, as it normally would have, but rather stood there, defensively hovering over Dan. No offensive gestures, however, were assumed, and the Al Bhed didn't even bother turning from the female.

"E ghuf ruf du cbayg English, nydran famm, duu.. Pid cusa uv dra drehkc E fecr du teclicc fedr oui E't nydran zicd gaab padfaah ouincamv yht E. Frydajan oui fecr du damm ouin vneahtc yvdanfynt, ec uh oui, pid vun huf E'mm dno du gaab drehkc luhvetahdeym."

Dan began, his voice came out smoothely, and quiet as ever; he wasn't exactly whispering, but he wasn't being loud either. Regardless, the Glasses held the subtitles, then translated: *"I know how to speak English, rather well, too.. But some of the things I wish to discuss with you I'd rather just keep between yourself and I. Whatever you wish to tell your friends afterward, is on you, but for now I'll try to keep things confidential."*

Looking around, Dan finally showed Ry that he was aware of his presence, slightly acknowledging him with a nod. Putting an arm around the Canine, Dan began to stroke it's steel hide softly, the animachina relaxed a bit as he did this, then leaned over and nuzzled into his chest and neck; it seemed happy.

"Druca kmyccac yna y bayla uvvanehk, E ghuf E crufpuyd y mud, yht E tuh'd aqyldmo bmyo vyen uid drana pid E teth'd fyhd oui du kad dra fnuhk etay. Udran dryh dryd, rufajan, E ymcu fuimt mega vun oui du tu sa y vyjun... Oui caa, E's fungehk uh y haf sylrehy, yht ed'c vyenmo lusbmada, E zicd haat uha drehk vun ed... Cgemm. Fryd E's fungehk uh ec ymsucd mega yh aqucgamaduh cied, ed uvvanc cmekrd bnudaldeuh, pid ed'c syeh vihldeuh ec du luhdnum dra puto. E haat y cipzald fru lyh suja famm, yht ec ykema ahuikr du lusbmada dra bnuknyssehk. E haat cusauha du sesel. Yvdan fydlrehk ouin sujac uid drana, yht cditoehk dras jano lmucamo, E drehg oui'mm pa banvald vun dra pady sutam."

(Those glasses are a peace offering, I know I showboat a lot, and I don't exactly play fair out there but I didn't want you to get the wrong idea. Other than that, however, I also would like for you to do me a favor... You see, I'm working on a new machina, and it's fairly complete, I just need one thing for it... Skill. What I'm working on is almost like an exoskeleton suit, it offers slight protection, but it's main function is to control the body. I need a subject who can move well, and is agile enough to complete the programming. I need someone to mimic. After watching your moves out there, and studying them very closely, I think you'll be perfect for the beta model.)

Clearing his throat, and rubbing the back of his neck, Dan finished in English.

"All you'll have to do is show me a few of your moves while wearing some machina pieces. I understand if you decline, you can keep the shades regardless."

Holding the smile, Dan nodded, to show he was pretty much done, and waited for a response...

"That sounds good, I'll let you know more, in detail about everything if you decide that you actually want to go along with it. If you do help me out, I won't mind doing the same with you. I see you could use some biomechanics in that arm to replace those primitive nuts and bolts, and there are plenty of other things I'm sure we could help each other with. I appreciate, at least, your considering anything."

(I'll finish this post after class)

Unsteady footfalls would signal the arrival, or rather, departure, of a fighter from the infirmary. The bandages which had once covered half his face were now removed, and his previously swollen-shut right eye had peeked open, having healed rather nicely during his short stint in the infirmary. His leg, still bandaged, hadn't healed up so nicely just yet, and it was still rather heavily bandaged. Walking with a limp and a crutch, the young man managed to shamble out without much trouble. Oddly enough, he didn't wear any sort of hospital gown, and was instead fully clothed. The unconscious intern locked in the storage closet down the hall would have some explaining to do, as to how a crippled, half-blind fighter had managed to beat him senseless and steal his clothing. The cargo pants fit nicely enough, as did the converse, but the printed t-shirt with SLAM CITY SKATES plastered upon his broad chest, was a bit too tight, appearing like some sort of tight muscle shirt. Regardless, the young man had managed his escape quite well thus far, and nothing would stop him now.

Without any further hindrances, he simply wandered out the front door. And, what was the motivation for this dramatic escape?

...

"I need a smoke..."

The young man, Shinji, would grumble as he meandered his way out toward the parking lot, where he proceeded to retrieve the crushed pack of slim cigarettes and small silver lighter he had retaken from the infirmary's inventory of fighter belongings, along with a few other items of interest. Some pocket change he was certain no one would miss. After lighting up and taking a long drag or two, he would nonchalantly flick the remains of his cigarette to the pavement and continue his waltz through the tournament grounds. He had learned that the second round was over, and though he was certain that he had lost, he sought now to learn the fate of his opponent.

Hopefully he hadn't hit the brave too hard, at least not so much that he would be unable to win the tournament now.

With that thought in mind, Shinji put on a small, sly smirk and moved to maintain his staggered gait, in search of someone who could inform him about current events.

After Thurgood pushed the "nurse" button a couple of minutes ago, a nurse comes in. "Whaddya want?" "It's getting... kinda hard... to breathe..." The damage to his lung is taking a noticeable effect. The nurse just ups his morphine dose and leaves, with Thurgood's blood oxygen level at 72% and dropping.

Shinji would follow the meandering path which he had set for himself without thought or hesitation, rather, he wandered to and fro as if in search of something. The unsteady footfalls would be accompanied by the intermittent crutch-fall, as the monk did his best to steady himself upon the device. He wasn't used to it, not just yet. His legs had been broken before, sure, but usually when that happened some elder monk just used some sort of magic trick and he would be all healed up. Here, it seemed, the healing process would take some time. And, for Shinji, it was time he didn't have to waste. Looking to get to training as soon as possible, following his "pathetic" admittance of defeat during his fight, he now had the drive and purpose to train. Purpose was something he had lacked in the past. The monk had been without purpose or meaning since his childhood, when his only goal was to get strong, and prove the naysayers wrong. He had become strong, relying on hard work and innate talent, but since achieving such success as a martial artist, the life of a wanderer became his, and he lost focus.

Now, it seemed, a new determination had overtaken him. That coy smirk had gradually faded, in the time since his fight, replaced by a determined grimace. His inability to properly train was particularly bothersome. The only way his situation could get any worse would be...

"Hey! Isn't that Shinji?!" a voice from far-off would call.

"Yeah, Deitric's last opponent, the monk..." another added in confirmation.

"Shouldn't he be in the hospital? He got pretty banged up..." someone thought aloud.

Shinji's determined grimace became a subtle frown, and then a more obvious one.

As passersby continued their hushed talk the monk continued his shuffling gait, managing as best he could on one good leg and a crutch. The monk's meandering would lead him elsewhere, though now with a perpetual crowd of followers and onlookers. It wasn't enough to bother him, at least not yet. But as he moved the constant chattering undertone which seemed to follow him endlessly would begin to ware on him. At the moment, he didn't want to be reminded of how his fight went, he was there when it happened, after all, he sought to figure out how the rest of the tournament participants fared. Gritting his teeth, the monk would eventually reach a boiling point and, without any thought or hesitation, a small surge of chakra would be allocated to his legs, the good one and the bad one, and he would haphazardly hop over the nearby decorative shrubbery.

Landing as gracefully as possible, without a crutch to aid him, Shinji's working leg took the lead as he did his best to balance himself as he touched down. Hopping on that one good foot for a short while, he would eventually tumble and fall face-first onto the lawn, arms moving last-minute to protect him from any serious harm.

"Ouch..." he would grumble, clawing his way up to a sitting position. Reopened stitches upon his bad leg had opened, and blood had begun to seep through the bandaging, staining the cargo pants he had so painstakingly stolen. "Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit."

He would collapse back, onto his back, his gaze shifting toward the sky.

"God damn it."

He would grumble under his breath, careful not to draw too much attention to himself. Not that he had landed in a very populous area. In fact, the only person nearby was a man seated silently upon a bench in the near distance. Shinji hadn't given it any thought, he hadn't even noticed that it was none other than his opponent, Deitric.

At the moment, he really didn't care. Laying sprawled out on his back, the monk immediately regretted his decision. Apparently, he had a bad habit of making stupid split-second decisions, such as this.

"FFFFFFFFFF-"

"Huh, someone helpful? That can't be right, what's this guy's angle?" The monk pondered, still laying lackadaisically on his back as though nothing had happened, doing his best to stifle the pain coursing up from his bad leg into, seemingly, the very depths of his soul. Having one's Achilles Tendon cut was pretty much Bad News Bears, even with an infirmary full of magical healers, the wound had only just begun to recover. And now, all that healing effort was undone.

The monk grumbled some more nigh-undetectable curses under his breath as he ran his fingers through his mess of hair, which had also started to recover from being lit aflame.

"Shit." he would grumble once more before, thinking to address the possibly-too-helpful man, putting on his most serious expression. Nodding nonchalantly, as best as possible, he extended his own hand out to clasp the outstretched hand of the man in the suit, tugging himself up onto his good leg with a little effort.

"Thanks." he muttered quietly, perhaps his already-wounded pride had just taken another hit.

There was a silence, before the monk spoke up again, now without any visible sign of pain or duress. Those feelings were subverted now, as he focused on this man.

...

"So, what's your deal, suit? Need something?" he would ask, in his usual nonchalant pseudo-slang, calling the man a 'suit' just for fun.

Shinji would take in what the man had to say with nothing more than a small nod now and then to signify that he was still paying attention. The notion of an interview was a confusing one, as, in his personal opinion, he hadn't really accomplished much of anything during his fight. And, in addition, he hadn't even really fought his first round battle. In all, he wasn't very impressed with his performance. But, this man seemed interested in hearing what the monk had to say, and so he would consent with one more affirmative nod.

"Sure, I don't see why not..."

He hadn't had much experience with the press, really. With that in mind, he had no reason to not trust the man in the suit. Watching him shuffle off, Shinji would take his crutch and lean himself against it, giving himself enough support to resume his shambling gait. As he did so, he would pause in front of a nearby bench which he had spotted earlier.

Sitting himself down, he would retrieve his pack of slim cigarettes and small silver lighter. Perhaps he was ignoring the man seated a short distance away from him, or rather, more likely, he was simply oblivious to who it was, exactly. Regardless, as he placed his cig between his lips and cupped his hands around its tip, preparing to light up, he thought to ascertain if the man seated beside him minded.

"Mind if I smoke?"

The man Shinji sat beside was turned aside in the opposite direction, and spat out a mess of what looked like red tinged tobacco chew into a nearby trashcan, tossing the cup in afterward that he had been spitting into.

"Go ahead," he said, leaning back to take his normal sitting position again, the small book sitting on his lap, "Shinji."

Deitric sat the book aside pulled out a small stick of bubblegum, throwing aside the wrapper and tossing the gum into his mouth. "I didn't think they would release you from medical so early. Or did you "sign yourself out"?" he asked complacently. Despite his own injuries, he was comfortable enough, aside from the insistent itching beneath the gauze on his hand that came with the burns he'd suffered.

Then, there was a momentary lapse in reason, during which Shinji had the epiphany which lead him to understand exactly who was seated beside him. He hadn't put too much effort into looking, and beyond the fact that there was a man (maybe?), sitting on the bench reading (... something) he hadn't been aware it was anyone he knew. Certainly not his opponent from the previous round, at least.

Regardless, his usual grin crept across his lips and without missing a beat, he responded:

"Deitric, ... something." he mumbled, lost in an attempt to remember the tribesman's last name. He quickly gave up on the endeavor in an attempt to answer the follow-up question, which also brought a smirk to his lips.

"You could say I signed myself out, I suppose. Though, I wasn't really aware there was a system for doing so, I just sorta left..."

Pausing again, curious now as his mind wandered, he hadn't even thought that there would be a way in which he could sign himself out. Disregarding the idea with a nonchalant shrug, he decided that he didn't care. He was out now, with some fancy new clothes and some extra pocket-change.

After the small break following his answer, the monk sought to ask a question of his own:

"So." he began, "You're not too banged up to go ahead and win this thing, right, friend-o? I'd hate for a good guy like you to lose because of a poke and a tap from a bad guy like me."

His grin remained, at the notion that a feeble poke and a somewhat-more-potent tap was all he had managed to land during the fight. With his question asked, he resumed the process of lightning his cigarette, and, before long, he was free to take a long, well-enjoyed drag before exhaling a nebulous puff of smoke off and away from either man.

Dr. Turk takes a look at the patient that just came in, and sees that she migt be a candidate for surgery, which of course, is his field. "Oh, hey..." Turk says as he comes up to look at the gashes, "Wow those are deep. Let's get her into an open OR down here and make sure she don't have any organ damage. Could we get an IV and maybe a blood type for her?" Turk then leads the stretcher to an open operating room.

"Ain't that the truth..." Shinji would attest, the notion of healing magic being something he was never particularly in-tune with, apart from that fact that whenever he got himself beaten to a pulp back at the monastery, there was always a kindly elder monk or abbot to attend to him with a wise fortune-cookie phrase and a bit of healing magic. Beyond that, he didn't know or care-to-know much about magic. Something about it irked him. Perhaps it was because he didn't know how it worked, and to him it seemed far to unexplained inexplicable, something that would usually be mistrusted. He had no taste for magic, or magic users.

Then again, the healing was always nice. And, it was true that white mages and healers were, mostly, good people. Shinji had nothing against good people.

The monk listened as the brave spoke, very rarely did he intently pay attention to what others had to say, but this man had earned that measure of trust. Enough so that Shinji could at least hear him out. With a nod he agreed that the fight wasn't easy, concurrent with his own belief that he wasn't quite strong enough for this level of competition. With that idea in mind, an answer to Deitric's question arose almost instantaneously.

"What do I do know?" the monk repeated, getting his thoughts together before answering, "Easy. Train, get stronger, and come back next time to win it all." as he spoke, his usually coy smirk became a genuine smile, the notion of winning was what would be his motivation, now. Get stronger, and win. Simple enough, the monk thought to himself.

"It's the only thing I can do. Fight, that is. I might as well get better at it. Better than I am, at least."

At that, he took another puff and cast his gaze upward toward the clouds. They looked quite nice, today. It was a good day, regardless of the fact that he had lost his fight. The monk seemed over it and well-ready to move on and forget about it. That serene, mellow nature allowed him to handle situations like this well, without skipping a beat. He just moved on; the next stage of his life had already been decided, all he had to do now was pursue it.

"As good a plan as any," Deitric offered in agreement. He turned a page in his book, set in a small, cloth marker, and close it. His thoughtful, turquoise gaze looked around curiously; most likely to make sure there weren't any media suits attempting to eavesdrop on the conversation. He found that some people behind the mics and cameras had an annoying habit of following around certain personalities in an attempt to get any information they could to scrap together a story.

"Training is good. This tournament isn't the only one though - there are others," he said, turning to look at the monk. "One of the oldest and largest will start to draw fighters together in four or five months' time, and will begin soon after that. Heaven or Hell; have you heard of it?" he queried, conversational in tone.

Truthfully, he wouldn't be surprised if Shinji hadn't; if he were an immigrant of sorts to the world, as Deitric was, or had lived isolated away from popular culture, then he might not have any notion of what the tournament was. The tribesman felt it better to gauge the monk's knowledge, rather than assume one way or the other.

Bad Dreams. Some kind of euphoric nightmare giving her ten thousand reasons that she was a dummy. Red Fox was slapping her on the head, saying Dummy, over and over again, like a repeating loop. Then the dream faded into darkness. The amount of Anesthesia given to a normal person of her size and weight would have more than double the effect for Adaire. Her body was inherently sensitive to to drugs and toxins. The same reason she could never hold her liquor would be the same reason that her heart would begin to beat rather quickly, pulse spiking. Her blood pressure reading rising to dangerous levels.

((Possible temporary stage 2 reaction?))

The Darth Vizzle Wrote:

> "As good a plan as any," Deitric offered in agreement. He turned a page in his book, set in a small, cloth marker, and close it. His thoughtful, turquoise gaze looked around curiously; most likely to make sure there weren't any media suits attempting to eavesdrop on the conversation. He found that some people behind the mics and cameras had an annoying habit of following around certain personalities in an attempt to get any information they could to scrap together a story. > > "Training is good. This tournament isn't the only one though - there are others," he said, turning to look at the monk. "One of the oldest and largest will start to draw fighters together in four or five months' time, and will begin soon after that. Heaven or Hell; have you heard of it?" he queried, conversational in tone. > > Truthfully, he wouldn't be surprised if Shinji hadn't; if he were an immigrant of sorts to the world, as Deitric was, or had lived isolated away from popular culture, then he might not have any notion of what the tournament was. The tribesman felt it better to gauge the monk's knowledge, rather than assume one way or the other.

( Busy work schedule is busy, I'll replace this quote with a response... eventually. Regardless of the implied time-paradox between this conversation and your third round fight. )

It had taken Celas some time to find his way to the infirmary from the stadium seats but he eventually found his way there. A step inside and a glance around showed him where Robyn was resting, in conversation with what was likely a friend. Smiling faintly, he made his way over to join them.

He had to admit that he was enjoying the tournament. It appealed to him on some level, though he could not say why. It also allowed him to escape the gazes that followed him wherever he went, not so much for his feathered white hair or red eyes but because of the long nodachi he was never seen without, hilt bound to black lacquered scabbard with prayer beads. Stranger things had been seen in these halls.

Celas grinned as he approached the bed. Seeing her perk up like that triggered that same sense of affection and amusement that permeated his every moment around her. "I thought I'd surprise you. I didn't expect to find you in the infirmary, though. It took me some time to track you down."

He, however, did not ignore the presence of the other man. He flashed a brief smile and gave a slight bow by way of greeting. "My name is Celas. I take it you are a friend of Robyn's?"

Robyn blinked as Celas addressed Rylen, and a guilty flush spread across her cheeks. "Oh my god, I'm sorry Ry, it's just..." The fox girl gave a happy little hop in the bed. "Celas, this is Rylen, he and I met up during Heaven or Hell, fought together (and each other, but he wasn't to know that)...Ry, this is Celas, my, umm...boyfriend." She knew she hadn't mentioned that fact beforehand to the half-wolf, but, it had never really popped up. The only time she'd mentioned him had been in a vague way when discussing her team-

The purple-haired girl clapped excitedly. "Hell, this is perfect! 'Bout time you two met, considering you're gonna be teammates in a few months."

She focused back on Celas, unable to keep her gaze away. It'd been a while since she'd seen him, after all, and to have him suddenly pop up had taken her off balance, having her be just a tad more emotional, although this kind of hyperactivity wouldn't be too unusual for either of them.

Her expression softened somewhat. "I've missed you..."

Robyn felt his cool hand on hers, and she smiled. "The fact that you're actually still able to show up is good enough for me." The fox girl was aware of how cheesy she always got around Celas, but there was little she could do to help it. She knew Rylen would rib her forever about this, and would make sure he remembered just what she was capable of one she was back in peak condition.

Speaking of which...The vixen gave a guilty grin to her partner, ears flicking in nervousness. "Yeah...'bout that...I...can't...actually...hear you right now..." She chuckled nervously, rubbing one of her deafened ears with her other hand.

"The glasses are a sort of apology gift from my opponent....it picks up what you say and turns it into text." Rylen had already brought it up, but she hoped Celas wouldn't ask what had happened....and what had happened after it. Because anyone who knew her well enough, would know that something like that would knock her out. And they would also know what happened when she got knocked out...

As Dr. Chris Turk checks the rest of the cuts for organ damage, he closes them all up as the small amount of sedative brings Adaire's blood pressure down a bit. It's still elevated, but now low enough to limit bleeding.

As James sat in his own room at the end of Round 3, examining his injuries himself, the only thing he could think of was "Man, Miss Kaikou's going to be pissed".

First he went ahead and destroyed his right arm in the defensive of her Falician Temple. Seyumi had barely managed to heal it, with alot of help, back to almost-normal. Now he went ahead and shattered his left hand despite the reinforced glove he wore to protect himself.

"Wonder if I can ask her to give me a physical" James fantasized idly as he waited for a healer. The normal doctors had done their best to patch up what they could, but supernatural wounds required a white mage or something similiar.

[Round 3]

Deitric turned in his chair to find himself face to face with Sey. He was a little surprised; most healers were more clinical, less friendly. He offered a faint smile, but immediately regretted it. Even with the pain medication, any facial expression sent a twinge of pain lancing through his skin.

"Yes, I'm Deitric," he affirmed, turning himself around in the chair to face her, holding his hand out for a handshake. He would have stood up, but every time he picked himself up to greet a white mage or doctor, they shushed him back into his chair or bed. Despite his battered appearance, he looked relaxed enough. Perhaps it was a combination of the medication and the presence that came from her medallion. More likely, it was because the adrenaline of combat had faded an hour or two prior, and now he was just too tired to be anything other than calm.

"It's nice to meet you, Seyumi," he continued laxly, looking up at her. "No, I'm not - at least, it's never bothered me before," the tribesman explained uncertainly. Truth be told, his understanding of magic was tenuous, at the very least, but he'd never suffered an adverse reaction from it.

Celas smiled and returned the squeeze. "I'm glad to hear. I'll speak with the doctors and reiterate the fact that sedatives are a bad idea. One can hope that your last match was the closest call you have this tournament." Celas stood and leaned over to kiss Robyn's forehead. She might want to refrain from showing too much affection in front of Rylen but Celas was unaware of what bond they might share. Even so, it was a fairly chaste kiss.

"Get some rest - you'll need your strength. I'll be watching." He turned toward Rylen and gave another slight bow. "Rylen - a pleasure to meet you." With one last smile to Robyn and a swish of his coat, he headed toward the door.

The monk's thoughts were stymied momentarily upon the announcement that he required a team to participate. Immediately he thought to himself that he knew hardly anyone in this place called Gaia. He was unhappy, for an instant, and it manifested itself in a subtle frown. However, his dark hazel eyes shifted his gaze upward to meet that of the man sitting nearby and taking note of the hint of a smirk, the monk managed to put together a faint inkling of what Deitric had in mind.

Truly, Shinji knew nothing of this tournament known as Heaven or Hell, or anything about its rules, but the idea of such a test of his ability was a particularly intriguing one. While the notion of fighting on a team was somewhat confusing, as he wasn't totally sure about how the mechanics would work, he didn't seem too preoccupied with the idea. Already, he was once again looking forward to getting himself involved. Therefore, with Deitric's announcement that he planned to put together a team, Shinji's usual smirk slowly returned to him.

"I do fight quite well, don't I?" Shinji would announce, his smirk spreading into a wide grin, as his somewhat brazen personality showed itself once more. All in good fun, of course, the monk was already plotting the training that he knew he would have to endure.

"Well then, friend-o, you make 'yerself a team, and I'll be one it. 'Fer sure."

At that, Shinji extended a hand, proposing a shake to 'seal the deal', as it where. Shaking hands wasn't something he did much back home, but he understood it was something of a custom here.

Hopefully the tribesman wouldn't attempt to crush his hand.

[Round 3]

"I--.. should it bother me?" the fighter questioned, more out of curiosity than fear that her magic might affect him adversely. He ignorantly assumed that healing magic was all the same and that, relatively speaking, it worked for everyone. Everyone who was living, breathing, and made of flesh and bone, anyways.

He nodded in assent and tilted his head back to let her get a closer look at the underside of his jaw where the burn was worse than the rest of his face. The movement forced the cracked skin to stretch, and blood began to well up where it broke through beneath the charred skin. The sensation was vague beneath the pall of painkillers, Deitric barely felt it.

"James Eredas. We have known each other a while; I think he has been wanting to fight me for some time," he explained casually, ignoring the awkward feeling that he looked like a turkey, tilting its head back to drown itself in a rainstorm.

The Darth Vizzle Wrote:

> [Round 2] > > "Glad to hear it," he grinned reaching over to shake Shinji's hand. No crushing force - this time, anyways. Afterwards, the tribesman pulled out a small bag that had been cinched at his belt, dropping the gold coin back inside of it. The familiar clink of coins clicking together emanated from it. Deitric sat the hefty moneybag between them. > > "That's about four thousand gold," he explained. The coins were marked from numbers ranging "500" to "5". No one really wanted to haul around four thousand gold coins; although the coins were preferred over paper money, they were still marked to provide different values for the sake of sheer convenience. Deitric might not have looked it, but he had quite a lot of money, thanks in part to his consistent participation in tournaments, and a bit of intelligent investing. > > "It'll last you til the tournament. Get a cell-phone, pick up some clothes and things like that. I have some.. invested interest in the Lu-Bu Dojo, I'd suggest going there to train. Talk to Tres or Sieg, they can get you an apartment. I'll be spending some time there when I can. I'll send our other teammates there too.. when I find them. It's in Durem - shouldn't be too hard to miss, it's practically a landmark," the brave explained. With the sort of place Gaia was, it was a pain to keep in contact with people without resorting to complex magic, and his adopted hometown was nearly impossible to find. But Lu-Bu provided a training center and cosmopolitan meeting place - it was also one of the most famous dojos around. > > "Sound good?" he asked with a wry grin.

Content that this time, his hand hadn't had to contend with the crushing force of his one-time opponent, Shinji shook before turning his attention toward the small pouch of coin which had been placed between them. He was somewhat aware of the monetary system of Gaia, and he was well aware that four-thousand was more than enough for him, considering his ascetic views. With a nod of understanding, he scooped the bag up and deposited it in one of the large pockets of his new-found cargo pants. He enjoyed this style of dress, perhaps he would get himself some similar clothing that fit him better.

Following the nod of thanks and appreciation, the monk was silent as he listened to Deitric's proposal. This dojo seemed not unlike the temple he had spent his youth in, but perhaps somewhat more reserved, for more high caliber personnel. Not accepting raucous street urchins, at least. Regardless, Shinji was glad that he had been considered "good enough" to seek out such an apparently prestigious place of training, and nodded again, taking each word that was spoken and carefully remembering. Paying attention payed off, sometimes.

As Deitric espoused the game-plan, Shinji listened still, and was silent.

"Sound good?"

The tribesman asked, and the monk answered with yet another somewhat-understated nod. He knew what he had to do, and with that thought in mind, he had taken on a slightly more somber, thoughtful manner. The time for joking was over, for the moment. There was work to be done.

Getting to his feet, the monk leaned his crutch against the bench upon which the two men had been sitting. Gently applying more weight to his bad foot, the man managed to fight-back a grimace of pain and put up a front of fortitude and strength. The blood had dried, staining his pants in the vicinity of the wound, but since then the aggravated wound now seemed much more under control. Steadying himself on two feet, the monk took a short step forward, putting distance between himself and Deitric.

"I'll be seeing you, then, I suppose." he began, he wasn't particularly good at goodbyes. Or speaking seriously, for that matter. "I'll be in touch, man." Shinji added, that bit of slang still managing to creep into his speech, regardless of the seriousness.

"Good luck, you better win this thing, friend-o."

And, with that, Shinji began his trek. He seemed strong enough to tough it out, his damaged leg putting up little resistance as he began an even pace. There was much to be done, after all. He couldn't be slowed by... anything.