Blood of our Brothers (Post-mission - Drachmans)

[Guest]

Fields, fields of grass so green that it shined in the warm sunlight. And flowers, bright and beautiful flowers of all shapes and colours blanketed the grassy meadow, filling the air with a soft scent that carried in the breeze. The fields of green stretched on far beyond the horizon. No matter how long Ivanka would tread across the vibrant setting, he could not escape its beauty. It seemed so unreal, this scene of heaven, but it was so vivid to him, from the gentle warmth of the sun to the soothing aroma that the wind carried. The towering man fell backwards, landing on the blanket of grass which cushioned his fall. He could not contemplate his surroundings, where he was, where he had been, or what had happen. All he knew was that he was happy, so very happy, so blissful. Whatever burden he had been carrying up until now had been lifted off of his shoulders and the worries and darkness that had grown in them had vanished, he could not even recall what they had been. And he felt so light! As light as the air, so light that he wondered if the wind would carry him away into the clouds. Gentle violet eyes gazed up at the endless expanse of azure sky and perfect white clouds that drifted lazily towards the horizon. There was no sun in the sky, no blinding source of light and warmth, but the field was lit up brightly, and his skin was tickled with a gentle warmth nonetheless. Ivanka inhaled deeply, taking in all the wonderful fresh air and flowery incense. It filled him, it soothed him, it made him so content, so sleepy. He could fall asleep forever here in eternal peace. Absent mindedly, his fingers gripped at the blades of grass, and felt their soft, lush texture. Felt! He could feel them! He lifted his hand to his face and stared at it in wonder and awe. They were not made of gleaming metal any longer, but of his own flesh and blood! His other hand too, his bare feet, all his own. He stared at his limbs in wonder, he ran his hands over the grass and dug his toes into the dirt with childish bewilderment. The grass was warm and soft, the dirt was cool and velvety. It had been so long since he had felt these things. Softly, he smiled to himself, overcome with a sense of joy that he could not comprehend, but could only accept.

"Brother?" a meek and soft voice called out from behind. Ivanka felt his heart leap into his throat, his eyes widened in overpowering emotion. Slowly, his head turned, and there he found a young girl standing behind him, dressed in a beautiful white dress that danced playfully in the wind. Sparkling and intelligent violet eyes, soft, curly brown hair, a pale, porcelain face...it couldn't be..... Their eyes met, and she smiled at him softly, with certain expectancy, as if she had been waiting for him. The silvery-blonde haired man rose shakily to his feet, not once tearing his gaze away from the girl in the white dress. "Sister?.......Anya?" he whispered, in a struggle to find his voice, and with quivering words. The girl said nothing in response, but nodded and smiled warmly. Ivanka reached out to her, his shaking hand brushing against her cheek.....just to touch her, just to feel her warmth, just to affirm that this was not just an illusion. "A-anya..." Ivanka choked, suddenly wrapping his arms around her tightly, pulling her close to him in a heartfelt embrace. He was in complete disbelief, so utterly elated, his breath left his body, his body was numb, save his heart, which ached and shivered with indescribable feelings that welled within his chest and throat. So much was this sentiment that had he even tried to, he could not hold back the flow of hot tears from dripping down his face. "We've been waiting for you brother, we've missed you" said she in calm, gentle tones. Ivanka could not pull away from their embrace, but he did raise his head and peered forward. And there, standing among the flowers were two more familiar faces, a tall proud man with silver-gray hair and a scruffy mustache that partially hid his soft grin. He gazed upon Ivanka with sharp, violet eyes that gleamed with pride. The man's arm wrapped around a small, soft, brunnete woman with the kindest smile one may have ever seen. Ivanka had long remembered these two, but the man had always been weary and tired with aging features, and the woman had always been pale and sickly, but now they stood here in upon him in this verdant field. "Mother......father....." whimpered Ivanka, their figures seemed to shine in the sunlight, distorted by his welling tears. And Anya too, she was here in his arms, she was standing. She had never stood on her own two feet in her entire life, but here she was, standing, in his tight embrace.

"We're proud of you son" said his father, still smiling heartily at his son. "We've missed you Ivanka, come here, we can all finally be together again, a family." beckoned his mother, softly.

Anya pulled away from him suddenly and ran towards their parents. Ran....she ran towards them. Oh how often she would sit by the window and watch the other kids play and run in the grass and wished she could do the same. He would often carry her on his back and run through the fields near their home. But now she ran on her own. She looked so happy.....so happy....he was so happy to see her like this......so happy to see his family. It had been ten years. Ten long years away from them. He was so happy, so why couldn't he stop crying these painful tears?

Anya stopped and turned back, running up to her brother and taking hold of his hand. Her hand was so small, so soft and warm. It had been ten years, but she hadn't aged a day past nine. "Don't cry brother" she cooed, squeezing his hand tightly.

"It's okay brother, don't cry, you don't have to hurt anymore."
"Let go of the pain son, let go of your burden"
"You're so tired little Ivan, please, you should rest, come here"

"I......." Ivanka hesitated. Everything seemed so perfect, so unimaginably happy. But why wasn't he? Something tugged at his heart, like a lost memory, something he had forgotten but should not have. Marismo.....Zinaida and Marynia....Moscow...Drachma......where were all these things he loved? Why were they not here with him? What became of them? He struggled to remember, strained himself to recall what was beyond this perfect, tranceful realm.

"Brother..." Anya called from his side, still clutching his shaking hand with both of her own. Her voice was fainter now, it seemed farther away.....but he could not tear his mind away from the longing concerns of things that seemed so distant, like grasping desperately at wisps of irretrievable memories. Marismo.....she had.....she had been taken away.......he needed to......

"Brother, please don't go"

The voice seemed so distant now, so far away. He could no longer feel her hands upon his, and as he turned towards her, she seemed to fade away. His mother and father too, they seemed saddened, distant, fading away, vanishing along with the field of green and the deep azure sky, along with the bright flowers and the distant clouds. Everything was growing dark........Anya whispered something, something he could not hear, and then she was swallowed up by nothingness....no, it was he who was consumed by the dark.

The warmth was gone...the sweet fragrances were gone....the lightness of his body...gone. It was cold...so cold....His body was heavy, the pain was so terrible, it hurt him so with each rise and fall of his chest. He was lying down on his back and all was silent. He made an attempt to move, to get to his feet, but a shock of pain coursed through his body. But past all the pain, he realized to near panic, that he could not move if he tried. He couldn't feel his arms or legs, he could move them.




Ivanka Kolokovsky's eyes shot open and took in the blurred and dreary, dim expanse of his surroundings. He stared ahead at a blank space of whiteness....a ceiling. He was...... Ivanka struggled to lift his head up and tried to come to some understanding of where he was. Ignoring the pain in his chest and his stomach, he glanced around the dark room. Desks....curtains.....various sharp instruments and machinery....empty, wheeled beds. He was in a hospital, it seemed. He turned his head to the left. There was a stand..and IV. He followed the trail of the tube and surely enough, it led into his shoulder. His shoulder......his arms were gone, leaving his shoulders with no limbs attached, just blank and rounded, bandaged with special pads to preserve his open flesh where his automail would be attached again. His mechanics, the same as Zinaida's, mist have taken his automail back to the lab to repair them. Or maybe they were simply reclaimed what was there's. No sense in wasting their time on a supposedly dead man. Ivanka tried to look down at his legs, but he could not see them under the sheets of the bed that had been draped over him, but he could feel and imagine that they were only stubs now, as they would have taken his legs along with his arms. The pain in his abdomen and chest......he could only imagine how badly they were torn up from pushing himself, from fighting that Amestrian unit and their commander in the invasion........ The invasion.....what had happened then? Had they won? Was Moscow safe? Was everyone okay? A new dilemma tore him apart. He had now way of finding out, but he had to know what had happened, he had to know if everyone was safe. Zinaida, Marynia, Maris-..... Marismo.....she was gone. That devil of a man...he had carried her away. Ivanka gritted his teeth tightly as the pain in his stomach, from where he had been impaled, seared violently.

"Marismo..." Ivanka whispered dryly through cracked lips. His mouth was so dry, he felf thirsty and tired. But he didn't care, he had to do something, he had to know Drachma was okay, he had to save Marismo. Maybe someone had saved her already? Someone had clearly saved him from dying on that mountain and had dragged him back. The man grimaced. Curse his broken body, curse his inability to even stand. All he could do now was wait, immobilized and desolate in a dark and sterile hospital room.......

[Guest]

Her body had been outside that Kremlin, knelt before it, convinced of her failure. She had stared up at that broken and destroyed building. She had watched it with a pair of blue eyes full of sorrow. She had screamed out her pain; watched her life die, watch her honor flicker. She had raised a blade to her throat, pressed steel against flesh, prepared herself for an inevitable death. And in the end, her own cowardice had gotten through to her. She had knelt there, prepared to die for this honor, and yet she had lived. Here she was, alive and well. Or was she alive? Or was she well? Was she either? Was she one, or the other? Or was she both? The girl sighed softly, trudging through the snowy wasteland, approaching the hospital with a soft expression on her face. She wished to see Ivanka, she was sure that by now, he'd be awake. She almost willed for him to be awake, to see her face, to tell her what she'd done wrong. If another person told her what she had done wrong, then maybe... she'd have that courage. Maybe she'd have the courage to get over herself, to plunge that blade into her flesh and end her own sorry existence. The woman shook her head slowly, and sighed. No, that was the wrong way to think. She'd given herself another chance, right? Right.

Her gloved hand placed itself on the glass of the front doors, slowly pushing the revolvers around as she entered the lobby of the hospital, walking into that familiar smell. Her metallic boots clattered on the ground as she walked through the main entrance, approaching the counter while ignoring those who made motions towards her blades. She would not draw her blades in a home of healing, that was a foolish notion. She placed a hand on the front desk, and the woman spoke to the person in front of her with a stern, sharp and yet worried tone. "I wish to meet with Ivanka Kolokovsky. Are you aware of whether or not he is awake yet?" Her voice was powerful despite her stature, and the people in the counter had to step backwards slightly, before pulling up some outdated-looking records. She looked over the counter, watching the women flick through the records before thumbing to one that she only barely recognized as 'Kolokovsky'. "He is in Room 208, which is in the Intensive Care Ward. You may visit, though I would advise you to be careful and quiet." She nodded sharply and bowed for the woman with careful grace, "I thank you for your time." Not aware that what she had done was practically age-old, Sablya slowly started to walk in the direction of the Intensive Care Ward, watching the signs and looking to each side that she had to.

Her feet clattered on the linoleum floor as she walked through the surgical-white halls, with slightly-closed eyes. Whispers of breath left her mouth, and her still-untied hair flowed around her face, framing the sad visage. She sighed softly, and started to count the rooms. 203, 204, 205, 206... 207..... 208...... She had slowed her movement down to a crawl by the time she'd reached Ivanka's room. Her stomach had slowly been getting more and more towards the feeling of sickness as she'd moved along. Sablya now knew that she was dreading seeing the face of Ivanka, and as she slowly rounded the corner into his room, she could only gasp. He was there... immobile... without his Automail. She choked back a sob, holding it in. Sablya bit a lip and walked through the door, slowly approaching him as if she was approaching an altar of the Lord Himself. She quietly walked up to him, not sure if he'd noticed her presence. Her face coo'ed softly, and then Sablya Pendragon knelt over, lowering her head as she did so. "Ivanka... I am sorry. I should've been there earlier. I am a failure as Knight, and as a soldier of her great Drachma. W-..." She couldn't will the words to escape her lips. She couldn't ask his forgiveness; all she desired was death for her sin. But... "Will you forgive me for this?"

[Guest]

“Mama, I really don't like you being back here...” A scrawny arm reached out, looping it around the petite woman. She was in a long, dark coat, her reddish-blonde hair tucked away from her face. The man next to her, wrapped in a huge green coat had his own reddish-blonde hair a bit more unkempt. They stood quietly in front of the Kremlin, gazing in companionable silence at the ruins before them. Both had been in Creta when the Amestrians and Cretans had entered Drachma. The woman had been giving a series of lectures about film at various universities, while the man had been helping an older couple paint their house. But both had come together and listened in surprise and horror that Czar Loki had been killed, that Communism was taking it's hold on Drachma again and... worst of all, Moscow was in pieces. As soon as the dust had settled, Lida had insisted they return. One of Drachma's premier actresses needed to be there, to put her funds into the rebuilding of their great city. That's what she had said. And... the man cocked his head down to his mother. Yes, that sounded like what she was saying now. He cut her off with a smile. “Into the rebuilding of our great city, yes. I know.” He chuckled and darted away as his mother reached out to smack his arm. With a sigh, Lida Azarov moved away from the Kremlin, looping her arm through her son's. “Come now, my boy. Walk me to my car. What are you going to do now?”

Vladmir Azarov shrugged his shoulders inside his fluffy coat. “I don't know, Mama. Go where I'm needed?” The pair remained quiet until they arrived at the car a few blocks away from the rubble of the Kremlin. Lida reached a gloved hand up, patting her son's cheek softly. “Go see your brother, Vladmir. I heard he was here, fighting. I think now, more than ever, he needs you.” Vlad looked down at his mother, blinking in surprise. “But-...” “Mama knows best sometimes, Vladmir.” She smiled brightly, tapping a finger against her cheek. Dutifully, Vlad bent down and brushed his lips there. “Ta, darling!” His mother called to him as she slipped into her car, watching her son amble down the street.

It was strange, walking through Moscow like this. It sure didn't FEEL like Moscow. Vlad loved watching war movies occasionally, but he decided he definitely did not like living in a post-war area. Luckily, he knew he wouldn't be here long. He never was. But nevertheless, he hoped for peace to come not only to Drachma, but to everywhere. This war thing was getting out of hand. Hm. Peace. “Peace means having a bigger stick than the other guy.”* Chuckling quietly to himself, he walked through the sliding glass doors of the hospital. He knew that, unfortunately, it was the best place to start looking for his brother. His nose instantly wrinkled at the smell of... white and clean and... hospital. Ugh. Shaking off the tiny chill that went down his back, he slipped his sunglasses off his nose and put them into a coat pocket. Putting his ever-present backpack more securely on his shoulder, he walked up to the reception desk. A matronly nurse stood back there, shuffling papers. With a touch of shyness in his voice, he went to the desk and asked, “Excuse me, miss? I was wondering if Ivanka Kolokovsky is here?” The woman glanced up with a slight frown. He knew what she was seeing. He wasn't a soldier, so why was he asking about a military officer? She opened her mouth to likely rebuff him when he said very quietly, “I'm his brother.” Her eyes widened slightly at this, but she accepted his sincerity. With a gentle squeeze on his hand, she directed him to Intensive Care.

Vladmir hurried through the halls, counting the numbers on the doors until he arrived at 208. He edged slowly, peeking his head into the door. He noticed a blonde woman with her head bowed over a hospital bed, one that he assumed held his older brother. As the woman shifted he got his first ever glimpse of his brother. And he was... he was devoid of limbs. No arms and by the lay of the blankets, no legs either. Vlad stepped away from the door, not wanting to disturb whatever was going on inside the room. He slid down against the wall, sitting cross-legged on the floor. Running his fingers through his hair he sighed. This visit was going to be interesting, to say the least.


*Iron Man, Tony Stark

[Guest]

Everything just happened so fast in ways Marynia couldn't have predicted. She had never wanted this battle, she was never in this for the Communists, and certainly not Alena. No, those were hypocrites sitting up in high places, they were just playing the role of saints, but were just as nasty as the Czarist regime. All of them are scum, with double standards, and need not a single ounce of action done for them from Marynia.

She knows their game, their ways of weaving things. How Amestris invaded was not because of their revolution and being threatened by the old order, but probably from something else, as she contemplates. Feeling that this is the same shit but from a different asshole in the end. All a huge lie, a charade, and she was a part of it. She knew it, and she partakes in it anyways. Yet... the only reason she had not left, the only reason she had not deserted her post, was because she was in Kuvalda, though she disliked it, she felt that Ivanka, though deluded he may be, as well as outright manipulated to be some symbol instead of a person, is worth fighting with.

She fought the last rebel remnants up North, bombarding their hideouts in the mountains until it was flattened. It was only sudden that when she finished, she came back to the aftermath of Moscow destroyed, an Amestris warring with Drachma, and many of her comrades killed. Though she did not bother to know them, it was a loss nonetheless. Pyotr... Boris... Sergei... Natalya, all of them dead. They were all her gambling partners. And this was just the gist of the list. The list that made her chest sink in fear, was seeing Ivanka's name listed as KIA (incorrectly). His body was reported to be in the intensive ward of 208. It was the one she would make a set of steps towards.

Fresh out of her raids, and only reporting back into Moscow, or what's left of it. She wasn't there to help out, wasn't there to help turn the tides. From the reports, Amestris had air superiority... and she was not there to quash that. It all goes back to them in the end, the root of the problem. She was confused, was she glad she never faced them that she would know failure? Or could she have averted things and made it all differently?

When she arrived to the hospital by car, disembarking, and entering, thoughts swirled if he was moved into the morgue or not. Wondering what would've happened to the future of Kuvalda. She had to see the Kuvalda commander's corpse for herself. She needed to confirm it... he couldn't be dead. Not with those cheesy speeches he gave about Communism, about how they would always succeed, as if he were some invincible superman, blah blah blah yadda yadda. She never paid attention to what he said, but now, somehow she subtly regrets it, no way she'll say it though. Finally reaching to that tensing ward and making her way within to see...

"Sablya." That name escaped from her lips in a whisper of the woman kneeling before Ivanka's bed as if it were a holy altar.

Her eyes shot towards the recognizable taft of silvery hair, taking large strides of steps until she overlooked him by his bed behind Sablya, sighing in relief. So he was alive after all, closer inspection cleared it all. Means Kuvalda's future isn't so bleak, and it also means she may have her chances of getting a pension and a good retirement. Turning her back on the bed posts, smiling softly of the revelation, unaware his step-brother was also in the room, but that's because she doesn't know him. She couldn't face the two with her new found small joy.

"Heh... I never thought I'd miss his corny speeches." Swirled through her mind in black humor.

[Guest]

"But Zabulon sir-" "No buts Sveta. It's best to ensure you are in the best of health. Especially since you don't know your medical records. I had to go through the same thing." The tall man commanded the young girl that was entirely dwarfed by his height, the two a rather odd pair in the middle of the hospital hallway. The young girl had raven dark hair just like him, her grey eyes staring up at him with the impertenance of a child. The young girl took a deep breath and sighed heavily, a new coat hanging around her shoulders as well as the new boots upon her feet. He had been sure to acquire young girls clothes pretty immediately after the battle had been done and he had the time to do so, occasionally relying on a subordinate to aid him in his search. What did he know of girl things? Much less girls! "Very well." Svetlana finally murmured, slowing with him as they came up to a desk in the middle of a ward.

"Thank you. I promise they will be gentle and few things should hurt." He proceeded to check her in, listening as familiar voices reached his ears turning to see that Sablya was standing at another end of the counter, asking a question of the women there. "I wish to meet with Ivanka Kolokovsky. Are you aware of whether or not he is awake yet?" Ivanka... The Head of Defense stood a little taller as a faint grimace cracked the impassive exterior he normally held, wondering if he should visit his comrade in arms whom had suffered rather serious injuries in the war. "Sir?" Snapping back to attention, the woman was handing him a clipboard of paperwork to fill out, and he merely nodded curtly in response, finding a chair to sit down in to write. "What is that for?" Svetlana asked him, crawling into the chair next to him and peering over the edge of the arm, her legs tucked up beneath her bum. She glanced towards the door as the lady in armor moved away after thanking the receptionist, a scrawny looking boy wandering up not long after. Zabulon, on the other hand, was completely oblivious to this movement, inwardly cursing the sheer amount of papers that always seemed to be required at hospitals. "These are so they know about my insurance, and anything we can tell them about you which isn't much I'm afraid." He answered her as he glanced up, his crimson red eyes watching how she stared at the goings-on within the hospital. It really was rather busy this day, not that he was surprised. He probably knew many a man and woman that found themselves within these walls.

“I'm his brother.” Svetlana tilted her head slightly as she watched the boy walk away with one of the nurses, her big grey eyes considering him as he vanished down the hall after the woman in armor. There were lots of strange people here, weren't there? "Zabulon, how long will I have to be here for?" She asked him quietly, flopping onto her bum in the chair as her feet kicked at the air. She really would rather not have to stay here, it felt... weird to her. The great man finished the last signature and placed his pen down with a light sigh before looking down at the young girl he had rescued amongst the tumult of war. Still so much like him.... "I do not know young one. It may be a while, it may not be. It all depends on the tests the doctors need to run." He answered her, getting up from his chair to hand in the paperwork. Leaning closer to the nurse, he beckoned her with a finger so he could whisper in her ear, his stern features unchanging as ever. "Please be sure she's in good hands. She hasn't done anything like this before." The woman nodded and turned backwards to another of her colleagues who walked around the desk to take Svetlana's hand, taking the file that was offered shortly thereafter. "Of course sir. Thank you for your services." The smile that she flashed him was unexpected and he merely blinked twice in response, bowing his head slightly in thanks as he looked down at the nervous girl in her new clothes. "Behave, alright? I'll be back later."

With a wave to her, she marched off with some kind of renewed strength, his gaze lingering for another moment before he turned about back towards the desk. Ivanka. He felt that he had an obligation to see the man, to check in upon him although he had lost contact with him once they had parted ways. He seemed somehow... naive and far too talkative for his own personal tastes, but that was a fault he found in many people. It did not necessarily reflect poorly upon their character, and Ivanka was passionate about his country which Zabulon had to respect besides the rank that he held. Now that he no longer had to worry about his young charge, the tall man inquired after Ivanka like the others had done before him, nodding once in thanks before taking long strides down to the Intensive Care. His boots thudded softly against the linoleum floor, trenchcoat fluttering slightly as he adjusted the gloves that hid his hands. For once, his scythe was not upon him which would seem a sight strange indeed to those who knew him well (not that many did. He didn't exactly make it easy for them to).

He began to slow as he noticed a skinny boy was standing outside of a room, rubbing his face as he seemed to be considering something. His crimson eyes raised upwards to the plaque and saw that it indeed read 208, voices beginning to resonate from within. "Will you forgive me for this?" "Sablya." Who was... Ah... Marynia. So she had returned from her work and come to check upon her leader, Zabulon's steps slowing to a stop near the young boy outside the door. Already there were at least two people in there besides Ivanka himself, so there was no need to create a crowd within that room. Thus the imposing man stepped towards the benches out in the hall and sat down, folding his hands in his lap as his long black hair slipped over his shoulder in a ponytail. Still his bangs hung resolutely on either side of his face, offering some framework against the pale of his skin. No, for now he would wait and listen, sighing lightly at the overall seriousness of their situation. He had failed to protect his country even if they had won the war, and that was a fact he wouldn't soon forget. But it was as if the fact hadn't quite settled in yet, like it was still too fresh to harden over like blood caked on the wall. For now, he was still himself, his concern for comrades far more prominent in his mind than any personal issues that could take hold. He didn't doubt that later, the demons would come out to play.

[Shula Brighton]

{BUMP}

[Guest]

"For the last time, Captain 'Jin' . . . you are NOT leaving this ward, for any reason!!"

So screamed the nurse, at the quite bandaged Xingese-Drachman. It was annoying, really ... really annoying. His wounds were already well on their way to full recovery (A silent, but gritted thanks given to the bastard scientists who had done this to him . . . he'd have to find and kill them all later, just the same, though), so what reason did he have to stay here? He would just be taking up a bed that another, possibly once-equally wounded as he was, Drachman needed. Still, she continued being upset at the fact he was opening up more space for the truly wounded, at least until knocking at the door drew her attention away.

"Major?" the newcomer speaks, addressing Hei rather than the nurse. That was odd, his rank was now Major? Eh, that wasn't too much news, but this individual's appearace was.

"Mikhail . . . good, you came. So, you met them?" he speaks for the first time, ever since the nurse had started to try to get him to stay put, and in a quiet tone of voice. The silly nurse was, of course, kept out of the exact loop by his words, which were met with a curt nod by 'Mikhail.' . . . Who then chucked a package at Hei, more accurately a fairly large bag, and then politely asked and led the nurse out to explain things.

"The Major still has business to do, and given his current status, he should be taking care of it right now."

"But that man is still INJURED! He has severe burns, a large gash across his chest, and several bullet wounds! How could any man, after taking all that, be ready to do anything only after a few days of rest?"

And the door opens, making way to Xingese-Drachman now donning his military attire with a folder or two in his left hand's grasp. Needless to say, given he had been left in a room in the intensive care ward, and left with not any other eyes watching, and also wearing a hospital gown, coming out in uniform was less a mild surprise for the screecher . . . or perhaps is was the fact that his right hand was currently locked in it's Draconian form (and thus had claws) while being unbandaged.

"A good day to you. The patient for this room is now being discharged, on account of full recovery." Hei responds cheerfully to the sputtering nurse.

"You ... you! You shouldn't be able to walk, yet!!" she does her best to refrain from bursting out, but it's still a combined tone of awe, horror and confusion.

"Ahh, bullets and burns have never stopped me before. I don't see why they would now. . . . Mikhail, do you know where he is?" Hei merely responds in a humerous tone, before turning his attention to the fellow militant and posing his question.

"Also in the Intensive Ward, Major. The Warrant Officer is in Room 208, recovering." was the downtredden response.

Hei Jin smiles, but it's not ... one of joy or true happiness. It was a bit of an understanding, but still broken expression. He had heard what had happened, or at least parts of it. And those sad events were what drove him now, to keep moving despite the significant amount of complaint his body was giving him.

"... I owe you one." His thanks is met with a non-verbal gesture, something like "No problem," while he turned down the hallway to head the other way. The way to room 208. While he didn't trust himself to walk and read things, the walk to Ivanka Kolokovsky's room was going to be short. So, while taking small and steady paces, he opened up the folder.

• Surname: Stuka.
  
• Country of Residence: Amestris
  
• Member of Amestrian Military - Colonel
  ...

That name. Stuka. There was . . . . . . something. There was something absolutely heinous about that name. Something that caused Hei's blood to boil. Well, he already knew this man, whoever he was, was responsible for much misery to Drachma, but there was something more that evoked his utter and unyielding wrath. Except he didn't know why.

.

Ah, there was the room. Except. There were already people waiting outside. The Warrant Officer and Head of Defense, Zabulon Goncharova sitting on the bench across from the door . . . (or that's who Hei thought he was, considering he'd never met him in person) and another male individual, more of a younger one at that, sitting outside next to the door.

"Good day. Warrant Officer Goncharova." those two phrases were distinct, the first addressed to both as a greeting, the second addressed to the militant in question and more to confirm that he was who Hei thought he was. Either way, something clearly was going on inside, and ... well, he'd have to wait too (in line, as well). But that was fine. His business was important, but he need only to deliver this information to the Leader of the Kuvalda: Just information that had been gathered, from a nice variety of sources, concerning the bastard from Amestris. The one responsible for all the suffering around here, in this place.

[Guest]

Subdued violet eyes drifted quickly to the room's entrance to find a silhouetted figure standing against the bright fluorescent lighting of the outside hallway. For a passing moment, as his eyes adjusted to the bright lights that flooded in through the doorway, Ivanka thought the figure seemed as if it were ethereal, in a sense, but the identity of the mysterious visitor revealed itself not to be that of a spirit, but rather, Sablya Pendragon. So elated was he, to receive such a guest, one that he could trust to inform him of what happened, that he nearly called out to her, yet, he did not. Something was amiss in the countenance of the woman he knew as a valiant and proud woman. She did not stand tall and stride with certainty, rather, she approached his side with wavering and soft steps. It was when she leaned over his bed that he saw her forlorn bearing that Ivanka realized that she might have been here to deliver ominous news. What became of the counter-attack? Of the Sekretar? Of Moscow and Drachma? Of Marynia, Zinaida, Marismo, and his other comrades? He had to know, he had to ask, but Sablya spoke first.

"Ivanka... I am sorry. I should've been there earlier. I am a failure as Knight, and as a soldier of her great Drachma. W-..." her doleful tones faltered. "Will you forgive me for this?"

Ivanka was rendered speechless by this scene. He had rarely interacted with her outside of their line of duty, yet now she kneeled before him, begging for forgivness? Forgivness for what? Was it not him that should repent for his failures? He had failed to protect so many....so many innocent people. And Marismo.....

Unable to properly move his body, Ivanka could only turn his head to face her, returning a lamenting violet gaze, filled with compassion for his fellow comrade in arms. "Sablya", he uttered in a soft, kind voice, a stark contrast of the grand exclamations of his countless rallying calls and speeches. "I cannot forgive you comrade. I cannot forgive you when you are not a fault as I am. So many people died at Mertvyi...." Mertvyi summit had come to illy fit its name.....a graveyard of blood, of innocents, of women and children. "Marismo.....she was....". He choked back his words, unable to utter them. He could not tell Sablya that he had failed to protect her....

He would not give up though, he would find Marismo and kill that Amestrian devil.....

"Ah! Marynia" exclaimed Ivanka suddenly, having spied the woman at the corner of his bed. He lifted his head to get a better look at his comrade, the only other adult in Kuvalda, and someone whom he felt he could call friend, having known her for years, back when they existed bleak and hollow existences in the gulag for years. "I'm glad to see you alive, both of you. Please, tell me, Moscow, Drachma, Alena, what has become of them my comrades?"

[Guest]

"Sablya," Her eyes snapped open, and the girl slowly raised her head up into the air. His voice, it was calmer than she remembered. Was it because he was weak? Oh god, please let it simply be some weakness. If he was truly injured beyond repair, she would no longer be able to hear that voice that spoke of the power of Drachma. She softly bit her lip, shaking her head. "I cannot forgive you comrade." Her breath left her body, and she gasped. "Wha... so I really did..." Her head started its slow trek back to her original position, Sablya slowly closing her eyes of soft blue. She had really failed; she was really at fault; she truly needed to die for her si--"I cannot forgive you when you are not a fault as I am. So many people died at Mertvyi...." She almost shouted out with that, sharply moving her gaze to Ivanka. "I... you..." She was speechless; how could she tell him that it wasn't his fault? It wasn't, was it? The man that lay before her wasn't at fault, the people that had done the killing were... But, would that not contradict the blame that she placed upon herself? That would... she couldn't allow that to happen, so maybe she needed to finally accept it. "It... I..." She was speechless; lost for words, grasping for thoughts. "Marismo.....she was...."

Her armor clattered on the tiles as she slowly pushed herself up, hanging her head and letting hairs fall by her face. "Do not blame yourself for that. I am to blame, for not trying to stop that Amestrian Blyadischa when he ran past me with Marismo. All I could do was drop to my knees and call for her. What sort of knight does that, Ivanka, tell me that. Or am I... no longer a knight?" She quickly turned away and sighed softly, shaking her head and slowing the rate of her breathing. This would kill all negative thoughts, in an attempt to remain completely sane. "I'm glad to see you alive, both of you. Please, tell me, Moscow, Drachma, Alena, what has become of them my comrades?" She folded her arms, the petite woman sighing softly. "We won." She wouldn't return her gaze to Ivanka just yet; the sight of the man caused too much sadness to well up within the estranged recesses of her mind. She felt that she would burst into tears at the slightest twitch, so she chose to speak no more on the subject. "Marynia... please tell Ivanka more. I must step out of this room and consider my own fate." She didn't speak any more, instead slowly walking out through the door, approaching the wall outside his ward and slowly turning around. Ah, there were more people here. "He is weak, but alive. Please, be gentle around him and he will be fine." She proffered them a kind smile, before turning away and placing her head carefully against the wall...

"What am I?" She had to whisper this to herself now, thinking through the world and it's small things as she did so. "Am I a great person? I do not know this any more..." She had allowed deaths to occur, and she had allowed people to be lost to the winds. "Marismo..." She bit her lip, pulling back her head and softly tapping it against the wall. Was it her fate to repent, or was she going to finally forgive herself? "Knight, or woman? What is the truth?" She swallowed back bile; images of what had come before flashing before her eyes. The people may have been watching her, but that was of no concern to this woman that stood in personal conflict. Instead, she would continue to question herself, and hope that she could truly work her mind into some form of truth.

[Guest]

Vlad sat on the floor outside his half-brother's hospital room, tapping his foot absentmindedly. He steadily watched more and more people walk into the intensive care area and they all appeared to have the military-look about them. Another woman entered Ivanka's room, while two men were talking down the hall. He felt... well, bored, to be honest. And a little nervous. Apparently today wasn't a good day to reveal himself to Ivanka after all. But he knew that if he left his mother would figure it out... and then the sigh. He knew she would sigh. The traditional sigh of disappointment by a mother, made over the top by the actress within. And so on the floor he remained. He longed to pull out his portable DVD player and pop in a movie to pass the time, but he felt that it would be inappropriate. Especially because his headphones had broken yesterday. He really needed to get a new pair. Maybe he could get a new pair and then come back?? He almost lifted himself off the ground but decided against it. He felt the mother sigh again and groaned. She wasn't even AROUND and she was making her choices known. He heard voices coming from his brother's room, two that were clearly female and the last he could only discern was Ivanka's. The words were quiet and so he merely heard tone, which was fine by him. He didn't really want to eavesdrop. It was probably about the battle. Or something that he definitely didn't want to hear about. "War will make corpses of us all,"* he muttered, gazing down at the floor.

He looked up when he heard movement in the doorway of his brother's room. The woman who had been there when he arrived was exiting the room and she didn't look well at all. Something must've happened in the room. There were no alarm bells going off in the hospital, so Ivanka was fine. He looked up as the woman spoke, explaining that Ivanka was alive, while not exactly well. He noticed the other woman didn't leave the room; apparently her business wasn't finished. Which Vlad had to wait longer. The blonde woman's head was pressed against the wall and she appeared so conflicted that Vlad felt conflicted himself. Reaching into his pocket he gently rubbed the face of his compass for luck. He was going to need it. Standing up, he shifted the backpack on his shoulder and cautiously approached Sablya. He gently tapped her on the shoulder. “Excuse me, miss? Are you okay?”




The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers (Extended Edition), Faramir

[Guest]

The young boy seemed bored while nurses and doctors flittered by doing their business, giving only a glance to the imposing man who sat there seeming to be enrobed in some sort of shadow. He always had a rather.... dark air about him. He couldn't help it. Zabulon sighed lightly and forced himself to sit up straighter as opposed to resting his elbows against his knee's and hunching forward. Bad posture would pay the price later in life. Svetlana always taught him that... Ghosts would always haunt him it seemed. And possess him in new, albeit, smaller forms.

"Good day. Warrant Officer Goncharova."

A voice. His title. His name. Raising his crimson eyes, he had to wonder who would address him by his actual rank as opposed to his job for it felt like so long since someone had. Ah, he recognized this soldier. A major, in the war. Caused quite the ruckass and pain to the Amestrians. Excellent soldier. Name: "Major Jin. Good afternoon, it would seem many wish to check in on our dear Ivanka." He replied softly, his voice rather deep in the soft hum of the hallways. Not that he could blame them, the man could give quite the speech. Yes, command those masses since they were so dependent and.... Oh now he was just being bitter. He really had to try to put more faith in people. Perhaps little Sveta could do that...

Movement caught his attention out of the corner of his eye as a figure stepped out of the room, turning his head to see that it was Sablya. She.... did not seem well. "He is weak, but alive. Please, be gentle around him and he will be fine." He nodded once in thanks for the news but... His expression remained impassive as he stared at the woman, his gaze trailing over her golden locks, the creamy skin... The warriors stance. She was a warrior who was covered in doubt, he could practically see the tendrils swirling and clinging to her powerful frame. She was murmuring to herself, a name he knew, and things he did not. Things that were not his place to know or question. Should he reach out to her? Reach out as he had to Sveta? Reach out as Svetlana Goncharova had reached out to him? To this proud woman who was questioning everything that defined herself? Or would that only seek to harm that fragile pride that she still clung to as her last lifeline amongst all the doubt?

He found himself beginning to rise, but then stopped. The young boy had spoken, and touched her shoulder. A gentle touch, a simple touch. One human reaching out to another in pain. And so Zabulon sat back down on his bench, lowering his eyes from the pair as if he weren't permitted to see. Yes... the younger generation. There was always hope that could be placed into them. Ironic that they were the people he believed most in (if he truly believed in anyone at all) as opposed to their elders. Heh, maybe some of their elders would prove him false and pleasantly surprise him. It wasn't like he left his standards very high anymore. Or perhaps they were so high, he couldn't keep track of them anymore. In either case, he now looked to Hei now and gestured for him to sit on the bench next to him, needing to distract himself somehow lest his philosophical mind delve too far into questions and ponderings.

[Guest]

Ah, just as he had spoken to the Head of Defense in Drachma, out from the room came . . . the Right Rook. That wasn't too terribly shocking to Hei, he had heard enough about how the Rook was the first to reach the Kuvalda leader after this 'Stuka' had taken off. . . .

The young man was apparently comforting her, now. Which was a ... good thing, since the last time he had met the Rook he could not provide her much relief. Or at least, it didn't seem like he was able to help her well enough.

. . .

The Head of Defense had gestured, soundlessly, for him to take a seat. Hei obliged, since there was still someone else inside Ivanka's room . . . Mikhail really planned ahead of things, didn't he? Good ol'informant and drinking buddy, had a second folder filled with the info that Hei could keep his hands on. At least, he would have his own records, now. Or a duplicate, in case the first one got lost. And, well, considering the man sitting to his right cared much about Ivanka Kolokovsky as well as holding a position of power in the Drachman military, Hei decided to offer him the opportunity to know who was responsible for all this suffering.

He took the first folder, an ample number of documents in it, detailing out the possible whereabouts of this 'Stuka' as well as background info, and offered it to the Head of Defense with his right hand. Of course, he was still plagued by feelings of uncertainty and hatred that he did not note that his right hand was still locked in its draconian form.

"His name is 'Stuka.' . . . The one responsible for all this suffering is 'Nikolaus Stuka.' This was most of what we could find about him over the past few days."

His arm would remain extended to the right, with the proffered folder. If it was silently not taken, or the Warrant Officer expressed no interest in it, he would bring it back to his left hand. If it was taken, silently or not, then he would relinquish his hold over it easily. This, while speaking calmly (with hints of malice and seething) and gazing onward.

"He, and the other cursed Amestrians, will pay for all they've done." he speaks, again, the calm tone is exchanged for a dark mutter as crimson eyes look on still.

[Guest]

"Sablya." That voice of honeyed sweetness beckoned for Marynia, sure it was not her name but for blondie-locks, BUT he spoke more importantly. He could breathe, he could see, he could feel, touch, know and perceive. Still, she listened to what he had to say to the She-Knight prostrating herself before the lumbering giant at bay.

"I cannot forgive you comrade. I cannot forgive you when you are not a fault as I am. So many people died at Mertvyi...."

Mertvyi? That place mentioned again... she remembered reading Ivanka apparently succumbed to his wounds there, and died, much to the report's inaccuracy. Just what was so bad about the place besides the obvious injury that caused such a defeatist attitude in Mister McIdealistic Happy Pants?

"I cannot forgive you comrade. I cannot forgive you when you are not a fault as I am. So many people died at Mertvyi... Marismo.....she was....."

She gulped at such a news. Sweet, sweet Marismo is gone? She... she died? It was a fear so obvious, her wide-eyed vacant stare gave it away at such heraldry. She wanted to hear more from Ivanka's words of her sister in battle. Sure she was quirky, but she was a charm to have around the team, and now she is gone...

"Do not blame yourself for that. I am to blame, for not trying to stop that Amestrian Blyadischa when he ran past me with Marismo. All I could do was drop to my knees and call for her. What sort of knight does that, Ivanka, tell me that. Or am I... no longer a knight?"

So the truth dawns, she wasn't dead. There is a chance! A chance to save her! But just where did he go? Obviously in Amestris... but where in Amestris? It's a large place with so many places to hide.

"Ah! Marynia."

"Oh... erm... huh?" The trance of chaotic thoughts broke, and she shook her head, looking at the injured man with consistent attention.

"I'm glad to see you alive, both of you. Please, tell me, Moscow, Drachma, Alena, what has become of them my comrades?"

"They're all ali--"

"We won."

She snapped a look at Sablya interrupting, "I believe he asked me to te--"

"Marynia... please tell Ivanka more. I must step out of this room and consider my own fate."

"Okay..." She says quietly... did... did she just get conversationblocked like HELL right now by Sablya? Ho boy, she'll have to repay the favor later on. Giving a quick glimpse to Sablya leaving the room in somber sorrowful defeat, sad over the fate of a horror that almost made Marynia she was glad she wasn't there to witness. Almost. Taking the Knight's place by Ivanka's bed now.

"Moscow... Moscow is destroyed, Ivanka." Her lips curled in a glum hush, whispers of it gave news in hesitation, brushing Ivanka's locks aside, "But we'll rebuild... I hope we do. Just that..."

She raises an eyebrow, looking at the lingering shadows beyond the veil of the room, as well as the half-brother she presumes to be here for Ivanka, and back to Kuvalda's commander, "I didn't think you had friends, I was under the impression you had horrible people's skills. And you still do!" She chuckled. Smiling at him, she had to smile more than ever. Fates help her if he breaks down over Moscow's destruction. Mister Patriotism tends to be very attached to his country after all.

[Guest]

BUMP

[Guest]

Her mind was shattered, a million pieces falling onto the ground surrounding her feet. She watched the fragments of glass crack on the floor beneath her, closing her eyes and sobbing softly. Why did this injure her mind so; it was too human of her to perform such acts. Placing steel-coated fingers against the white-washed wall, she slowly let them slide down in her vision. The petite Knight with blonde locks pulled her head back a centimeter, pushing forwards and making a soft rapping noise against the wall with her forehead. Soft noises emanated into the air around her head, Sablya's face strewn with tears. "Idiot." Bang. "Idiot." Bang. "Idiot." Bang. A voice that was normally strong wavered this day, losing confidence with every strike against the wall. She was bull-headed, stubborn. An elephant in the room, literally. Why was she here, when she was supposed to be a Knight? She should be standing at Miss Alena's... no. She didn't deserve that place anymore. By all rights, Sablya should be dead. She should be dead; she should've killed herself for such a travesty against her country and people. She'd doubted her honor, her code and her creed. She'd let someone precious to her people leave. Drachma had lost so many people against Amestria, people she could've saved. It was all against her, she had only herself and her weakness to blame, and yet... she was too weak to allow herself to die by her own hand.

“Excuse me, miss? Are you okay?” A touch on her shoulder; one so light as to not be noticed by those without some form of thought. A process that wouldn't live to tell the tale, though one that would show her everything she would need. Closing her eyes and sighing, Sablya stepped back from her repentance against the wall. "I am not." She spoke bluntly, words filled with venom. She was not trying to be mean; though it was spoken in such a way that he would be able to sense her pain from through her words. "I am failure. I am a Knight who cannot save those she pledges to save. Worthless." She lowered her gaze and closed her eyes again. "*sniff* I cannot even end my own life. There is no honor left for me; I no longer have the right to roam the halls of the dead once I perish... What do I do?" She turned towards Vladmir with a pair of wild eyes, cheeks and chin stained with her own tears. "I no longer have a path I can follow, but it seems that it is not time for me to perish just yet. Therefore, I do not know what to do. I have followed this path my entire life, yet it has failed me. N-no... I have failed it. So what do I do?" Turning away from Vladmir, Sablya gathered as much energy as she could into her mind, in order to get all of this sadness out of her as quickly as possible. "WHAT DO I DO?!"

[Guest]

"Do not blame yourself for that. I am to blame, for not trying to stop that Amestrian Blyadischa when he ran past me with Marismo. All I could do was drop to my knees and call for her. What sort of knight does that, Ivanka, tell me that. Or am I... no longer a knight?"

So she was alive when he left with her? Was she? Ivanka could only hope there was still a lingering chance to find and rescue Marismo. As long as she was still alive.....as long as she still drew breath, he could push on for her sake. He would not fail her...not again. But Sablya was....no, it was not her fault. It was not their fault. It was the fault of Amestris, of that devilish man. They were not at fault, and they could still right the wrongs done unto them and their comrades. But Sablya, she could not see this, it seemed. She blamed herself for failure, and in the end, he blamed himself for weakness. Yet, there comrades, their country, they still depended on him. He would atone for his blunder, he would deliver retribution ten fold.

"We won." said the knight, as she rose from her knees, the sound of her shifting armour illuminating the room with more stiff sound. They had won the battle? Moscow, no, all of Drachma had been saved! The will of the people, the strength of the Mother Drachma he had so devoutly believed in; It was truly all he had hoped for, all he wished for. Drachma would never fall again! She would stand strong and tall, firm and resolute in her ideals! And her people, they would not suffer anymore! A new Drachma, a new world! He could weep with joy for all that those two words meant....yet- For such joyous news, Sablya's voice sounder heavier, and more...unlike her, than ever before. With growing concern, Ivanka tried to look upon Sablya's face, only for her to turn away, and set upon leaving. "Marynia... please tell Ivanka more. I must step out of this room and consider my own fate.". Said the knight, in somber, restrained tones. And with that, she vanished beyond the doorway, leaving Ivanka alone with Marynia whilst he pondered the meaning of her words.

With Sablya's departure, Ivanka quickly found Marynia taking her place next to his bed. She too, seemed dressed in somber mood, without a smile to be seen upon her face. It was comforting, to say the least, to receive visitors who cared about his well being, though, it was equally saddening, to see the people he cared about with sorrowful faces. It made the victory against Amestris seem all the more hollow....

"Moscow... Moscow is destroyed, Ivanka."

Destroyed? The burden of The Titan's vexation grew ever so, with this next piece of news. How much of the city had been ruined? Just how many lives had been lost? What was their victory if they had nothing left to protect? Ivanka clenched his fists..... or at least, he would have, if he had any. It was his intention to ask of this, had he had not been caught off-guard by a sudden motion towards his face. The incapacitated man could do nothing but look upon the tender expression of his dear friend, as she spoke again,- "But we'll rebuild... I hope we do. Just that...". With words so comforting, the weight upon his heart lessened, as already visions of his comrades working side by side, to rebuild Moscow, to restore its life, and save her people.

Marynia shot a glance at the doorway, with mild curiosity, and then turned back to Ivanka with a playful smile that highlighted her comely features. "I didn't think you had friends, I was under the impression you had horrible people's skills. And you still do!" said she, in the teasing tone he had grown accustomed to. It was pleasing, to see at least someone behaving like themselves, if only for a minute.

"Every man, woman, and child of Drachma is my friend, as I am a friend to them, Marynia." he replied, with faint cheer in his voice, and a smile upon his lips. "Though I am curious: Which of my comrades have come to see me in such a state?". He tried to lift his head to get a better look through the veiled doorway, though such attempts were in vain, for the quadriplegic man.

[Shula Brighton]

{BUMP}

[Guest]

It would be interesting to get to know those around him in person as opposed to the voiceless files that so often seemed before him. They were the first thing he always consulted since files could speak volumes while people would hide their voice. This wasn't to say that people couldn't hide themselves from their files since that was always (and usually) more than likely. Who wanted to be completely known by another person? Most wanted to hide at least some things from even those that were closest to them, and Zabulon was no exception. Perhaps he preferred his own secrecy even moreso. Then again, he was also rather open. If he felt the need to share, then he would. But now he was digressing once more, crimson eyes following the movement and appearance of the folder within Hei's hands.

What was that now? Was it Kuvalda business that he had no stake in? Or was it something.... else? Perhaps it was merely a gut instinct, but he had to take a guess that it wasn't just Kuvalda things. Why else would he be bringing it before him; the Head of Defense? While the two sections did work together, it was rather vaguely and under orders usually. After all, Kuvalda were the special group and generally were charged with guarding Alena. Tilting his head slightly at the offered folder, the tall man did oblige him and took the folder from Hei's hands, glancing over the name and face that stared up at him. Nikolaus.... "His name is 'Stuka.' . . . The one responsible for all this suffering is 'Nikolaus Stuka.' This was most of what we could find about him over the past few days." Stuka. Yes... he had heard tales of this "Stuka" of the Amestrian military. The man whose regiment had caused such damage to his city, his people... They had literally raped and pillaged their country, and he could feel his temperature begin to rise. If Olga were here, she'd be shifting uncomfortably upon his shoulder for his rage was such a quiet, hidden thing. The only outward sign of it as he slowly began to flip through the folder was the occasional twitch of his finger, his features remaining as unreadable as ever.

"He, and the other cursed Amestrians, will pay for all they've done." With a small flick of his wrist, the folder snapped closed, offering it back to the Major beside him. He didn't assume that that was a copy for him to keep. "Of course they will. But we must be ready before justice can rain down upon them. So much needs to be fixed with our own people before we can even think of crushing another." He murmured softly, crimson eyes cool and piercing. "I will also be looking into this Stuka matter." A simple statement of fact for how could he not look even further into this man? This madman...Those women they had violated still weren't fully recovered, and he doubted they would be for at least a year or so to come if ever.

"WHAT DO I DO?!" The voice of Sablya cut through the air, shattering the calm of their own moment and it drew Zabulon's gaze. Pain. Loss of faith. Depression. The emotions leaked through the air like a fog, emanating in great black swirls from her. "What you do is move forward. You wish to regain honor? Then stop moping around in the mud. You are serving no one in this state." Were the words harsh? Yes. Did he particularly care? Not... No, he did care. His eyes bored into her, realizing the rudeness he was exhibiting by cutting into their conversation and ignoring his own. "Regain your honor by furthering the conviction in your work. Become better than you are now so that this will never happen again. Blaming yourself for things that are now in the past while doing nothing towards fixing those wrongs is pointless." Were these words just for her? No. They were also for himself for he knew that sensation of blaming oneself. How could he have let so much be destroyed? So many lives to have been lost? She let Marismo get taken, he had let the Kremlin get blown up. "Move forward Knight. This, I know you can do." And with that, he turned his eyes back to Hei as if to resume where they had left off. To him he said, "I have some contacts that may be able to get us more info on Stuka and Marismo. I shall keep you informed if you wish."

[Guest]

"Of course they will. But we must be ready before justice can rain down upon them. So much needs to be fixed with our own people before we can even think of crushing another. I will also be looking into this Stuka matter."

Ah. How true. . . . That reminded him. Today was Sunday, was it not? Ah, yes. He had work that needed doing. Orphanages to see, shelters to visit. Hospital or no, Kuvalda or not, he couldn't waste THAT much more time here. So, the Drachman-Xingese takes back the folder with something resembling a pleasant smile, as he stands, as though to stretch his legs.

Immediately, though, he just marches inward, intending to make the delivery NOW as opposed to waiting any longer. Time was a scarce commodity nowadays, after all. So, just as he entered Ivanka's room came the despaired cry of the Right Rook.

"WHAT DO I DO?!" his teeth gnash a bit. Had they not gone over this episode before? Alas, he didn't have time, nor the proper mind to aid the unfortunate one . . . no, he enters the room of the invalid commander of the Kuvalda. Really, he wasn't sure what to say . . . well, first things first. A salute, a proper sign of respect to these two, members of Drachma's very own SpecOps team.

"Major Hei Jin." is the only thing he says, at first. His words are cordial, but crisp . . . swift was his actions as well as his tongue, since time ever ticked on. The only thing he did now was approach and hand one of the two folders to Marynia, which obviously was taken while his next words accompanied the action.

"Stuka. Nikolaus. Colonel of the Amestrian Military, candidate to become one of their generals . . . he is the one that must die." he says plainly, making it clear what the contents of this folder must be about. Hei gazes into the eyes of both Ivanka and Marynia during this whole exchange, if any words were given to him, he had nothing to say in response. No, instead, now that he had delivered what needed to be given, he just took his leave with a polite bow.

Although, while his back was turned and before he left the room itself, almost quietly exiting as he had entered . . . he said one last thing.

"When the day comes for that man's death . . . I beg of you, give me an opportunity to join you in that hunt. Such a madman deserves death, and with no guarantee of survival."

And that was all. Random, yes. But he had his own bones to pick at with Stuka . . . And then he made his way back to Zabulon, just as he finished some sort of motivational speech to Sablya.

"Move forward Knight. This, I know you can do."

And a pause, as the Head of Defense looks back to Hei, who was now standing before him.

"I have some contacts that may be able to get us more info on Stuka and Marismo. I shall keep you informed if you wish."

"That is a kind offer, but . . . there is no need to inform me. Better to keep those who are suffering the most from that man's actions informed, as opposed to me. I thank you, though, for such an offer. And, now if you'll excuse me . . . I do have business elsewhere . . ." the words come out, a bit impersonally as he wasn't sure what to make of anything anymore. But, at least they came out politely and serenely. And once more, the Xingman walked off, towards the Rook and some other fellow, whether the Rook saw him was of no concern, but he got a glimpse at her expression, and needless to say ... irritation boiled in him as he drew closer, needing to pass by her to make his way to the proper exit.

"What do you do? For one, stop complaining." he spits out, just as he begins passing by, his words are harsh and cold . . . practically unfeeling to whatever despair she was suffering. But there was something else as well in his voice.

"FIND the one who ruined your way, the one responsible for your misfortunes and those of others . . . FIND him and MAKE. HIM. PAY. That's usually a good start." he utters, the deep and utter hatred he had for those who wallowed in misery and those who utterly enjoyed reeking it and disturbing others like Stuka becoming painfully clear.

"Stop at nothing, for nothing. Find the son of a bitch and KILL HIM.

PAY UNTO THE CRETIN EVERY LAST OUNCE OF YOUR SORROW!!! AND! HATE!!!

...

And then you can mope about not having a way. Be grateful you even had one to start with . . . you . . . wondrous . . . fool." Midway, his composure and calm if harsh tone gave way to a practically snarling voice that barked out these 'suggestions' to Sablya as Hei was already past the Rook and on his merry way out. After that, though, his voice had dropped several levels in intensity as he gave out those last words, particularly in contrast to the earlier shouting bit that if you'd look at Hei directly, you'd see that he practically was frothing at the mouth by simply suggesting for one to seek revenge.

But, alas. He did not stay. He did not have time. Time was short, and limited. That's what made it so precious, more so for him since he always ran short on time. Whatever response from anyone given to him, he ignored, steadily plodding along out of the hospital.

[/EXIT THREAD]

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