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by: Matthew Cox
#8122
April 20th, 11:40pm

What in God’s holy name had that been? Matt groaned weakly and stumbled through the alleyway away from the war zone that he’d barely escaped. Blood. He could smell blood and he felt cold. These facts were bad, especially since he was sure that one was a result of the other. If the claws hadn’t been bad enough, raking through his flesh like paper, it had a damned spear.

What the hell was it? Huge, moved faster than he could, had a tail, retractable claws…werecat? Were there such things? He couldn’t pursue the line of thought anymore. He coughed and spat out what was unmistakably blood. Everything hurt and he could barely focus well enough to see where he was going with his radar sight.

A dumpster came to hand. The smell was rank, but it may be enough to hide him from that monster he’d fought to stand still. He rolled in and laid there with the rest of the garbage, trying to catch his breath. Ribs broken again. Stabbed in the leg, missed the femoral artery thankfully. Bites on his arms and shoulder, claw slashes over his torso, back, and face.

He was going to die here.

Everything drifted away as he accepted that fact.
#8274
It was Jon's turn to head out for the evening. With Kara back at Tutaminis for a while, she needed him to head into the city, to visit the Abbey and make sure Henrietta and the lot of them were working alright without her present as much as she used to be. Things seemed fine, Henrietta kicked him out after a while, for drinking too much of their whiskey and poking his nose where it shouldn't be, so he was on his way. Jon laughed and agreed to step away for a moment but he warned her he would be back, probably close to closing time. He fancied her some, that Henrietta. She seemed like a nice girl. Spunky, like a firecracker. That's what he loved about Elana too, once upon a time.

He lit up his cigarette and started down the street. He'd wanted to take a nice long walk, now that he was able to. It was his first venture out without a cane, so he wanted to make a decent round about the neighborhood before heading back up to Kara's office to head back to the manor. He took a drag and puffed out the smoke, turning his head away from the other folks passing by. Those painkillers Kalkuskov had prescribed to him were working pretty damn well, too. Jon loved the city and its sounds, for the most part. The cars driving by, the chatter from the bar scene, and the animals barking in the distance...Aside from the technology that he never bothered to use, he found that the muggle side was very similar to the wizarding world.

He made it a few blocks up from the Abbey when he turned into an alleyway. Why? He wasn't sure. It was a change in course, a pathway of which he wasn't familiar, but it had less foot traffic and more space away from other folks who would complain about his cigarette anyway. He took another drag and flicked the ash to the side.
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by: Matthew Cox
#8286
Despite his body's willingness to let go, Matt found himself drifting in and out of consciousness. Instinct demanded that he kept moving while his body pleaded to shut down.

Blood trail. You left a blood trail...it can follow you and finish you.

That was a reason to move. Not necessarily a good one, but it worked for now. Unfortunately, trying to sit up caused an inferno of pain, making Matt cry out weakly. It overwhelmed him and drove him fully into the unconsciousness his instincts had been fighting.
#8293
Then he spotted it. A smear of crimson on the concrete walkway. Jon pulled the cigarette from his mouth with two fingers and stopped. He wanted to get a closer look at it, whatever it was. I could have been paint but it resembled too much of a more ominous substance--and there were no red buildings around. The hell is this... His eyes trailed over the smudge, and it looked like it stopped a few feet away. Jon gulped. He was armed with a wand but was in a place he probably shouldn't be waving it around. However, if someone was in trouble or if he was next on the list for something like this, he had to be prepared. After taking one last drag, he tossed the cigarette to the side, and heard it sizzle out in a small puddle along the wall.

He reached into his coat pocket and armed himself with his wand, keeping his hand close to his body, so anyone watching couldn't see what he was holding. Jon walked slowly, defensively, ready to call out a spell if he was ambushed. Then, he heard a cry in the dumpster, where the blood trail had ended and peeked in. It was a man, dressed in black, mask covering his eyes. "Holy Sh..."

He put his wand away. If the man wanted to attack him he would have done a cleaner setup than that, right? Jon wiped his hand over his face and turned back toward him. He looked a mess, cut, bruised and definitely bloody. Jon stepped back and looked around, in case anyone else came poking around these parts, but he was safe for now. His first move was to get him out of there.

Jon reached in and pulled with most of his strength to hoist the figure of the masked man out of the dumpster. He set him along the wall, concealing him from sight from the main roads and checked his vitals. He found a heartbeat, even if it was faint. But where to go from here...was the bigger problem.
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by: Matthew Cox
#8298
Matt remained unaware through being moved. Even the heavy dragging that was necessary to get him out of the rubbish rendered no response from the shredded man. Blood still eked from the cuts sluggishly. His breathing was slow and shallow, just like his heartbeat.

Mentally, he was gone. Unconsciousness had swamped over him like a black shroud as he bargained with Death for the right to keep living. What did he have to keep living for? Kat, his work, Klaus, his family...was it worth fighting for?

Always.

The slow process of self-healing begain with the declaration, allowing him to eventually recover his senses. Matt awoke suddenly. He couldn't see at first and panicked. His special radar sense filtered back in slowly. He must have taken a blow to the head because there were no straight lines, nothing understandable. He could hear a heart beat, elevated, nervous.

"Where am I?"

Even to his own ears the question was gravelly with pain and stress. God, everything hurt.
#8299
He flicked the tip of his cigarette again. Good thing too, since the end had burned about a fourth of the way through, almost forgotten, sitting on his lips. Jon had his back turned to the man, facing a row of the old supplies he managed to dig out of every corner of every dusty cabinet. He had a few bandages, spare pieces of gauze to wipe more of the cuts away.

Turns out he remembered more from what Lucy had showed him than he thought. Jon spent a great deal learning about the hands that healed him, the ones at Mungos were helpful but the Orders healers were always easier to follow, even as a patient. The man was surely dressed in a strange manner; who the hell runs around the city at night with a wrap over their eyes?...Only in London. Jon even had to dig through some of his knowledge from school, spells that would strange top the bleeding from some of the minor cuts long enough for him to get them stitched and sealed.

"You're alive."

After a drag of his cigarette, Jon set his cigarette down into the ceramic bowl he found laying around as his makeshift ashtray. He grabbed the bunch of fabric in his hand and tossed it at the man's bed, watching it land between his arm and side. His eyes were open, weren't they? Jon blamed it on the dim lighting (he had to improvise a few candles, and a couple of floating light orbs above them. They sat close enough to the ceiling so it was more inconspicuous than hovering over his shoulder. He wasn't sure who this man was, and if he was a muggle, he didn't want to risk exposure and deal with Kara scolding him again). "You're in an old safe house of mine. Not far from where I picked you up. Did you get in a fight with a lion or something?"

He was scratched from head to toe, bleeding profusely when he found him. He wouldn't be surprised if an animagus found him, some of them did go rogue after all...but wasn't it a new moon? Jon leaned against one of the support beams next to the man's bed and folded his arms. He looked at him and waited for him to look up, maybe get a good clue at who he was dealing with, now that he was awake.
Last edited by Jonathan Partridge on Wed Jan 25, 2017 9:07 am, edited 1 time in total.
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by: Matthew Cox
#8301
Alive. Right. That's why he was in so much pain. Couldn't be alive if you weren't feeling pain, right? Matt groaned in agreement with Jon's assessment. His head turned as he tried to pinpoint where Jon was speaking from. The waves of his pain were overriding his ability to see with his radar sense. The movement of air on his face made him touch his face with trepidation. His mask was gone.

"You took my mask off..."

A touch of panic began to rise in him. This person was in danger from seeing him. He was in danger from being seen. He had to leave, had to get his mask back had to-

Matt tried to sit up and was overwhelmed again by pain.

"Uggghh...it was something. Who are you?"

He sighed heavily. Why was his skin burning? He could understand why his bones ached, but all of the different sensations of pain were exquisite and distracting.
#8316
"Yeah, I sorta had to. You were bleeding from...well, everywhere. Had to stitch up your face, and you were wearing this. I see a lotta weird things in town, but wearing a blindfold in the middle of London ain't exactly normal." Jon looked over at him, noticing his movement. He stood up straight, and waved his hand over. Is he...blind? He took the last bit of his cigarette and put it out in the ceramic bowl, sitting in his wheeled chair and he pulled up beside him. That way they wouldn't have to speak too loud, wake anyone up who might be squatting or wandering nearby. "Careful," He whispered. He even helped him sit up, situating the pillows behind him.

"Name's Jon. I found you in a dumpster like this in an alley. Thought it was just a rough night at the bars, but there was lots of blood, mate. You out trying to fight crime in this getup?" It was just a comment in passing. He wasn't trying to poke fun or mock him, but by the way he was dressed, it was difficult to let it pass. As a matter of fact, Jon was rendered to a scuffed mess, much like this young man a while back--that duel with that hitwitch that killed Elana. "You need to take it easy. You had a dislocated shoulder. Several cuts, and things I had to stitch up but those might not even hold, so you should get to a heal--a hospital. A proper doctor needs to take a look, but I did what I could."

Why? What compelled Jon to help this complete stranger who was dressed like a nightstalking maniac? He was dying, that's why. Maybe he'd file this report with Kara and she'd loosen the leash a little bit. If she believed him, that is.
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by: Matthew Cox
#8319
Oh were those his only injuries? He couldn't allow for stitches on his face. That would result in a scar. Sure, it was nearly Saturday now, but he needed to allow the cut to heal naturally so it would heal cleanly. To that logic, Matt began to grope at the stitches to pull them out. Nope, that hurt. He dropped his hand and closed his eyes, frustrated with how his life had ended up.

"Sounds bad..."

The subject of the mask was best left avoided for now. And his own name. He'd lie about that, if asked, but for now, he needed to get healed and get a move on. This man, Jon, would be in danger caring for him...what other options did he have when he'd lost so much blood?

Matt grabbed the mask from Jon and put it back on. It was as much a teddy bear as a protection at this point, but Matt felt better behind it.

"Last night wasn't crime fighting...something big blindsided me and left me looking like a car accident." Pain rippled through him again, making him groan. He needed to heal faster and get the damned stitches from his skin. If the open wounds healed as fast as the stab wound did earlier this week, then they'd be closing by tonight.

He needed to leave.
#8321
Jon narrowed his eyes, almost reaching out to grab his wrists but he realized he'd stopped at once. Pulling out the stitches he actually took pride in, as they came out fairly decent, was not crooked or bunched too close. "I'm sure it feels worse than it looks." He said, leaning back in his chair some when he saw him sigh in defeat. "I noticed minor bruising on your ribs so I'd look out for that. Ankle sprain too. Be sure to check that all out, especially your ankle. Being immobile is a bitch." He pat his leg, which was somewhat back to normal again.

"Look I'm not a fully licensed doctor or anything. A lot of the stuff I was able to...fix for you isn't going to be long term care stuff. You really should get checked out." He insisted. He had to use muggle terms until the man proved he knew otherwise. Jon wanted to light up another cigarette, a habit he'd picked up a while back that had only gotten worse since he got back from Australia. Kara didn't like him smoking around the Manor, unless he was in his designated space outside. It was mostly since he tended to throw his cigarette butts on the ground, and kids of the refugees were picking them up out of the dirt. He didn't though, he'd save the last 2 for his trip out to the store to get more.

"What about you, got a name?" He folded his arms again. Jon watched this guy carefully. "Got anyone who can get you to a doctor? I can take you."

Kara should give him an award for this. He wasn't messing up, for once. He was trying to do some good.
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by: Matthew Cox
#8328
Oh, wasn't it his lucky day? It seemed like every turn added to his condition.

But wait, there's more!.

Matt started to laugh at the thought, but the humor turned to a cough which reminded him that, yes, he'd broken a rib. Ow, dammit, mother f-

"Ffffaaaaaa! No! No doctors, no hospital, no nurses. I can't...can't put anyone else into danger...like I've already put you."

The words came out interspersed with pain induced panting. He had to leave. Gingerly, Matt felt the wound on his thigh. The stab had been deep, but the razor edges of the obsidian blade made it surgically clean. There were stitches there, too. And pain. Was his healing factor overwhelmed at the moment? Could he possibly even recover from all of this? He needed to call Klaus and let him know where he was, call Kat and let her know he was alive...

Ugh. All these things he needed to do were just mental pressure. They were distractions to avoid addressing Jon and his other question. He had to, though. Straight forward, no lies, but no compromising his own safety.

"I can't tell you my name; what I do will get us both in trouble if the authorities know who I am, so, no. I don't have a name. Not one I can share."

To be honest, it was kind of surprising that this guy, (a nurse or doctor or veterinary professional by his stitch work), hadn't heard of the Devil from the news reports or papers. Sure, the story was 'still developing' according to the news outlets, but there were enough questions being asked by the media that it was surprising for Jon to have taken him in at all.
#8370
Jon sat up quickly, ready to help him, as soon as he screamed out in pain over his rib. He did warn the bloke about that, but all he could do was wince and feel a bit sorry for him. "Danger?" He huffed, rather amused by that. Jon stood up, feeling a faint shock of pain in his own leg as he did. He wandered over toward the cabinets and started to shuffle around some of the old supplies for some painkillers. Not for himself, though. He had the good stuff at home. "If I was worried about any of that maybe I would have kept walking." He said with a smirk.

The cabinets squeaked as he pulled them open, and dust was flying everywhere when he pushed them shut. He grunted slightly as he dug low in the bottom cabinets, sweeping some of the shelves from front to back to find what he was looking for. Jon was glad there were supplies here at all, even though most of the injuries he tried to fix with magic, but the guy wouldn't have to know that. "Come on. Man of mystery makes you sound like some Bond fellow...man in black is too generic. Gotta have something to call you, right?" Jon pressed. He clicked his tongue and grinned as he found a some small vials in the back of one of the lower cabinets and quickly rose to his feet.

"This should help with the pain. I'm serious about the doctors, mate, you are in no condition to be up and around--you should get a lot of rest. One of these is for the pain, it'll probably knock you out for a good portion of the day. So no more alleyway adventures...and no heavy machinery. The healing ones will take some time but it may even minimize some of the scarring. I maybe pretty proud of what I stitched up all nice here, but they'll fade out with this." It was a couple of healing potions, and one for the pain, in different shaped vials. He tucked them away in a small black felt bag and pulled the string. Jon thought to toss these over to him too, but stopped. The way he seemed to search for him by sound, and how he didn't quite look directly at him made him believe this man was actually blind. When he looked over at him again, he noted the scratches, the patterns on him. Some wounds were deep, others minor. It was brighter here than it was in the alley so he knew better than to think it was really as the man said. "I feel like there's more than what you've told me here. These wounds here, and here..." He pointed at some of the thicker cuts, thicker stitches. "Honestly, looks like more than just someone who got drunk and wanted to get in a fight. What happened. Do you remember?"

He'd been in and around enough interrogations...he just didn't know that he'd find himself in one tonight, with a complete stranger.
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by: Matthew Cox
#8377
So Jon was going to press. What the hell was Matt suppose to say? In the end, he decided to go with his middle name.

"Michael. Call me Michael."

Exhaustion began to seep through him. Hi fingers felt heavy and his mi d was slowing. Still, Jon wanted to know what happened on the roof top.

"You wouldn't believe it...I was out looking for trouble and found it...I think it was a large animal, but it walked upright and carried a spear. And claws...those claws accounted for most of my wounds..."

What kind of bottles held a drink that could speed up healing? Was this man a wizard? Did he care at this point? Matt opened the bottles and downed them once Jon explained the effects. It was the clearest expression of trust Matt could give.

True to Jon's word, the exhaustion ramped up like a tidal wave and crashed over him. Matt groaned and fell asleep.




Matt woke slowly, curled on his side and covered in a blanket. The pain was numbed or gone, he was warm, and his radar sense was back. The stitches in his face were gone, the skin felt smooth and pain free...whatever the drinks had been, they'd worked better than advertised.
#8390
Jon had returned from his errands, a few things Kara needed back at the Manor. Jon paid one of the workers from Tutaminis to come by and monitor the safe house for him, and they reported little to no movement, or even sound for that matter. After dismissing his hired help back to Order HQ, he ascended the steps into the house, shutting the door behind him softly. He found the man in black, "Michael" as he said his name was, still laid out on on the bed as he'd left him over 24 hours ago. He was awake now, though, on his side, underneath one of the quilts that his assistant had brought over, along with more supplies like a pillow and more incense for healing (to help the place smell a lot less like death).

"Welcome back." A paper bag hit the flat surface of the countertop and the wheeled chair pulled back from the bed. "How you feelin', Mike?"

He scooted the chair over, giving him a once over, checking out the cuts and stitches he could see. He pulled his wand again, waving it slowly over Michael to check for any other issues, sweeping in a careful movement, just as the Healers had shown him. It would be a real test to see if the man was really blind, but the severity of his wounds and the necessity of healing them weighed more than concealing his wand, at least for now. He'd deal with the interrogation process if he happened to notice his out-of-the-ordinary methods were questioned. "Told you those things would knock you on your ass." He snickered. "How's the pain?"
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by: Matthew Cox
#8394
How was he feeling? Like he got the shit kicked out of him by a monster...what day was it even? Matt's mouth was dry and sticky with the dead taste of a hang over. Ghost pains were starting to flare up in the deeper wounds. In summary, he felt like hell.

"Pretty bad, but I'll definitely live. D'you have any water? What time is it?"

His internal clock was trying to tell him it was dinner time, but that didn't make sense. He'd gotten into the fight on the evening of the 20th. So, maybe it was the 21st at lunch time. The healing would have made him hungry, right? Surely, he didn't sleep through Saturday...but what if he had? Klaus and Kat would probably be worried about him.

The wand came out. Matt didn't freeze, didn't react, didn't say anything, but he was one hundred percent sure now that the man who found him was a wizard. Was he going to be taken captive the way Klaus was? The wizard didn't seem to be doing anything other than passing the wand over him like he was scanning for something...Matt wanted so desperately to ask, but he didn't dare. After all, he was supposed to be blind, right?

"So where am I, anyway?"

He had the feeling they'd talked about that already, but Matt wanted to ask again.
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