Ur did not crave knowledge
about what the cult fellow witches had turned into a threat to everyone nonhuman
but she was no fool – knowledge was POWER and she might require it in case that
she encountered difficulties during the healing. However, although she was somewhat
curious about the file, she preferred to keep everyone from looking into her cards.
(She did
not trust Sayla any further than she could throw the demoness.)
“I genuinely
hope that it won’t be necessary … however, could you tell me what her … GIFT is?”
Ur inquired as she
continued to weave her magic through the damage that had been done, using more caution
than usual because it had been a long time since she had last healed a metahuman
and from what she remembered, it might get difficult if there was some kind of enhanced
healing factor in the injured person’s DNA.
(Witches
might act like they knew everything but they rarely did.)
“And … does the file say
anything about untraceable poison? I don’t want to burn poison into her system while
I intend to heal her.”
She would
read the file herself but her hands were burning with magic and she could easily
set paper on fire in a moment of distraction. And information was INVALUABLE in
the town they were living in – and she did not want to be the witch who destroyed
important information in a moment of carelessness. Furthermore, the file would be
a source of entirely new information and she knew herself that she
would get sidetracked easily.
Her fingers twitched as she flicked through the pages in the file, searching for any records of untraceable poisons that the witch had mentioned. Whilst Sayla disliked being second to anyone, whether it be in knowledge or battle, her inadequate understanding of the healing arts was to be accepted, and left to the witch. She traced across the last death recorded in her father’s case file on the cult: his own death. Her father had died of septicaemia (or blood poisoning, in the common tongue), however, she had no idea what caused this. Nirvana had killed him, yes, with the wounds they inflicted upon him, but what if the bacteria which caused his death was planted intentionally by them? She quickly grasped hold of its name, then ordered her advisor to obtain the sample they removed from her father, which if they were lucky, was well enough to analyse. The name of the bacteria (staphylococcus aureus) was no surprise to her; ‘twas a typical bacteria which caused sepsis. On the other hand, a slight detail in the file immediately caught her eye.
Her eye locked onto “antifreeze”. The poison surely couldn’t have modified the bacteria, could it? Or was it forcibly injected to stimulate it, or to be spread inside her father’s system. In any case, this was information that could relate to the newest victim of Nirvana’s wrath.
“–My father died of septicaemia. Everything looks normal, except that antifreeze was detected in his system, so watch out. As for the girl’s gift, I know little on the matter.”
you're English right, Almond? What are your opinions on the election results? Who did you vote for as well?
Hi nonnie! Unfortunately, I’m not old enough to vote (I’m 15, turning 16 in 11 days tho X3), but if I did have the power to vote, I probably would have voted for either labour, or the green party, since I believe both parties had some pretty beneficial policies for the UK. However, I would 100% not have voted Conservative. (excuse my lack of political knowledge XD) Firstly, the Conservative party are a party whose policies usually only benefit the rich. With them in power and exacting new policies, it is extremely likely that the social and economic divide between the rich and the poor will increase further, leading to devastating, and sometimes irreversible consequences. For those who aren’t in the UK nor read anything on UK political events from 2010-15 when Cameron was Prime Minister first, there were many protests against privatising the NHS (which they still want to do; this will wreck many), against invading Syria (which if I remember correctly, Milliband had the balls to prevent), protests against increasing tuition fees (which are already quite expensive at about a £9000 average), not to mention the London Riots: this should already express quite a bit that Cameron, at least in London where I live, is not the most popular man around. Now, if we go to the NHS situation: Cameron claims that he and the Conservative government will put more money into the NHS, which will likely result in tax increases; imo this is for something necessary. However, if they are to continue and fulfil their plans of privatising the NHS, many severely ill people, who depend on constant medication, will become completely endangered as they cannot afford it. In 1948, Nye Bevan fought for a free healthcare service to avoid mass death among the lower-middle class population due to killer conditions and diseases (like cholera at the time), however, if we are to privatise the NHS, death rates are almost certainly likely to increase, which benefits nobody. My dad has asthma, and relies on inhaler prescriptions, and he also has ME, which renders him unable to work full hours (he works as a lecturer instead where he has good secure and steady hours) and should the NHS become privatised, and my dad, in the worst case scenario, cannot afford his inhalers anymore; if he had an asthma attack, he would most likely die. (that in itself is the main reason why I would have not voted conservative as I don’t particularly want either of my parents dying young). Either way, if the previous protests are any sign, then the privatisation of the NHS should hopefully not happen as long as the public are opposed to it, however, a Conservative government is not my idea of a fun 5 years.
Ur was not sure what she was
meant to feel when she looked at the younger woman aside from fatigue. It was not
often that she felt genuinely old but once in a while, it did happen. And it usually
happened when she tied her fate to the fate of a bunch of CHILDREN (and so many
were children when compared to her).
But if
there had ever been an appropriate moment for her to discuss how tired it made her
feel to see children all beaten up, it was most certainly not now. Maybe later,
maybe when she got home and could discuss this with someone who had lived even longer
than she had.
“I am so sorry,” she muttered
as the metahuman fell back onto her pillows once the witch had finished her incantation,
“but you need rest.”
She then
turned her head to look at the demoness who had invited her in the first place,
her face calm before she brushed back a strand of her hair.
“Give me
the details while I get a better look at what has happened here,” she stated drily
before she opened her bag and hummed to herself as she gently sought for the pink-haired
woman’s injuries. There was a grievous one on the metahuman’s side, likely a stab
wound that had been intended to be fatal.
It had
not been, however, because the attacker had likely underestimated the woman’s inner
strength and her will to live on, even though such an injury would likely leave
behind scars of great magnitude. Bye-bye,
bikinis. Ur sighed to herself as she
reached into her bag for a pair of gloves. Magic was nice and great but there was
still a need for hygiene when patching up wounds. And this was what she would, essentially,
do: rebuild the damaged tissue by waving a new layer with the help of her magic.
It would take a while and it would be exhausting but, and this was what Ur decided as the tattoo on
her left arm started to glow, it would be worth the effort.
Watching the witch get on with her work, Sayla upheld her request and informed her of the occurrences that happened; from Sayla’s despair at her destroyed warehouse to her annoyance at her injured doctor to her hunger, despite having already eaten enough pasta to feed the 5000. It was evident on the witch’s face that the last detail was not necessary, yet the halfbreed felt inclined to insert it in, considering that the witch herself asked her to ‘give details’. The only quality that the halfbreed did not possess was selectiveness…
The female, after retelling the events of the day, seated herself once more and flicked through the pages of the Nirvana file, until she reached the page which she herself had inserted in the end; her father’s case file, complete with evidence records and autopsy results. She gently removed the autopsy page from the rest of the file, then handed it to the witch, in case it would need to be of some assistance.
“–Please read this should you need any guidance in your treatment; my father’s case file.”
It had
been a slow night for Ur, a night of reading in dusty old tomes and drinking herbal
tea that was meant to keep her magic clean but tasted like it would kill everything
inside of her that did not necessarily belong there — as useful as those teas
were, she awaited the day when they would start to taste better with baited breath.
A part
of her was near relieved when there was a sharp knock on her door and she snapped
her fingers, unlocking it. Then, she lifted her gaze to look at what appeared to
be a member of the local yakuza. In this case, she probably should
have checked
who her visitors were before opening the door. But then, as it turned out, they
had not come to trash her possessions – which would have been something they would
have regretted DEARLY – but to inform her that her help was needed.
Healing
was not necessarily her strong suit but she was good enough at it – especially when
the injuries were regular and had not been tainted by any spells in which case it
could get much, much uglier very soon. And she did not want to get caught up in the aftermath.
Grabbing
her bag – complete with what she needed to work her magic – she straightened her
spine and crumbled the note from the Underworld’s Princess in her hand before flinging
it onto her desk. She was not content with the way people appeared to believe that
she could be summoned like an ordinary servant but then, she had medical training
and she was obligated to use it if the need arose.
“Very well. I will see what
I can do.”
It had
not been her coven who had taught the Nirvana Cult how to become an actual threat
but this did not change that there was an inherent sense of responsibility inside
of her — and the will to fix what others of her kind had screwed up. After all,
if she wanted to be truly GOOD, she had to accept that she had to actually DO something
once in a while.
Her faithful follower returned to the room where the puppeteer was resting, accompanied by the witch whom the underworld’s princess knew all too well. Such was the line of her work which required her to make enemies, however, it was the times when your enemies had to become your allies that tested a person the most. She poured a glass of water for the witch out of mere kindness, even if she did wish that she knew other witches save for this one. Still, in order to be victorious over the Nirvana cult, they would need as many allies as possible, especially ones which had experience with healing. Of course, ever since Sherry put the Blades’ doctor out of commission temporarily with multiple slash wounds. Eating the very last remains of her pasta, Sayla arose and seized the Nirvana file once again, in case Ur would wish to look over some information to help her treatment. Everyone had a specific modus operandi, and a religious cult was no exception, of course. On the bright side, with this treatment, the vigilante would be fit for a battle within little time at all.
“–Your patient is over there. My thanks for the assistance.”
Now, this was a language
Sherry spoke FLUENTLY. Alliances were the easiest way to stay sound and safe in
a city where danger lurked at every corner. Alliances were what had kept her wallet
full and her stomach soothed ever since she had arrived in town because if one was
called Sherry Blendy, it was all too easy to make business out of everything … and
while she had not inherited her father’s GIFT, she was sure as hell cunning enough
to make do without it just as well.
(She was
not in town to play the hero, she was there to survive.)
(And everyone
knew that at the end of the story, the hero died.)
“You are making
a tempting offer there, you know.” Sherry’s voice was calm and
controlled, not allowing any emotion to show itself in her speech – this was a game
she had played before and as she was still around, it could easily be guessed that
she had never lost before. “But I cannot
help but wonder … what could I possibly bring in at this very moment? I don’t heal
faster than the average human and unless you have a witch at your … beck and call,
I will be out of commission for a while.”
Sherry
did not necessarily trust witches but she knew what MIRACLES they could work if
given a reason to and she was more than interested to figure out just how much of
the underworld Sayla truly controlled. After all, it was always smart to know what
cards the other was holding.
Oh great, a witch… Sighs emerged soon after the thought of that woman hit her head. Yes, it was true that the halfbreed knew a witch, however, they weren’t exactly on the best of terms, nor did Sayla desire her cooperation. Whilst Sherry, she could stand for a while, the witch Ur ticked her senses so much that she felt like punching her abominable face whenever she laid her eyes upon it. Still, if they were to defeat Nirvana, they needed all the help they could gain, though it be from w i t c h e s. Her right-hand man laid his hand upon her shoulder, to which she turned to face him. A man of few words, he merely nodded. It seemed they would have to bring her in, much to the halfbreed’s chagrin. A click of her fingers and three men entered the door, adorning their weapons of choice, which differed greatly among her men; this only served to coerce people into fearing their skills more. The male in the front, scar across the eye, gigantic mace in his hands (the typical for a tough guy), stepped forward and knelt, to which in response, Sayla handed him her seal of approval. He took it, then returned back in line.
Sherry
took note of the movement but she did not even move her head. There were far too
many sharp objects within her mind’s reach and only a true fool would seek a fight
with a psychokinetically gifted person while one quick glanced revealed already
so many items for Sherry’s mind to hold onto, for her mind to wield with destructive
intent. Not that she was keen on starting a fight while she was this tired. It would
be too easy for her to hurt herself.
“As was
my entire family.”
The metahuman’s
voice did not waver, just like she did not falter under the gazes she felt on her
skin, piercing her – likely for whatever disrespect they believed she had just shown.
She did not speak because she wanted anyone’s pity — she loathed it when someone
looked at her and whispered how sorry they felt for her, for the woman who had once
been a girl who had lost everything and more.
“And I
would very much like to read and memorise the file — but I don’t wish that sort
of information to remain anywhere close to me for a longer time. That, you see,
would end ugly.”
And she
had seen far too much UGLINESS in the last few years.
The woman nodded in agreement, then took the file away, into the hands of her assistant, trading it for yet another bowl of pasta. How the halfbreed was able to eat so much was unexplainable…Many thought it was due to the demonic blood which flowed through her veins, gifted to her by her father. That or her father’s genetic characteristics which were passed to her. She then began to pour another glass of water for her guest, and also one for herself, sending the majority of her men away save for her right hand man, who aided her in eating some more of the pasta; their cooks were very good at their job, but also at killing ever now and then~! They did have the most exotic ways of ending people. Whilst both women wished to end Nirvana for their crimes, Sayla herself, as a tactician of sorts, knew that doing it on their own would not be possible. At least, separately. Whether the puppeteer would agree to a temporary alliance of sorts was unknown, however, whilst she was recovering, the halfbreed wished for Sherry to feel at least a little more comfortable in her environment.
“–Say, vigilante. What would your opinion be on an alliance? Nothing permanent, obviously, but I believe we can help each other for a bit.”
Drinking
the cold water, Sherry’s head stopped feeling like it was a balloon, connected to
the rest of her body by nothing but a thin string. She needed to be in her best
possible state – she had to be better than this, likely. She was CAUTIOUS by nature
because her life had taught her two valuable lessons. First of all that trust had
to be earned and secondly, survival had to be her highest priority at all times,
that it was more important than anything else, even love.
(Thankfully,
she did not fall easily.)
“I am not
sure if I can accept this file.”
This was
her mother’s bluntness speaking and Sherry was grateful that this was something
she had inherited from the woman who had always seemed so kind and fragile, like
a flower bending gently in the wind. The truth had been vastly different – a woman
who could tell when someone was lying did not lie herself.
(Sherry
did lie but not half as often as the average person as she had never learned how
to properly lie.)
“It’s a kind offer and under
different circumstances, I would have sold my soul for this but … you see, I wasn’t
brought up to accept ODDLY GENEROUS presents.”
They did
not live in a world where ANYTHING was for free and especially not information.
As someone who dealt with information on a daily basis, Sherry knew this better
than most people.
A yakuza member in the room moved on instinct, yet the female’s hand wavered in an order to make him cease his impending action. Not accepting a gift from not just the Princess of the Underworld, but also not accepting something as important to the clan as Sayla’s father’s files, was classed as disrespect, and the punishment for disrespect in the underworld was death. Still, it was natural that the vigilante be suspicious over the halfbreed’s intentions, considering their ends of the moral spectrum. Of course, when attacked by Nirvana, it was to be expected that trauma would set in sooner or later, or at least the female thought. The first part of Sherry’s sentence cemented it for the woman; the puppeteer had been attacked by the cult before. Memories of her beloved father soon followed in the mind of the leader, which caused small tears to trickled down her visage, before being wiped away in haste. Beginning to eat another bowl of pasta, the female spoke.
“–My father waskilled by NIRVANA; this file a gift because you’ve shown the bravery to have earned it. It is a sign that we wish to cooperate with you to bring down a common enemy.
