[IC] Ch1: Genesis Game: The Beginning of the and

[FrozenEcstasy]

The screaming of the tires perforated the last few moments Dallas' ears were still active. The wreck was a head-on collision, the other car not paying attention to the traffic lights (and honestly neither was Dallas). Dallas was knocked out on impact, the other driver was killed. Everyone at the scene rushed to the accident, some man ripped Dallas out of his truck before it burst into flames. He was taken to the hospital immediately, where his mother rushed to as soon as she heard the news. There he stayed for a month until today.

Today, he dreamed. A few hours were left till the light returned to his eyes and he woke, but right now he dreamed, of light, of a new kind of light. The darkness of the coma was shattered as some unearthly being took the hand of what he assumed was his subconsciousness made visual by his dreaming state. It spoke words into his ears of a beauty he could never quite comprehend. There was a promise of future, yet a warning of death, then it was gone and he was floating in darkness again. "Heaven is waiting, but first you must die..." Back in the fleshly world, his foot twitched, but nobody would notice as not even his mother was looking.

Within a few hours, six more people would be in his hospital room. Six more people will share his destiny. Six more people...

You have two posting rotations to get to the hospital room for his glorious awakening! There will be seven chairs lining the walls of a blank room, his mother, a short blonde woman with an appearance to turn heads for her age, sits in once of the chairs. On the TV plays a music station with heavy music playing on low volume. Have fun and prepare to die! *ahem* Have fun I mean.

[lins51387]

September

"... and then they kissed."

Jesus Christ do Fanfiction writers have no creativity whatsoever? And this is why I'm glad I don't read or write Fanfics, September thought to herself, shutting her laptop and then sticking her tongue out at it. But September, she protested to herself, you were just reading a Fanfic! "Just checkin' the competition," she grunted, standing from her desk and sweeping her backpack onto her shoulder. "These guys got nothing on me."

You see, writing about the real world always made for more interesting readings. Especially when the truths are modified and the universes screwed up. Journalistic writing sure wouldn’t be for me either, September thought.

And if she did write about her findings in the school newspaper, there would be a real crapstorm, and she could be suspended. “For snooping and being dishonest,” September said in a mock-official tone.

It was slowly getting dark out, which meant that dark clothes were a must. Not that she wore anything but dark clothes anyways, but it was always a good thought to keep in mind. Blending into the background was rule number one for snoops and and dishonest people.

Not that September was ever dishonest, you know? Unless of course, simply keeping quiet about something could count as dishonesty.

Dusk was the most interesting part of the day. It’s when dates go on, nighttime runs begin, parents come back from work, and the outside world talks in whispers.

Notebook. Little notebook. Pens. Pencils. Pepperspray. She looked down at her feet. Shoelaces tied.

She had wandered east the other day. Today she would go to the west and see what wonders would behold themselves to her!!

[AmazinglyVivid]

I'm leaving for work. Please get home safe. ILY

Sahara squinted as the light of her phone cut though the shadow cast by the building behind her with its bright, artificial light, displaying the short text just above the lock screen. Her eyes lingered on the last three letters. Her lips pursed as she stared at the small screen with an intensity usually reserved for things a great deal more interesting than text messages from one's mother. She sat like that for a few seconds before blinking with a surprising conviction and switching the phone off. Once again, the only light source augmenting the sun still making its climb up from the horizon was what hazy lights could slip through the curtained windows above. Her eyelids fluttered until she felt her vision adjust to the dimness; while she waited, she slipped the phone into one pocket of her khaki cargo pants.

The sound of the hospital's automatic doors sliding open drew her attention. A man who looked to be in his seventies walked out, pulling his jacket more tightly around him when the nip of the cool air started in on him. Sahara subconsciously tugged at the baggy sleeves of her own grey jacket. She watched him until she realized that he was turning to walk her direction. Quickly, she averted her eyes to the ground, fully expecting him to walk right past her. Instead, he settled down on the other side of the bench. Though there was more than enough room for the two of them, she still felt it necessary to pick up her small black canvas bag from between them and place it delicately in her lap.

The two sat in silence for a time. It was the old man who finally broke the silence. "You here to visit a relative or somethin'?" He asked. Sahara stared at her hands, folded delicately atop her bag.

"No, sir," she replied, uncomfortable with such a sudden unexpected conversation with a stranger. She was going to leave it at that, but decided that getting over her nerves had to start somewhere. Why not here, with this man in front of whom it didn't matter if she embarrassed herself or not, as she'd never seen him before and probably never would again. "I-I'm visiting a... friend."

It wasn't much, but it was something. Still, Sahara didn't know if she could handle more. What if he asked what was wrong with her friend? She knew what had happened, but wasn't sure about the specifics of his injuries. And Dallas wasn't exactly her friend, to begin with. Should she clarify? What if he questioned the appropriateness of a young woman visiting a young man in the hospital without a chaperon? No, that was silly, people didn't think like that here, and he'd probably have family with him, in the first place, oh, why did she put herself in situations like this-

"Oh, that's nice. If I were you I'd get in there soon, before it gets too crowded." he advised, leaning back and closing his eyes. "I hate crowds. And hospitals."

Oh. Feeling altogether embarrassed at having let her worries run wild, again, Sahara slid one hand under her canvas bag and gripped the handholds firmly with the other. She stood, eyes still glued downwards.

"Y-Yes sir. Thank you. Have a good day." Having said more at once to this man than she had to anyone in weeks, she hurried towards the hospital doors. They slid open and released from inside a pleasant gust of warm air. She entered into a larger room that she imagined was not unlike most hospital waiting rooms. To either side of her were patient waiting areas, with long rows of chairs connected by their arms rests. Some distance from the doors was the front desk, where one tired looking nurse spoke in hushed tones with an angry woman, another sifted through papers while the man in front of her impatiently tapped his foot, and a third seemed preoccupied with something on the screen of her computer, just below the counter itself.

There had clearly been several attempts to bring light and color into the area. Bright, abstract paintings hung on each of the walls. Underneath the rows of chairs were multicolored rugs that had probably been quite pretty when they were new but had since faded with age. Potted plants sat scattered at various places around the room. But no decorations could rid the place of the smell of antiseptic, nor could it make the sterility of the white walls and floors any less intimidating. Sahara wanted to turn on her heel and leave right then, but she instead forced herself to walk up to the nurse who was not already busy dealing with somebody else. The rather frazzled looking young woman glanced up expectantly. Sahara swallowed, opened her mouth, and then closed it again.

"Um, yes ma'am? How can I help you?" The nurse said after several awkward seconds of silence.

"Er, yes!" Sahara said, continuing before she could lose her courage, "In what room is Dallas Robertson staying?"

The nurse typed a few words into her computer, answered the question, and gave her directions. "Thank you," Sahara managed before walking off towards the hallway where the nurse said the elevator would be. Were the circumstances different, she might have been proud of herself for successfully navigating two completely normal interactions within the span of just a few minutes. For now, though, she was too busy dealing with her worry.

One elevator ride and several hallways later, she was approaching the room she'd been told Dallas was in. The door was a rather plain brown, like all the others in the hallway. Yet this one instilled in her a certain sense of foreboding. She took one hand from the bottom of her bag and reached towards the door's handle. She hovered there in uncertainty for a few moments before finally working up the courage to open it.

Inside was a room much plainer than she'd been expecting. Harsh music that she was unfamiliar with played on a television set in the corner. There were quite a few chairs lining the walls, but only one was occupied. The seated woman was a beautiful blonde, perhaps in her forties. She was most likely Dallas's mother. For a moment, Sahara felt an unexpected twinge of pity that the only person visiting him besides herself was his mother. Then the pity was replaced with horror as she realized that she was likely infringing on a very personal moment for the other woman. What if what she'd heard about visitors now being allowed was wrong?

She resisted the urge to leave, as she'd clearly already been seen. She could have just made up some excuse about getting rooms mixed up, but that would have made this whole trip for nothing. So, after several moments of deliberation, she made the decision her Amma would be proud of and looked at Dallas's mother. "H-hello," she started, biting her lip nervously before continuing, "D-Dallas and I were classmates in school. I've come too..." Why did she come? Out of worry? That was certainly a factor. To express her well wishes? That was true, too. But it dawned on her that a part of her motivation, too much for her comfort, was selfish in motivation. She wanted to prove something to herself. She found the thought troubling, and realized that the older woman was still waiting for her to finish.

"Give you these," she finished quietly, pulling from her canvas bag a plate of homemade cookies, saran wrapped and tied off with a blue ribbon. She'd actually made them for his whole family and him, had he been awake, but since she was the only one there, it seemed that they were just for her. That made presenting them feel a hundred times more awkward, and as she held them out, she realized that this was likely one of those ideas that seemed a lot better in her head than they'd actually be in reality. "This must be very hard for you, and I wanted to do something to raise your spirits. I... I can go now, if you'd like. I understand if you wish to be alone."

[MMGiru]

A young man lay on a hospital bed, the torso-bearing half of which was raised forty-five degrees, the better for him to face the police officer stood by the foot of the bed.

"So, you happened to walk by the house, heard a gunshot and screaming, and broke in," the brown-clad sherif recited.

"Yep," came the response, calm. "That's the size of it."

The sherif eyed the stranger, taking in his disgruntled appearance again. The hospital had washed the kid when he was unconscious, but it was clear it had been some time since the previous instance of bathing. His hair was a dry mess, face scarred from dirt and open pores, jaw overgrown with an unstyled beard, eyes more hard and alert than his tone.

"Well, Partridge doesn't remember it that way--"

"Don't see how he'd remember much of anything from that day."

"Mrs. Partridge says it was you who hit her, burglaring, and the husband shot you for both."

The young man didn't respond other than to close his eyes, but Sherif Noon could see the arteries in his neck flare up, and his mouth work on a tooth-grinding initiative. The sherif's eyes darted to the kid's hand when its arm eventually moved, and the fingers gently touched at the torso, where gauze could be seen bulking through his hospital gown. Sighing visibly calmed the stranger, and he spoke tiredly.

"And he hopped in his truck and drove out of state to protect his wife and property, ne?"

"I agree they didn't really think that part through. Most likely a jury will, too; but once you're healed up, we'll have to detain you until a trial can be held. By your own admission, they'll see you as a flight risk."

"Yare, yare," the gunshot stranger intoned, finally opening his eyes again. "Should've let 'im beat 'er, at this rate."

Sherif Noon did not find the joke particularly amusing.

-•-•-•-

Some time later, Tyson hobbled out of his room, movement visibly pained despite the copious drugs meant to intercept his body's reports of serious injury. There was nothing to counteract the faint smell of someone's decidedly not-normal piss, but he supposed some olfactory texture was better than the usual sterility of the hospital, even without the benefit of a window, as his own room had.

A deputy from Noon's outfit was stationed outside Tyson's room, and he smiled pleasantly at her. The young woman was roughly his own age, he noted, and pretty, if a bit rough. Any romantic fantasies his mind attempted were quashed with relish, but this did not effect Tyson's smile. There was no value to conveying any kernel of loneliness the wanderer might have noticed in himself, and it might make the deputy uncomfortable.

Making his way down the hall, Tyson made use of a smooth, painted, wooden plank along the wall, a foot tall, and very obviously intended as a handrail. The deputy who followed him did not seem to need any support to walk, which Tyson took to mean she did not have healing tears through her chest and stomach, and various organs therein.

"Do nurses have a store of hairbands, d'you think?"

Tyson's assigned deputy had a black bob cut, so he'd decided she was not the person to ask for a band. The hospital had apparently elected to dispense with the worn rubber band from his own hair, which he supposed did give him an excuse to find something less... adhesive. Still, the mane around his face bothered Tyson, given how it dulled his hearing and diminished his field of vision. In winter, this would have been an acceptable trade-off for a warmed head, but in summer--

"Probably not," the deputy responded, after a moment. Tyson took in her accent -- something from South America -- and waited for her to expound, but she'd apparently relayed her thoughts on the issue.

"Hah," he sighed. "I really need another one of those." Tyson kept walking, scanning the halls not just for people with appropriately lengthy hair, but for any exit routes. He'd been in this town for two days before being hospitalized, which brought it to four, even if he was unconscious for one. Faintly, he wondered where his clothes were being kept. Presumably they'd been laundered.

[Solekii]

Screw it. He was going to see her.

It didn't matter any more. It didn't matter at all. He was going to see her and he didn't give a damn who tried to stop him. Hell, he'd crawl through the hospital window if he had to. Alec was going to see his sister.

Of course, with his luck, that window would likely be on the 12th floor, half a foot wide with nothing but flat cement leading up the wall to get there. But damn it, he would find a way to get to her... it was his fault anyway... his fault she got so hurt.

Frankly, he looked like he needed to go to the hospital too, with one black eye, an untreated burn snaking along the length of his left arm, another on his back, and various half-healed bruises everywhere else. He looked like he'd been in a fight--which would seem completely out of character to anyone who knew him. Alec was totally pacifistic. He hated fighting. Hated everything about it. No, the scrapes and bruises were from something else that he didn't feel like thinking about. And the burn was something unrelated--well, sort of related and sort of not. Of course that didn't matter, he didn't plan on thinking about either.

The only thing on his mind was his little sister, Evelyn, and how he absolutely needed to see her.

So that was that. He wasn't going back to the hotel room--not by a longshot. Goddamn it, he hated having to share a room with those people. His 'parents'., who he'd rather consider strangers. Well, it wasn't his mother's fault but--

--Enough of that.

Alright. He would be going to the hospital regardless of anything. If they found out the consequences would be dire, but right now Alec didn't give a crap about that. He bypassed the route to the hotel and headed for a bus stop instead, trying to remember which one he needed to take to get to the hospital Evelyn was at. He kind of wished he had his guitar with him--but of course, it was gone now. Depressing...

Goddamn it, all of this was his fault.... He should have known. Or tried harder or... or something.

He sighed. Well, no point in worrying over that now. If he saw her, he could apologise and maybe try and make it right... yeah, that was something.

The bus came then and he got on. It was practically empty, which was all fine as he didn't really feel like dealing with people much at the moment. All power to the introverts. It took several stops and one bus change to get to the hospital, but when he finally did, he found himself hesitating. What if she didn't want to see him? And how would he even find her room? He didn't know anything. Nobody told him. Nobody ever did.

Well... might as well ask. Maybe they had information at the front desk. Alec headed inside and looked around for a moment. Funny, for some reason he felt like he needed to be doing something else as well... Like there was somewhere he needed to be. Strange... Oh well, it was probably nothing.

[Kiddo]

“Thank you, Miss Caraby.” The slight little girl awkwardly wiggled her way out of the car, trying to put no weight on her right foot lest she get her cast dirty. Once properly stable on her crutches, she gave a low little wave and started hobbling with practiced motions toward the hospital doors. They slid open automatically for her and she made her way over to the receptionist’s desk, only to be waved on automatically. They knew that she knew where she was going; it wasn’t like this was the first time she’d been by to visit Doctor Schub.

One agonizingly-long elevator ride later (really, why was this hospital so huge? And why was the orthopedist on the second-to-last floor?), she was seated in one of those uncomfortably-stiff purple chairs that the hospital claimed were stuffed (or rather, they were covered in cloth, which was close enough to claiming that) but which she would swear before the highest court of law were actually made of the least-comfortable plastic known to mankind. More uncomfortable than whatever plastic they used to make those super-scratchy tags that always left bits in your shirt after you tried to cut them off. Yes, these chairs were that uncomfortable.

And since this particular orthopedic surgeon was the only one of his kind around here (the nameplate on his door claimed he was the “Head of Pediatric Orthopedic Surgery”, which was a fancy way of saying that he was the only child-specialized setter-of-bones within the city limits), she was going to have to wait a long time in this uncomfortable chair. It didn’t make matters any better that her appointment wasn’t until 2 PM, and now it was… 8:57 AM.

This was going to be a very long wait. But such things happened when you had to bum rides from your friends’ parents, and they were all working-class. You ended up wherever you were going super early in the morning, or after everyone had gone home from their work day.

By 10:30, she was convinced that her butt was about to have irreconcilably taken on the stiff shape of the implement of torture upon which she was sitting. She hadn’t been able to feel her legs for like an hour, and she could feel her spine compacting from the sheer force of gravity pushing her down against this heartless, immovable cloth-wrapped plastic death machine. And when you were 5’0”, you didn’t particularly want to end up with your spine any more compacted than it already was; you needed every half-inch that you could get. It was time to take a walk around the floor, and so, with considerable effort (why did limbs feel so heavy when they were asleep?), she hoisted herself off of her shelf, startling the receptionist who quickly put away her phone; she’d probably forgotten that she was a living being instead of part of the décor, having last interacted with or seen her move one and a half hours ago when she’d asked “When is you appointment?”, gotten the correct answer, stared bug-eyed for a moment, and then helpfully (if hesitantly; apparently even she knew the pain that was those chairs) told her to sit down, Doctor Schub was running a bit late. Which was to say, let’s put it plainly, that Doctor Schub had not arrived at work on time. His first appointment was scheduled for 9 AM (and the owner of said wonderful time slot was fidgeting in pain in the reception area herself, her mother knitting obliviously next to her a scarf that seemed much too thin and far too long and definitely far too ghastly for anyone to actually use it; they had arrived even before our red-haired protagonist had), and he was yet to be seen. He would be walking in the door in two minutes fifty-nine seconds, but that would leave him with a bunch of preparation and having-a-cup-of-coffee and flirting-with-the-nurse before he would get to anything, and this receptionist, being good at her job and having worked with this particular client for a long time, had already factored that into her estimates of when the good Doctor would be getting to his appointments; namely, that he would be getting to them “late”.

Now, it wasn’t unusual for this particular red-headed, sun-kissed young lady to find herself with unreasonable amounts of time left before her appointment with this specific doctor, and so she had, through the many, many times that she had been forced to find something else to do than sit upon things more uncomfortable than that one estranged Mormon cousin with the twelve (or was it twenty?) wives was at family reunions, forged a habit, which she now embarked upon. It was time to go visit every single person in this floor’s sick ward.

[Hexaflexagon]

The haunting visage of the ghostly phantoms of distributed circadian rhythm danced a waltz in Kai's head. Five time zones and five and something hours later Kai had landed at the airport, another forty five minutes passed until she found herself back in Hope. Stuck in the forbidden lost hour of stuck in a state seemingly between worlds. Her father, a man that had long gotten used to the dance of time zones had described it as waiting for the soul to catch back up the body having lost its way somewhere midlife. The primitive reptilian demands for sleep, repeatedly flashing through her head. Her fitful brain being unable to understand why she is denying the grasp of sweet sweet sedition.

She pressed her head against the window of the cab, trying in vain to find some relief in the form of the cool glass. The car a Japanese "re-imagining" of an american model seemed to effortlessly slide across the asphalt, not a bump not a slight jostle was not aiding in her attempts to stay awake. The leather seats of the car seemingly drawing her into it, to drag her into the land of slumber. Though the midday sun still shined she felt as though she it was more appropriately the middle of the night. She looked towards the back of the head of her driver, an Israeli man with graying hair, missing his left ear who was currently humming along to some Leonard Cohen song on the radio. Sure Hope was just a bit out of the way from the airport but the one fare would be within the forty dollar mark and that was too sweet a catch to just give up upon. She would stop off at her Fathers house later, but she had to first go the hospital.

She had found about the accident from a friend of a friend, they say it was a head on collision and that he was put into a coma. Kai had been out of the country for the last two months, working numbers and statics to a large scale business firm in Europe. The jobs themselves never lasted more then a few months, depending on how much data needed to be filtered through. She hopped around her a lot, as man in three piece Italian made suits recommended her skill sets to affluent men in three piece french ,made suits and so on. It paid well enough, and it was quiet she mostly worked alone and that was something she preferred over some office job. When her time was up she deiced to head back to Hope, she had not seen her Father in a long time and maybe she could go see the arse in the hospital.

Dallas Robertson and Kai Fleischer were not the type of people one would see and decide that a friendship of sorts should occur, but life has a way of not following its set conformity. It helped add to the Dallas mythology as it came into reality. As he was one of the only people that Kai, actually talked too at all. But as she moved on and set off on her path with a wanderlust, they never did see one another again. But Kai figured that she at least owed him, one visit while he was in the hospital.. How the boy acted to other people she was probably only going to be one of a few.

As she was lost in her thoughts, they had soon come up to Saint Peter's. She payed the fare almost with the quality of a robot as she stepped out of the cab, nothing with her except a small backpack, the rest of her belongings the little that she had were going to be shipped back over seas. St.Peters was a building she knew far too well from her childhood. Having been admitted six times due to panic attacks, twice due to broken bones from playing field hockey and once for when her father had fallen and broke his leg. She starred up at the building for another moment, hugging her jacket close against her feeling its warmth encase her. That was a long time ago, and she had not been having troubles like that in a while yet. She walked into the hospital the slow whir as the automatic door behind them opened. The small of antiseptic was thick in the air. the main entrance with its limonium floor scrubbed clean and bright, so that one could see their reflection starring back at them. A nurse of sorts sat at a table at a desk, several files opened in front of her as she typed away. Behind her was two figures, statues depicting Peter's healing of Aeneas with the words above it saying in Latin "et ait illi Petrus Aeneas sanat te Iesus Christus surge et sterne tibi et continuo surrexit!" (Aeneas, Jesus Christ makes you whole; arise and make your bed!"), it was required of course for a hospital named after a saint to have at least one odd statue. Kai walked up to the nurse and waited for her to look up.

After a minute or two of standing she began to notice the low music playing in the background Smooth Jazz the official soundtrack of hospitals and elevators everywhere. It of course never went out of style for it was never in style. The lazily moving walking baseline was punctuated by the nurse typing on the keyboard, data entry a fate worse than death. A minute later Kai made a noise, discreet enough not to be rude but it was obvious the lady was oblivious. The nurse snapped out of her trance as she shook her head and looked up as she just noticed her.

"Oh! Hello dear! And how may I help you today?" The nurse asked with a slight warmness to her dead monotone voice, as if to say that she was busy and Kai was not helping her get unbusy.

"Uh yes... I'm looking for a friend of mine Dallas Robertson?"

"Robertson.... he was the boy that got in a car crash about a month ago correct? Hmmm give me a moment." She explained to Kai but she seemed to be more talking to herself. Kai stood and waited counting the number of keystrokes the nurse inputted 17.... which struck Kai as odd as Dallas only had 16 letters first and last name, that was one of the first things she told him about, that his name was a good one because it was a perfect square. She watched as the nurse furrowed her brow and then a moment later entered another stroke hitting the backspace key. She smiled having her Eureka moment before looking up at Kai and verbally giving her directions in short to head up a few levels.

Kai nodded her thanks walking down the hallway cutting through where she was directed. She went through the waiting room where people sat in varying states of distress. A boy clutching his hand where the pinkie had grown thrice its normal size, another whose nose looked five different colors and slightly off color, an older man with a hole in his mouth among others. All types came to be treated that was what Kai learned upon her visits, from drunks and weirdos, to teachers and police officers it was a melting pot of class, race and age. She finally found her way to the elevator, hit the button waited the obligatory minute and forty five seconded (she counted) and went inside. She hit the button for the floor needed and waited as Kenny G took over the elevator with his saxophone.

The elevator door opened and Kai took a right and then a left as she was instructed coming to a brightly lit hallway with several wooden doors. As she approached she heard voices that sounded like they were emanating from the room that she believed to be the one Dallas was occupying. Rather then intruding upon them, she deiced to give them some space and she continued walking down the hallway to a large window at the end of the hall. She sat on the edge looking out on the quiet town of Hope. to her direct right was a drawing seemed to be made by a painted in a frame in crayon.Of what seemed to be a young girl, her parents, a doctor and a man that could of either been God/ Saint Peter or maybe Santa Claus. Maybe all three? As she looked out whistling a small tune to herself, a simple four note progression. She remembered a conversation she had with the idiot one day when he dragged her along on a day of cutting school. It was about the mental benefits of doing nothing but starring at clouds. She is still fairly certain she won the argument against it, but knowing Dallas he probably heard none of it.

"For you see clouds are........"

[lins51387]

September walked a very peculiar way - setting the outsides of her feet onto the ground before shifting her weight to her heels and the rest of her feet. It made for a soundless and steady step.

The first few miles of her walk revealed nothing of interest, as this was her neighborhood and she had parkoured over every wall and white-picket fence in the area. She knew which houses had dogs, which families had what kind of cars, and even what sort of alarm system and video recorder scoured the front lawns.

Indeed, if September ever decided to be a crook, she would have the easiest time.

The girl picked up her pace and pushed her hands deeper into her pants pockets. It was way too easy to think bad thoughts like these.

Suddenly, cat. There was an orange tabby, nothing too spectacular, in the middle of the road racing away from her. September couldn’t recall any family that had gotten a new animal, and her curiosity flared. Not just her curiosity though, as that cat had practically appeared out of nowhere.

She clipped backpack straps around her chest and waist and followed the cat with a quick jog, determined to quell the uneasiness that came with it. It was an endurance run, though September had no problem with endurance.

A large building unfolded in front of her and the cat streaked inside, turned a corner, and vanished. Crap. It was a hospital where… Ah? Where Dallas Johnson was staying at. He was in an accident a few months ago and nobody’s really heard of him since.

September steadied her breath before heading inside to talk to the receptionist. “Dallas Johnson… May I see him?” The lady nodded and gave her the floor and room number, and September carefully made her way to the elevator. September, since when did you start caring for Dallas Johnson? She twisted her head to the left to stare at the blinking floor numbers. How ironic that her inner self, bullies liked to call it “schizophrenia,” decided to be so verbal today of all days, when she felt unexplainably drawn to a hospital. Don’t be silly, this isn’t even a mental hospital.

The doors opened and September stepped out, quickly averting her eyes to the ground before walking in the direction of Dallas Johnson’s room. What would you even say to his family there? You’ve never talked to Dallas Johnson before. “Yes but I’ve always thought about it,” she murmured, pausing in front of the door. There were voices coming from the room, and September’s first instinct was to eavesdrop. Now would be a crappy time to eavesdrop, you know.

So instead, September raised her hand, knocked four times, and twisted the doorknob.

[MMGiru]

As he walked by one room in particular, Tyson considered the two voices inside. They both sounded female, and surely, with the societal norms impinged upon that sex by both their own and the opposite gender, one of them would have long hair. Granted, this was a hospital, where people tended to abandon some small portion of their usual shame. Tyson himself had his ass very nearly exposed, and had attempted some friendly banter to that effect with his assigned police officer. This had been met with more-or-less amicable silence.

Before he needed to make a decision regarding the room in question though, Tyson spotted a potential loophole: a young woman of long hair, who wore a backpack. While the idea that she'd brought supplies for some venture or another encouraged the possibility of the hair-restraining mechanism he sought, there was one immediate difficulty with his new plan. The blonde hair that fell down the girl's back seemed, to Tyson's estimation, on the far side of the bell-curve of Appropriate Length for Hair Bands.

Tyson walked to this unknown person despite his misgivings, as he had some small decisions he very much preferred to beat away with the aid of his quest.

"Do you randomly have a spare hair band in there?" he asked the girl, consciously making his slipper-clad feet slap loud enough to clarify his approach to her.
-•-•-•-

"...and one day you'll see a huge fire-breathing cyborg Dragon K9 of doom." Kai's introspective thought was broken as she heard feet approaching her position. She expected the sound to die away as the person moved away but they did not, they got louder. So she turned her face down the direction of the hallway and ended up looking at a stranger. A patient by his appearance that or when she wasn't looking high fashion had deiced that hospital gowns were suddenly in vogue for the next fashion season. Next she noticed his acquaintance standing a few feet behind him, dressed in a police officer uniforming seemingly attached to the man like a dog to a steak. So apperantly either a dangerous or crazy man was talking to her, probably having wandered from psychiatric help to her and the police officer was following him to make sure in his disillusion state he did not harm anyone. But he didn't look really that crazy, he looked normally kind of had a whole mystic seventies hippie vibe going on which made him disillusioned maybe but not crazy.

He then asked her about if she had a headband on her person. She thought about it for a moment long and hard before nodding her head to herself. She opened her backpack and began pulling things out six plastic bags filled with separated rubick's cube blocks broken into color came out, then a roll of duct tape, a notepad of graph paper with numbers scribbled frantically about on it, and then three pens and three pencils before finally she pulled out a small black headband and placed it in the center of the spiral she had slowly been creating starting with a bag filled with white rubick's cube blocks and ending with the headband. She picked up the headband and held it in her hand but before she handed it over she had a question for the man.

"Are you always accompanied by a police escort, or are you just trying it out today?"

-•-•-•-

"Well, you know how it is, I'm sure," Tyson answered, cheerfully. "How better to find prospective romance than to get oneself shot being heroic?"

The young man gingerly placed a hand on the lump of gauze beneath his hospital gown, the mass contrasting with his otherwise wiry build. At the same time, he grinned back to his police officer, in an attempt to assure her of his jest, and not leave her out of the conversation. She smirked in acknowledgement of the message's reception, before helping Tyson out.

"He's only been in town four days, and already he's made friends with two police offices and a trailer park," she said, meaning 'friends' euphemistically.

Tyson intoned a quiet 'Oi, oi,' before returning to the not-cop, and holding out the hand he'd used a moment before. It rested low enough for a the offered hair band to be dropped on his palm without the girl needing to make contact with him. It didn't occur to Tyson that this was less of a courtesy when he'd actually (been) bathed.

-•-•-•-

"Oh well I suppose that, your own personal cop could be useful. She could tell you if that dress really does make you fat." She jested with the man dropping the hairband into his hand content with her answer. She pondered for a moment thinking about the man's story. The trailer park was not the nicest part of town, on her way to school she would pass it along the way almost everyday. It became the talk of the town for a bit when in senior year, a kid in Kai's grade that lived there killed himself with a well placed application of a shotgun. Turned out he had enough of his abusive father one day, and a line was just crossed. Needless to say it was an odd creature the trailer park, one seemed to live in any small town like growing moss upon a stone and they were usually to be but in the nicest way the worst pits of pestilence since the plague.

"Well, I hope you don't take getting shot too personally. We are generally pretty civilized creatures here. You see I only murder prostitutes and dump them in the river on Tuesday, like a civilized human being." She explained with a smile that seemed very out of place with her deadpan morbid tone. It struck her odd for a moment as she slowly but the other objects back into her bag. Two years ago she probably wouldn't even be able to have this conversation, but it is surprising what some anti-anxiety pills and therapy can do to ease ones fears about people. After she was done cleaning up the objects she looked back at the pair and explained.

"No offense or anything but shouldn't you be in a bed somewhere? You did get shot." She explained meekly, as if trying to find the right words to explain the situation.

-•-•-•-

Tyson snorted politely at the joke regarding the young woman's civil MO regarding prostitutes, before beginning to wrangle his hair into its accustomed shape. While he became more involved in this task, and ignored the pain that holding his arms in that particular fashion brought his torso, he considered his situation in this town. He wanted to leave before long, as with every place he visited, but there was the issue of the domestic violence. Setting aside that he would be on the run somewhat if he skipped town, it seemed wrong to leave without resolving the issue, given how the wife didn't seem willing to.

"Well," Tyson answered his new question, coming back to the conversation. "I suppose that I should, given how my stomach is all... torn up." He resisted the temptation to hiss as he lowered his hands from his hair, and his wounded stomach protested. "But now that you have restored my groove, I must repay the favor. What service may I render, mademoiselle?"

Tyson smiled despite the dull burning he'd managed to invoke with his hair-styling. Dulled as his stomach was, he also didn't feel the quite-small trickle of red-brown that began to make its way into his gauze, not yet visible to an observer.

-•-•-•-

"You know, a person with a dirtier mind than mine, might be suspicious of a man offering to render her services after restoring his groove." Kai explained rather bluntly the small hint of a smile upon her face as she rose from her perch standing up back to her full Six feet and one or so inches. She tilted her head for a moment thinking before answering.

"But, you know what? You seem pretty harmless enough in your current state. One well placed flick and you could end up doubled over in pain and getting blood all over the newly polished floors. Slowly grasping for life as you slip away into senseless oblivion as all your memories, feelings, your small existence over well a well applied application of force." She explained with a smile on her face that was jarring to say the least with the morbidity of her statement. By this point the man's cop freind was giving her a funny look and didn't know if she should be prepared to take down the blond girl or laugh. It dawned upon her that it was about time to go see Dallas, and so a thought dawned upon her.

"Though, actually... there is a favor that you could perform for me. I'm visiting a friend of mine his name is Dallas, and he got into a bad wreck about a month back. I'd imagine that he hasn't had that many visitors because frankly he acted like a bit of an arse in school. But he had a nicer side to him, most didn't get to see, very picky about who he choose to accept as friends. As you might of guessed, I was one of those poor unfortunate souls. So I at least owe it to him to go say hi. And now... you are going to go as well no ifs, thens or, buts. He has been in a coma so you probably won't have to say anything." She explained punctuating words occasionally with her hands for emphases.

Kai then began to walk away back towards the direction of Dallas' room. As she carried herself across the hallway with the traditional long gait of an awkwardly tall person, a thought dawned upon her. It came like lighting in a thunderstorm, like she was Archimedes stepping into his bath, like a man falling through the sky who just came to the conclusion that once he reached the bottom it was going to hurt, or the man with broken stitching from a gunshot wound laying on the cool floor of a hospital as his life danced away from him. She had not told Mr. Groove her name. So she stopped and turned around and spoke up again.

"And before I forget again... You can call me Kai!" She said with a strong nod, before continuing walking counting her steps as she went, she vanished round a corner, but a few moments later half of her body poked around the corner.

"Fleischer. Kai Fleischer! And are you coming or are you just going to sit around like horse dung on a midsummer's day?" She asked once more before vanishing round the corner again.

-•-•-•-

Tyson suspected the floors were 'newly polished' on a quite-regular basis, but merely smirked in an especially friendly fashion at his new companion, even as she proved herself taller than him. He was similarly pleased when his two hospital-traversing associates shared an odd moment, reveling with the small window into human decency.

The favor, when it came, was mildly surprising. It wasn't unheard of for someone to visit a friend in hospital, of course, but Tyson hadn't expected to be placed into such a personal issue spontaneously. For one, people didn't generally propose as much to him, as he was a stranger to everyone, and on a second point, he'd got involved in someone's personal affairs quite closely just days prior. It seemed a bit frequent.

Still, he accepted the mission. It was easily accomplished, which Tyson found ideal in acts of kindness. When the girl declared herself 'Kai', Tyson looked back to his assigned cop. Given her expression, she had also, apparently, only known it as a boy's name. Tyson returned his gaze to the departing girl, and finally followed her around the corner, and into a small hospital room, which was filled primarily with females. The young man wasn't sure about this development, but kept his unease cheerfully masked.

[AmazinglyVivid]

Dallas' mother accepted the cookies with a gracious smile and placed them on the white end table to her right. Her gaze drifted to her son, then back to the shy young woman before her. "No, it's quite alright. Thank you. Please, why don't you have a seat?" She motioned to the empty seat on her left. Sahara hesitated. She'd been sure that she would be turned away. Finally, she nodded, and sat on the edge of the seat. Again, her back was kept rigidly straight, hands clasped carefully in her lap. Out of habit she stared down at them, only examining the rest of the room with quick stolen glances through her lashes.

The two sat in a relative silence -the music was still playing from the TV- that was not altogether as unpleasant as Sahara expected. Ms. Johnson was clearly very deeply lost in her own thoughts. Sahara, for her part, was grateful that the conversation was at an end. She idly thought about Dallas, his mother, and her trip here today. It was starting to seem a success. Of course, the moment this occurred to her, she remembered the circumstances of the visit and felt a deep pang of guilt. This boy who was once her classmate, who was actually kind to her for a short while, was gravely hurt. No positive feelings should come from his condition.

About ten minutes had passed and Sahara had begun a silent prayer for Dallas' health when four distinct knocks came from the door. It opened to reveal a short girl who appeared to be a bit younger than herself; still in high school, by the looks of it. Sahara watched her out of the corner of her eyes, very careful, as she always was, to avoid eye contact. The girl's long hair was lorn loosely, like a child's, with unnatural coloring on which Sahara's eyes lingered perhaps a bit longer than necessary. She was clearly of Asian descent, maybe Korean or Thai. Her outfit revealed much more than Sahara was comfortable with, and despite how much she'd grown used to such styles, she felt a familiar tinge of embarrassment on the girl's behalf.

Dallas' mother stood to greet her, but the girl hadn't taken a few steps in the door when another with blonde hair of a similar waist length -the style was apparently more popular than Sahara was aware of- came in, a tall youth trailing behind. The girl was possessing of bright blue eyes, clothing which Sahara considered distinctly masculine, and a demeanor that seemed altogether opposite her own. The man wore his hair longer, as she remembered her father did, though with a headband that seemed made for a female. His face was dirty and his clothes were that of a patient. Upon his entrance in she actually turned her head slightly for the first time, to take them in a bit better.

The man's appearance worried her, as it seemed he should still be in a hospital bed. It also struck her as somewhat odd that she recognized none of the newcomers to the room. She worked at a rather popular family run diner in town, and one of its two smaller bookstores. She'd seen, at least in passing, most of the citizens of their town. One would think that she would remember at least one of these, even with her tendency to not look people in the eye when speaking with them.

The older woman offered her hand to one and introduced herself. Sahara stayed quiet, eyes already returning to her lap, as was her way.

[Nevis]

"Jake! Jake!" an assembly of young men in black cloth, plastic and leather huddled around a crumpled figure on the gymnasium floor. They removed his kendo helmet, allowing him to breathe, a sheen of sweat glistening across the boy's face. He was cradling his right shoulder with his left hand, his right arm dangling uselessly on the shiny wooden floor. Most of the others focused on him, asking him if he was alright and determining the extent of the damage; several others glared at Ddraig.

Ddraig cursed silently. This was even worse than any of the other recent injuries he had inflicted on the other members, none of them intentional. His fetterschwert-a training longsword-hung awkwardly in his hand as he stood apart from the others. Though he wanted to help as well, some of the others would explode if he got close to Jake right now; thus, he held back, stayed away.

Their instructor bent over and examined his shoulder. He pressed softly into it, inciting another agonized groan from Jake. "Yeah, your shoulderbone is likely broken. Let's get you to the nurse's office."

Several of the other students took him out through the door. The instructor watched them go before turning around and looking at the rest of the group. He made a shooing motion with his hand to the rest. He wanted to speak to Ddraig alone. After a few moments, the other Highschool HEMA members obliged, spreading out into smaller groups throughout the gymnasium again. Once they were gone, the instructor looked at Ddraig.

"This is getting out of hand."

Ddraig looked at him angrily and helplessly. "I know. It's not like I'm meaning to, though."

"Meaning to or not, there's way too much difference between you and the others. Even in practice, you're hitting like a tank now. The sprained ankles were bad enough. Breaking his shoulder, though? How do you even do that on accident?"

Ddraig hesitated. "Being in a three-on-one helps."

John gaped at him. "You guys were actually doing a three-on-one?"

Ddraig nodded. "Yeah. They asked me to. They're new and wanted to see..." he trailed off, unsure of how to say it.

"They wanted to see the local badass beat three guys at once," the instructor said, folding his arms. "Which means things get chaotic, which makes it much more likely for someone to get seriously hurt."

Ddraig looked downward, away. He nodded.

Silence for several moments. "Go home."

Ddraig looked back up at him. Anxiety and fear at what he was about to say filled him.

"Go home," he said, looking harshly at Ddraig, staring down at him, "and don't come back until I say you can. This is enough."

Ddraig looked up at him, mortified. That wasn't right, wasn't fair. Yeah, he had messed up-more than once. What was he supposed to do, though? Every time he actually meant to fix something, he only made it worse. He had been working and changing left and right to make it work for them, and they were going to freaking kick him out?

"Coach, please, I-"

John put his hand up, cutting him off. "That's final. Leave. Now." Before Ddraig could say anything else, he turned and began walking to one of the other groups. leaving Ddraig standing alone in the middle of the gym.

***

Ddraig kicked a garbage can on the quiet street, empty at that time of day. A dent formed in the ridged metal as it clanked and rolled a way, sent flying easily when so empty. Hollow. Alone. Freaking everything was like a mirror for how he was even more alone. Again.

It was far from the first time anyone he even somewhat had considered his friends had abandoned and betrayed him-actually, they pretty much always eventually did.

"Fuck them," Ddraig muttered quietly. He visualized bringing his blade down from Ochs, whacking his pommel violently into the faces of those ones glaring at him and taking his instructor's head and slamming John's head into the floor and ground until blood seeped out. It didn't help, though; the anger just grew with every graphic image, as did his self-disgust for wanting it. For craving it.

Ddraig stopped for a moment and breathed loudly, deeply. It was time to think about something else. He looked at the bend coming up down the road; the hospital was just around the corner of buildings. The one where Dallas was.

That was a bittersweet topic. For once, he had done something good. Sort of. Maybe. Hopefully.

The wreck had been... well, a wreck. A really bad one. A drunk teenager in one vehicle, and a driver who wasn't paying attention in the other, they had crashed in the late evening. Ddraig did not revisit the image of the twisted metal and leaking fluids and smoke-nor the explosive fire that later consumed it. Instead he thought of Dallas-which, perhaps, was actually worse. He had been a bloody mess in the car, the door crumpled against him. Initially, he had kept other people on the street from ripping him out of it. As his mother, an ex-paramedic, had taught him, pulling an injured person out of a vehicle was dangerous and could easily cause worse and even permanent damage. Therefore, you actually left them there, unless the car really was liable to explode, as he had explained to other onlookers. Once some of the oil caught fire, though, Ddraig had to eat his own words and he himself had pulled the other young man he knew little more than in passing out. The tank blew less than a minute after he had gotten him out.

Unfortunately, even his heroics seemed to be marred by mistake and accident. Once the EA had gotten him to the hospital, it was discovered that Dallas had gone into a coma. The potential damage that could be inflicted by removing someone incorrectly rang in Ddraig's mind, and he wondered if he was the reason for Dallas's unconsciousness. The boy's mother certainly seemed to think so; she had exploded as violently as the car at him, albeit that didn't actually mean for certain that he was responsible. The doubt alone, combined with everything else, though, was driving him insane.

Ddraig had come by to see Dallas in the hospital before, only to be turned away every time. He felt... something. He thought he was somewhat responsible for him, as though he had claimed a part of Dallas's very life by saving him. At the very least, he wanted to see him through the entire ordeal, not just some coincidental moment of pulling him out of a fire. Actually help. He seriously wondered if the reason Dallas's mother had said no visitors was just to keep him away from Dallas.

In any case, though, the restriction of visitors had been lifted; the secretary had been kind and phoned him about it. He was still out, yet at least he could actually see him now.

And speaking of which, Ddraig was there, hefting his backpack of black clothes and wrapped practice sword strapped to it over his back. He walked through the automatic doors and into the air-conditioned lobby gratefully.

While he understood to some extent, Ddraig really didn't get other people's squeamishness of hospitals. They were hardly as sterile as people made them out to be; there was plenty of dirt and germs in the air (likely more, actually), and besides that, they were clean-far better than the oily rooms others like, where putting your hand on something left a greasy residue. The white color was actually welcome to him-white was the color of purity, of healing. It made sense for a hospital even by a color therapy approach (albeit, perhaps having a little more in the way of other colors would help). Regardless, though, he was actually more comfortable here than in places like school. Except for the frigging music. Ddraig hated jazz.

"Hey," he said, coming up to the receptionist. "Good evening," he smiled warmly. The receptionist looked up and smiled in return when she recognized him. "I'm here to see Dallas."

"Alright," she said encouragingly. "Mrs. Robertson hasn't said anything about you not being able to come in, so there shouldn't be a problem. You know where he is," she said, nodding her head down the hallway.

"Yeah," he confirmed. He began moving towards the hall. "Thanks for calling me." His tone indicated his gratitude was genuine.

"You're welcome," she beamed before turning back to her computer. "Good luck!"

I hope so, he thought. He doubted it.

The walk up was short, being familiar at this point. Soon enough he was going down the last hall-only there were several others in the doorway, moving inside.

That was odd. Dallas didn't have many friends. Even less so that he imagined would actually bother to visit him, and they didn't look like his family. And, as he drew close, he noted that there were too many for that, anyways. Besides that most of them were really freaking tall.

Nervousness tingled up Ddraig's legs, arms and back. He had really just wanted to see him, not be around a lot others-especially ones this talkative, meaning they were bound to ask questions. He was really wanting this to be a silent visit. Nonetheless, he continued on and stepped into the doorway. Dressed in a stark white fitting hoodie/sweatshirt half-zipped up, red T-shirt and black jeans, his color scheme was a little vivid-especially with his dark emerald-green hair-though not especially striking. His height, seemingly the only medium between the tall, shaggy hospital patient, an enormous blonde woman, and a tiny, adorable Asian girl with streaks of dyed hair.

And Mrs. Robertson. Fuck.

Ddraig stood there silently, wondering if he should come at a different time and his unease written all over his face.

[Kiddo]

"You. You are in the way." Zora jabbed at the colorful short boy's shins with her crutches until he got the memo and moved himself further into the room, allowing her to make her own way in, as well. Goodness was it crowded in there! So many people! Zora hesitated a moment, more than a little confused. What were all these people doing here? That person looked like probably Comaboy's mother, but then there was another hospital guest and someone with cookies and OH OBVIOUSLY THIS WAS A BIRTHDAY PARTY.

That made sense. Sad sense, since it was kind of depressing to think that Comaboy wouldn't be able to partake in his own birthday celebration, but still; were she in a coma and actually had people who cared about her enough to want to celebrate her birthday with her comatose body, she thought she'd like that. It was the thought that counted, after all.

Sadly, though, in this case, it kind of ruined her plans. As much as birthday parties were nice and she'd been getting along just fine with the patient the four times she'd been in to visit him previously (because really, you had to try to not get along with a pretty-much-dead person), she didn't really feel like she knew him or his friends well enough to partake in celebratory cookies with them. She'd just been planning to come in here and continue trying to influence his dreams with her sock puppets! But, well, as brazen as she was with her strange idiosyncrasies and as much as she liked to think that it didn't matter what people thought of her, she didn't really want to break out Herbert and Bjorn to continue their argument about whether herring should be birds or fish when there were other people around. That sort of strangeness was better left when you didn't have any audience.

And yes, that was a thing. While she just struck up pleasant conversations and pretended to sip tea with the awake patients, those who wouldn't wake up got to be serenaded with the inane conversations of Herbert and Bjorn. Herbert was a portly fellow, with long strands of yellow yarn to simulate hair and only one googly eye (the other had fallen off in her backpack at some point and, sadly, had found its way into that place where lost members of pairs always end up), and Bjorn was his ankle-length, long-snouted foil with the white button eyes and some needles stuck through his skull to give him a weird menacing afro, since that was apparently what people did in Scotland or Sweden or Scandinavia or wherever the heck the name Bjorn came from. For Crazy Comalady (crazy because she looked like she probably had like 72 cats, you know the sort of person) they went on and on about global warming; Bjorn taking the enlightened view that global warming was in fact a lie, and rising temperatures was just the density of Mercury decreasing as was its want, while Herbert insisted that global warming was a thing and that people should use their air conditioners more to fix it right up. For Not-so-crazy Comalady, Herbert insisted that aliens were responsible for crop circles and that clowns were actually aliens in disguise, and Bjorn avoided the real conversation completely by shriveling up in the corner and crying pitifully every time that the word "clown" came up. And for Comaboy, Herbert hypothesized that herring were fish that transformed into birds when you looked at them the right way, and Bjorn countered with the argument that birds and fish were human-made concepts, and that actually there was no such thing as a herring, since the entire world was actually the fabrications of your brain somewhere in a vat in outer space, being examined by aliens.

It was riveting stuff. But she wasn't so sure that anyone here would appreciate her ruining their party with her philosophizing, and so she just stood there awkwardly for a few moments, banging her cast against one of her crutches rhythmically.

[FrozenEcstasy]

Just like that, a light pierced the darkness like a spear, ripping Dallas from complete comatose in a violent manner, or at least inside his head. It's was full of rage and anger, love and jealousy.... How a light could have such qualities was a mystery to Dallas, but that's what he felt. His brain just went "pop, you're okay now," as if nothing had happened, as if some unforeseen work of God.

Back in the fleshy, his right leg began to spasm in the hospital bed. Not violently,but enough to show something was wrong and signal a reaction from everyone in the room... To not notice the writhing leg would probably mean blindness, or even deafness. Then it stopped, and repeated in his left leg, then stopped again. His toes curled, his hands turned into fists, his lips contorted into something like a smirk. Then once again his body relaxed.

Then the light from his dreams, that harsh light, faded into hospital light as he opened his eyes to a room full of strangers and old friends. He wore a compassionate look on his face, something that was oddly out of place for Mr. Robertson. His lips curled into a very slight smile, one a mother gave a hurting child to calm them down. He didn't know why he felt good, maybe because he'd been sleeping for freaking ever.

Then that voice from the comma rang in his ears again. "Heaven is waiting, but first you must die," and suddenly he was aware of things he dreamt of in his coma. Images of war, blood, and a strange light that had a familiarity to it, but was unearthly, and tinged with an ominous future. Demons. The dead, the dying... Six... No, seven people.

Dallas looked on in a smile as people would start saying things and he'd have to respond. But something told him they only had a few minutes.

[MMGiru]

Given the room was not located on the ground floor of the hospital, Tyson's assigned police officer elected to wait outside it, just as soon as she assured herself there was no second exit the gunshot drifter could sneak through. Tyson had privately checked for the same thing, somewhat more disappointed with the negative than his companion.

The situation which quickly developed from that point left Tyson somewhat taken aback. It was understandable for several people to congregate in a hospital room -- friends, relatives, the odd medical professional -- but a number of oddities presented themselves. For one, few, if any of the attendees seemed to know each other, if their expressions were any clue. Added to that, the guy was in a coma. It struck Tyson as odd that various people would choose to visit an unconscious person together; it was an opportunity to whisper secrets to an acquaintance, after all.

The really surprising bit, however, was when the young man in question woke, spontaneously, when the room was filled. A layman in medicine, Tyson did not know the conditions for waking people from comas, but he was fairly sure that if filling a room with people was the trick, someone would've cottoned on by that point in human history. A coincidence though, piled on what seemed like another coincidence?

To fend off his own unease, Tyson broke the silence which he felt followed all such absurdities as the present situation.

"Least we all made it, finally. I was starting to think the party wouldn't happen."

The woman who Tyson presumed to be the no-longer-comatose patient's mother looked at him with a some measure of confusion, before deciding to ignore him and moving to speak to her son. Tyson, more stranger here than anyone, so far as he knew, watched the scene rather than inserting some new comment. His own parents came to mind, and he decided to look away, his gaze moving to fresh-looking cookies.

[Hexaflexagon]

Probability

Kai sat on a bench waiting for the bus, it was a spring day around eight years prior. Her father sat next to her, a tall man who always dressed in suits that were soaked in the order of tobacco smoked from a Nording pipe and the faint hint of whiskey. A so called mathematicians mathematician, Johann Fleischer was a man seemingly lost in a sea of numbers, stuck on a deserted island out in a sea of square roots and differential calculus. Johann however for a long time was one of the only people that could actually get his daughter to speak, to get through her crippling social anxiety issues and neurotic tendencies that would dictate her life for the next few years. Johann achieved this for he knew a secrete few others knew, the best way to speak to her was in the language she better understood that off numbers and equations.

Johann watched as the rain slowly drummed across the cool asphalt, the spring had been a wet one, since the first day the warmth had loosened the grip that winter held over Hope, it had been nothing but rain. Neighborhood flowerbeds had become pools of murky soil filled water, and the ever present puddles living long enough for the first signs of green life appearing within them. It was a Saturday and Johann had to go pick up one of his books he had left in his office, and he couldn't leave his daughter alone so he took her along with him to the trip to the university. The car had broken down two weeks ago and he had not found time to go and fix it yet, so they were stuck to the whims and mercy of the public transportation system. A grim fact that they were reminded of as they sat on the small bench at the bus stop waiting for a bench that would take fifteen more minutes to arrive then usually do to inadequate weather.

He turned his face towards that of his young daughter, her expression emotionless as the asphalt that the droplets smashed into. As usually she seemed to have drifted into her own little world, away from the worries of the world. Some called it a self defense mechanism of sorts but the aging professor just believed it to be children acting like children. Kai's attention was drawn away from whatever she was thinking off as she heard her father resulting around in his jacket pocket next to her. She looked on with a quizzical gaze as he produced a coin that he rested in the palm of his hand. He looked at his daughter and smiled as he brought forth an inquiry to her.

"What is the probability that when I flip this coin it will land on heads?" He asked her a small glint in his eyes.

Kai raised her eyebrow thinking this to be some sort of joke, for her father was not a man that asked simple questions. "it's a two sided coin... so one half." Kai responded resounded and triumphantly.

Johann nodded satisfied with her answer, "So what you are telling me is that once I began flipping this coin at some point, the coin must land on heads about 50 percent of t the time."

Kai nodded in agreement for it seemed like the most obvious well grounded conclusion.

Her father then continued "This argument you have presented seems perfectly sound in its reasoning, but unless we test it we have no certainly. And yet when one would test such a thing, one would find in most cases that this hypotheses to be true that in some instances, the contrary is true and the coin always falls on tails."

"But that is impossible! At some point it must land on heads unless you are cheating!" Kai proclaimed trying to defend her side of the opinion.

The professor just smiled as he toyed with the coin in his hand flipping it between the fingers. "But you see young one, the world is not a controlled box. The world is a highly randomized set leaning exclusively towards entropy, and that sometimes the least likely outcome will occur.. And this is where I want you to remember It is in these least likely events that we find the creation of us, our solar system, the universe. Our entire universe was created on improbabilities."

"But what does this matter with me? With a stupid coin?" Kai asked her father as in the distance she heard the bus coming down the rain slicked road.

"Well that is simple, to believe in the weight of the improbabilities, to believe in the impossible become the possible, gives one the ability to have the determination and the diligence to transcend the nested set of boundaries that restrict upon us." Johann told Kai as he slowly flipped the coin into the air, and the coin arced and sliced through the air the cold metal resting upon the ground.... heads face up.

~~~~
"The world is a highly randomized set leaning exclusively towards entropy, and that sometimes the least likely outcome will occur." Her father's words echoed in her ears as Dallas awoke from his coma. The likelihood of him ever awaking do to the severity of the crash and the length of time in which he had already been comatose was a very small number, and yet here he was slowly awaking. Kai watched as the face of Mrs. Robertson light up with happiness. For the two might have had a rocky relationship to say the least, she did care about her son. KaI slipped through the crowd of excited murmurers as she told the newly awaken patient,

"Congratulations, you managed to be so pretentious that not even death wanted to deal with you." She explained with a small smile on her face as she stepped back away from the hospital bed and towards a nice unmanned corner of the room, in which she could dwell in for just a few moments, just to escape from the gathering crowd and give herself some breathing room, crowds, tight spaces and strangers not being a thing she likes to deal with too often.

[lins51387]

September stood still for a few moments upon entering the room, as if allowing the sitters of the room to examine her and decide whether or not she was a threat. An older lady, perhaps the mother, had her eyes on the ground, while a rather tall lady wearing a lot of clothes seemed to be examining September. Well, I’m here now. She lifted her eyes and took a couple steps towards Dallas. What did I honestly think I was going to do here?

Another lady was coming up behind September and, not wanting anyone around her blind spot, September carefully wandered near Dallas and turned her back to the wall.

Dallas looked peaceful. I mean, of course he looked peaceful… But, unlike other unconscious people September had seen (parkour accidents and that one time she may have wandered into the wrong neighborhood, his face wasn’t coated in sweat or pale.

Following behind the, rather tall, blond, and beautiful, lady was a scraggy… Scraggy? Yeah, scraggy looking hospital boy with another, more colourful and much shorter boy behind him. Older than September, everyone here was older than September, and the smaller boy had an obvious look of unease on his face. His eyes roamed the room and examined its inhabitants just like September’s before a strange little girl intruded with her crutches. Ah, now this one is younger than you, September.

And she has sock puppets. September was careful to watch those puppets and the carrot-headed girl very, very carefully.

And then Dallas woke up. Not like woke up woke up, but the way someone being pulled out of quicksand after passing out would wake up. In spasms, small spasms, and September immediately turned to face him and took a half step back towards the wall. Holy Christ…

“Least we all made it, finally,” said the man in the hospital gown, breaking the silence. “I was starting to think the party wouldn’t happen.” Oh, the sarcasm is strong in this one. “Congratulations,” continued the tall blond that had accompanied the scraggy one, “you managed to be so pretentious that not even death waned to deal with you.” Ohh, I sense a match made in heaven here. “Hell, you mean,” September murmured out loud before covering her mouth in shock as she realized that she had spoken out loud. Dallas doesn’t look very peaceful anymore.

[AmazinglyVivid]

As more people arrived, Sahara became increasingly uncomfortable, and more and more grateful that she was in the corner of the room. In came yet another young man, this one with striking eyes and brightly colored clothing. He wore a backpack, and an odd implement on his back very nearly resembling the shape of a sword, though it was wrapped and thus impossible to tell for certain. Certainly such a weapon would not be allowed in a public place like, though, particularly not a hospital. This man was quiet, and seemed almost as uneasy as herself about being there. She empathized for him.

Next came a tiny girl who walked with the assistance of a pair of crutches. One of her legs was in a cast; did she know Dallas? Or was she a patient from the next room whom they'd bothered? Though she didn't know the others, Sahara felt somehow responsible for their noise and immediately wanted to apologize if their noise had annoyed her, perhaps offering a few of her homemade cookies in reparations... But the girl with the bright red hair -who now seemed older than Sahara had assumed at first glance- did not complain. In fact, she didn't say anything.

The short silence that followed was a shaking noise that drew Sahara's gaze to the bed before her. Her eyes widened as Dallas' leg began to spasm. She was very well read in medical texts, and she knew that such spasming could indicate all sorts of awful things. She looked around, expecting someone to call a nurse or something of the sort. But most seemed to just stare, as she was doing. Finally, the writhing stopped. Dallas smiled a genuine smile, a rare thing indeed, and looked around silently on them. Though one might expect all sorts of commotion in reaction to this turn of events, the silence continued until one of the men interrupted it with an odd remark. A girl addressed him directly in a friendly, joking sort of manner before retreating. Another of the girls, one of the younger members of the group, made a comment that seemed entirely inappropriate given that that Dallas' mother was present.

Sahara looked away from the newly awoken boy as his mother began speaking to him in a quiet one. In doing so, she noticed one of the others there looking very closely at the cookies that she brought and, figuring that they were a present to him as well if were a friend of Dallas, she held them out to him without looking him in the eye. The quiet sort, she wouldn't voice her concerns to these strangers, but the young woman was very concerned about how suddenly he had woken, and how fine he seemed now. An act of God, perhaps? Stranger things had happened. Still... It filled her with unease, in a way that no miracle should.

[Nevis]

Something struck Ddraig in the leg-more than gently. Given his already tense state, being in the room with Dallas and his mother, coupled with his stress still on his mind from his ousting from the HEMA group, he barely managed to curb his instinct to fling his arm out. A moment later, a girl far shorter than even him walked by, peeking at Dallas. She stood on crutches and bound in a cast, her long, vivid orange hair gracing her small frame like a doll. Her expression, though, was quite dour.

The sense in the room was awkward; he wasn't the only one here that was nervous, at least. A dark-skinned girl-Muslim, he guessed, by her attire, looked more on-edge than him. The really tall guy looked practically shot-out and the Valkyrie-well, she looked collected, at least, as did the Asian girl. Mrs. Dallas didn't seem to have noticed him yet-and Ddraig was hesitant to make his presence known, considering she might blow up again. He bit his lower lip as he considered.

Then Dallas moved. Ddraig tensed and the hair on his neck stood up, his eyes going wide, as Dallas moved as though in a seizure. Oh God, don't let it actually be a seizure. Should the tie him down? Everyone else was just staring and he doubted they were thinking about the danger that presented.

Again, though, the time was passed before he acted, and Dallas stopped. And opened his eyes.

And sat up.

He fucking sat up.

Sweat trickled down Ddraig's skin and his hair stood up like a cat's as Dallas's mother embraced her son and several of the others spoke to him. Ddraig stood there, visibly shaking. What should he do? He was relieved that he had woken up; he wasn't sure what he would make of it, though, or his mother. Or anyone else, for that matter. What would he even say? He opened his mouth, only to swallow; it was painfully dry. He stood there, dumb and mute for a moment. A quiet squeak croaked out of his mouth as he raised his palm vertically in a tiny gesture.

"Hey."

God, what a stupid thing to say.

[Kiddo]

Ah, well... this was different. Zora didn't consider herself the religious type, but something about what happened just then sent shivers down her spine and whispered "miracle" somewhere in the back of her brain. He was moving. There was an expectant, pregnant stillness as the all seemed to wait for something, none of them knowing what, and then he moved. And not just like the sort of twitch and spasming that would suggest unconscious movement; though things started that way, the expectation continued to hang, and then it was followed by a methodical loosening of limbs until it ended with him opening his eyes with a smile on his lips.

Other people were saying things, probably, but Zora was a bit busy trying to deal with the strange feelings she was experiencing. Shouldn't she have felt happy, at least for him and all of his friends? But at the same time that voice which told her that this was a miracle seemed to be telling her that this was something horrible, too. She felt like turning and running away as quickly as her crutches would take her, like holing up and never seeing this person ever again because if she did... what? It was an entirely illogical feeling, and yet it bore down on her so hard that she couldn't really say anything.

Not that she had anything to say. She didn't know this person, and now she couldn't even do her puppet show. There were other people here so she couldn't get to know him, either. No, it made sense for her to turn around and leave; she had no place here, at least not right now. That was logical, right? Then why couldn't she seem to make up her mind to do that, either? It was all very confusing, and in her confusion all she could do was stand there and keep tapping her crutches to her cast.

Well, no, she could do more than that without being a nuisance. She pulled her backpack off and slung it around in front of her, taking Herbert and Bjork off of her hands and depositing them in the main compartment. There, at least Comaboy wouldn't think she was super weird for having puppets out.

[FrozenEcstasy]

As each person had their reaction to Dallas his smile got a little smaller until it had settled into his signature, snarky smirk that almost looked like a scowl at first glance, something inside of him saw the world differently at the moment. The air seemed strange, the way people moved seemed ominous, the future suddenly seemed very bleak, and he couldn't exactly understand why.so he say up, hands holding up his torso, seemingly in control of his body like he just fell asleep.

Dallas' eyes hovered for a moment longer over the scene and he caught Sahara's eyes and his expression went right back into a smile. "Cookies? Really Sahara, what made you so sweet?" He cooed understanding how frightened she was in crowds.

He turned to his mother who was by now on the side of his bed waiting expectantly. Dallas almost turned his nose up at the woman, but he still loved her and that's why she received a large hug without warning. "I'm sorry mom, I didn't mean to scare you like that." He said, then turning to everyone else,"or you all either... Cept you, I don't know you." Which he added upon glancing at Tyson.

Without warning, a large popping noise was heard outside the hospital, almost like an explosion. Dallas winced like he had a headache and he looked toward the window. Time is running out, child... His eyes narrowed and he moved as if to get out of bed. "We have to leave so I can explain things."