1st ☓ video

[flynninomite]

[The video clicks on to a claustrophobic view of what appears to be dark fabric, then abruptly shifts, tipping upwards to reveal a scowling man looking like he's seen (much) better days. Judging from the angle, the netbook is being propped up on his knee with one hand while he sits reclined against a wall; the other hand is pressed firmly to his stomach. It quickly becomes clear that the fabric isn't dark - it's just covered in blood, both beneath his hand and again at his left shoulder. His face is similarly accented by a few cuts and bruises, not to mention a fair amount of dirt.]

Testing, testing- [A strong English accent, interrupted by a cough.] I don't know what the hell this is about, but I'm guessing it's not heaven. Either way, I'd like to stick around long enough to find out. The odd woman said I could get assistance on this thing - so here I am, calling for assistance.

Can I get a sodding doctor over here?

Comments

[inwhichwar]

A collector, is it? Ach, well, then today has already been an excellent day for you, I suppose.

[Damn it why are buttons so tiny . . . there we go.]

I believe I can make my way to you. I shall bring my kit for triage and see can I assure you will live to keep collecting. Good?

[At least the gizmo is small enough she can easily carry it with her while she grabs her kit and moves out. So she'll just be doing that now.]

[flynninomite]

Yeah, hit the real jackpot.

[ Still grinning, but he has to pause a moment to cough and catch his breath. ]

And take your time, love. I'm not going anywhere.

[aaand action]

[inwhichwar]

Sehr gut. See to it you do not.

[she cuts the feed so she can concentrate on navigating the streets. It takes her a while -- she's not the most mobile person in the world anymore -- but eventually she'll show up, a trim, middle-aged figure leaning heavily on a forearm crutch to support her weight. She tsks at him.]

So, Collector, here you are still.

action!

[flynninomite]

[ By the time she shows up, she finds him on his feet, inspecting his clothes - most of which are a mess, and damn, he liked this shirt. And this blood had better wash off of his leather jacket...

He looks up when he hears her approaching, flashing a smile and opening his arms in a shrug as if to apologize. ]

Ah, apologies - forgot to cancel the S.O.S. Although, actually, now you're here, I don't suppose you'd mind a once-over. I'm not saying I don't trust the fact that I've been magically patched up by a wizard, but...

... actually, yes, that's exactly what I'm saying.

[inwhichwar]

[Maria quirks an eyebrow at him. Well, that's a new one.]

A wizard, is it? Ach, well, it is not the strangest thing I have heard in this place. Very well, I have no objections to taking a look at you now I am here. You have a name, Collector, something I can call you? Maria Gordon is what I'm called.

[flynninomite]

[ Ahh, first she's heard of it? Maybe they're not as common as he expected. When your first encounters are a zombie and a wizard, the mundane becomes a bit surprising. ]

I take it you're more of a traditionalist, then? Plasters and needles? [ As he speaks he attempts to wipe his hands off on his dirty jacket, but when he offers her a hand in introduction, it's still not particularly clean. ]

Harry Flynn, at your service. Pleasure's all mine.

[inwhichwar]

[Maria returns the handshake, seemingly not all that bothered by the state of his hands. Bleeding is a messy business, after all.]

Very good to meet you, Mister Flynn the Collector. And yes, to answer your question, I am what you call a traditionalist. Though if there are wizards about the place what I hope is that they don't put me out of work.

So. Show me where the damages are -- or were, as the case may be?

[flynninomite]

[ Flynn likes this woman - but then again, he's always been a sucker for a lady in charge, so that's no surprise. He's still smiling when he starts the tour of the would-be-wounds, first giving his right shoulder a test and then gesturing to his stomach. ]

Bullet here, knife there.

[ He gets distracted by the bloody remnant of his shirt, pulling it out a bit to inspect the large tear near the bottom. ]

Well, shit. This was one of my favorites. Don't suppose you're a seamstress, as well? [ Clearly just a joke, considering it's a completely lost cause. ]

[inwhichwar]

Pfeh. If you want it sewn up with a surgical stitch and catgut, then I can maybe do something. Otherwise, as the saying is, no soap. My apologies.

[She says it with a crooked smile that suggests she obviously gets the joke, and she rolls up her own sleeves before prodding carefully at the shoulder, checking for lingering damage. Wizardry -- what is the world coming to, really?]