11-10-2015, 06:06 AM
"Ugh."
"Please hold still, Mr. Redgrave," the medieval excuse for a doctor calmly asked of a squirming, impatient Dante. The cleric undoing the combatant's latent violet bruises seemed unfettered by his subject's movements, meanwhile.
"Ugh."
In the first round's aftermath, Dante had gladly taken a power nap in his hangover of waning adrenaline and severe blood loss. Comparatively, he'd relieved much less damage overall in the most recent fight, which meant the nephilim merely had to sit through the aches and pains as they were healed. And while they probably wouldn't object to their patient having a small rest in the interim between rounds, Dante found himself not wanting to do so. Ultimately, that left him tired, ached and grumpy while having to stew in the unpleasant thoughts and implications of having a fragment of that damned spirit still within him.
Zangetsu probably wasn't even still around, Dante had to figure. Otherwise, the ghostly being would still be tracking him, haunting him more actively than simply giving his purest instinct sentience. Where the crazy stylish half-devil enjoyed himself in the raw thrill of combat, he now subsided into a hollow man - the least desirable piece of his inner puzzle had up and picked itself up, mocking Dante about how he had to finish the picture somehow.
At least his own wicked self had stopped mentally berating the devil hunter, for now. Probably had gotten bored when Dante wasn't actively kicking anything's ass. Or, more likely, it was waiting for a more opportune time to preach its ideas - the next round just a matter of minutes away, where Dante, as 'Tony Redgrave', would be facing off against his next opponent.
Finishing with his mystic works, the Kingdom's cleric removed his hands and stood back, allowing his patient to stretch himself out. "So," Mr. Redgrave began simply, first to break the silence between the three figures, "Who am I up against in the next round?"
The doctor, interested at Dante's more active nature as opposed to last time, pondered a moment as to the standings. In a few moments, he began to form an answer, "I believe, in the next round you will be fighting... what was it, that dark sorcerer-?"
"Magus," the cleric chimed in bluntly, his voice strangely deep and almost foreign on someone perpetuated as a holy man.
"Yes, that's right," the doctor perked up, as if having triumphantly found the name himself, "The dark magician known as Magus. You would do best to be careful- that, er, being has made short work of both of his own opponents thus far."
The cleric gave a grunting hum in confirmation of that statement, his head turning to idly glance one of the cots at the far end of the infirmary. A curious Dante followed the man's gaze, and he was able to catch a glimpse of a severely wounded and burnt figure lying almost catatonic as another team of medics treated him.
"From how you put it," the half-devil said, turning back to the white-coat, "Well, it sounds like the guy's not human."
The doc furrowed his brow in response, looking distant for a moment. "Are you familiar with elves? Tall, pointed ears, naturally inclined to magic?" There was clearly some doubt if Tony Redgrave had ever seen or heard of the creatures.
"Sure," Dante replied dismissively. He had read a fantasy novel or two when he had been terribly bored a couple of times. A bit too wordy for his tastes, but he got the picture of elves. He'd never really gotten the idea or appeal, however, of such seclusive and prideful humanoids with pointy ears; fantasy was supposed to be more fantastical, in his mind. Or, perhaps, the devil hunter simply proved to be too disillusioned by working with various threatening and zany demons frequently.
"Well, that man is most certainly a dusk elf," the doctor continued after Mr. Redgrave's confirmation, lapsing into a sort of ranting tone. "Skin stained with the colors of twilight, corrupt and subservient to the legion of dark powers he commands. I am willing to overlook the other strange and outlandish figures that enter this structure, but him? Oh, that sorcerer is a demon in mortal skin! I am astounded that the Baron doesn't have half a mind to obliterate that dastard-"
A harsh clearing of the throat burst through the white-coat's feverish speech, and the doctor instantly, very sheepishly, returned to his former self. "Ah, well... let's just say that Magus is not one to be taken lightly."
"Uh-huh," Dante replied, his tone of doubt towards the racist medical operator betraying his plain words, "I'll be careful, then." With that, the devil hunter silently ushered himself from the room, leaving the two healers quickly.
Embarrassment showing clear in his scrunched-up look of guilt, the doctor turned to the cleric and asked, "I'm not wrong, am I?"
"No. You just sound like a loony."
"Please hold still, Mr. Redgrave," the medieval excuse for a doctor calmly asked of a squirming, impatient Dante. The cleric undoing the combatant's latent violet bruises seemed unfettered by his subject's movements, meanwhile.
"Ugh."
In the first round's aftermath, Dante had gladly taken a power nap in his hangover of waning adrenaline and severe blood loss. Comparatively, he'd relieved much less damage overall in the most recent fight, which meant the nephilim merely had to sit through the aches and pains as they were healed. And while they probably wouldn't object to their patient having a small rest in the interim between rounds, Dante found himself not wanting to do so. Ultimately, that left him tired, ached and grumpy while having to stew in the unpleasant thoughts and implications of having a fragment of that damned spirit still within him.
Zangetsu probably wasn't even still around, Dante had to figure. Otherwise, the ghostly being would still be tracking him, haunting him more actively than simply giving his purest instinct sentience. Where the crazy stylish half-devil enjoyed himself in the raw thrill of combat, he now subsided into a hollow man - the least desirable piece of his inner puzzle had up and picked itself up, mocking Dante about how he had to finish the picture somehow.
At least his own wicked self had stopped mentally berating the devil hunter, for now. Probably had gotten bored when Dante wasn't actively kicking anything's ass. Or, more likely, it was waiting for a more opportune time to preach its ideas - the next round just a matter of minutes away, where Dante, as 'Tony Redgrave', would be facing off against his next opponent.
Finishing with his mystic works, the Kingdom's cleric removed his hands and stood back, allowing his patient to stretch himself out. "So," Mr. Redgrave began simply, first to break the silence between the three figures, "Who am I up against in the next round?"
The doctor, interested at Dante's more active nature as opposed to last time, pondered a moment as to the standings. In a few moments, he began to form an answer, "I believe, in the next round you will be fighting... what was it, that dark sorcerer-?"
"Magus," the cleric chimed in bluntly, his voice strangely deep and almost foreign on someone perpetuated as a holy man.
"Yes, that's right," the doctor perked up, as if having triumphantly found the name himself, "The dark magician known as Magus. You would do best to be careful- that, er, being has made short work of both of his own opponents thus far."
The cleric gave a grunting hum in confirmation of that statement, his head turning to idly glance one of the cots at the far end of the infirmary. A curious Dante followed the man's gaze, and he was able to catch a glimpse of a severely wounded and burnt figure lying almost catatonic as another team of medics treated him.
"From how you put it," the half-devil said, turning back to the white-coat, "Well, it sounds like the guy's not human."
The doc furrowed his brow in response, looking distant for a moment. "Are you familiar with elves? Tall, pointed ears, naturally inclined to magic?" There was clearly some doubt if Tony Redgrave had ever seen or heard of the creatures.
"Sure," Dante replied dismissively. He had read a fantasy novel or two when he had been terribly bored a couple of times. A bit too wordy for his tastes, but he got the picture of elves. He'd never really gotten the idea or appeal, however, of such seclusive and prideful humanoids with pointy ears; fantasy was supposed to be more fantastical, in his mind. Or, perhaps, the devil hunter simply proved to be too disillusioned by working with various threatening and zany demons frequently.
"Well, that man is most certainly a dusk elf," the doctor continued after Mr. Redgrave's confirmation, lapsing into a sort of ranting tone. "Skin stained with the colors of twilight, corrupt and subservient to the legion of dark powers he commands. I am willing to overlook the other strange and outlandish figures that enter this structure, but him? Oh, that sorcerer is a demon in mortal skin! I am astounded that the Baron doesn't have half a mind to obliterate that dastard-"
A harsh clearing of the throat burst through the white-coat's feverish speech, and the doctor instantly, very sheepishly, returned to his former self. "Ah, well... let's just say that Magus is not one to be taken lightly."
"Uh-huh," Dante replied, his tone of doubt towards the racist medical operator betraying his plain words, "I'll be careful, then." With that, the devil hunter silently ushered himself from the room, leaving the two healers quickly.
Embarrassment showing clear in his scrunched-up look of guilt, the doctor turned to the cleric and asked, "I'm not wrong, am I?"
"No. You just sound like a loony."