They Say That Either You're Out or You're In; But You're On
Feb 21, 2016 9:58:55 GMT -5
Post by Black Adder on Feb 21, 2016 9:58:55 GMT -5
”You’re cutting it way too close, Han. That coughing fit of yours...your complexion...you need to accept reality…”
Tiffany Song wasn’t a doctor known for her bedside manner which both irritated the family members there to visit and offered comfort to more serious patients. But when the patient was serious and a family member, ‘bedside manner’ was a four letter word.
“And what reality would that be?” Hana sneered back as she pulled the sleeve down over her arm, covering the small bandage and gauze that were freshly applied.
“That it’s not getting better. I can’t keep this up forever, I’m pretty sure they revoke licenses for this.”
“Well, that shouldn’t matter to you, ‘doctor’.”
“I’m being serious here, Hana. As your doctor I can’t-”
“I’m my doctor. I’m not stopping. Look at how far we’ve...How far I’VE come. I just...need more time.”
“Why is this so important to you?”
Hana didn’t answer right away; she couldn’t believe the question had even been asked. Her look of incredulity was plenty loud regardless.
“Because I never go back on a promise.”
___
“Well this is certainly quite the odd arrangement, isn’t it?” Hana is outside, her voice carrying over the night breeze blowing through. Behind her, trees sway and the lights of planes flying overhead periodically pass through. Hana is bundled up, a black coat a few sizes too big, and a hat. Her face remains ever visible and with it her sneering grin.
“I’m speaking, of course, about this six man affair I’ve found myself in. In the one corner you’ve got a pair of upstarts riding a wave of good fortune and luck along with a man living on borrowed time as far as the strap around his waist is concerned. And in the other there’s yours truly along with a self-absorbed supposed ‘prince’ and a butcher. On the surface there’s really nothing we have in common with each other - apart from Prince, sorry, you were ugly then or something, the Baroness and myself pairing up that one time. But of course there’s a connecting line between my partners and I. I don’t need to tell you; use your own brains for once.”
“I have to question why Nest would so casually toss his supposed friend aside. Then again, what I said came to pass, didn’t it? He beat Terrence and has no further use for him. But once again my path brings me against him, the supposed creme de la creme of the Den and by now it should be very apparent that my goal is quite clear. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves, yes?”
“In terms of Brute Camp...apart from a name that is as dull as the name ‘Mason Mannion’...my exposure to them has been mercifully brief. Mason made a mistake of crossing paths with my associate and he paid the price for that. Did it sting, Mason, the venom in your eyes? The boots to your head? What will sting more, I wonder, the memory or having to watch as the same fate befalls your plucky girlfriend or whoever it is. How can you two call yourselves Brute Camp when there’s nothing brutal about you. The true ‘brute camp’ is the three people staring you down. Well...two brutes and one camp, but that’s simple semantics.”
“My eyes are on you, Nest, as are, I suspect, those of my temporary allies. Your bodyguards won’t be enough to keep three people from giving you exactly what’s coming to you. I might not even have to do much of anything at all, lord knows I’m no stranger to making those who hunt with me into momentary predators after all, and these two are feisty. Or they’d better be. This is not where I wanted to meet you again, Nest, but as you’ve ignored my warnings and invitations then the obvious solution is to show up on your doorstep. Now that I’ve swatted that annoying little gnat there’s really no one left to stand in my way. My minions in this match had better not screw this up, of course.”
“But you should count yourself fortunate, Nest, because the time is not right nor is the place. I want it to mean everything when the Adder goes in for the kill.”
“Which is precisely why my fangs will aim for Brute Camp in this dance of ours. Two young people, one of whom has been like a little lost doe at times, playing at being ‘tough’ or ‘brutal’...so adorable. And so beautiful when they’re writhing in pain. And you will watch, Nest, as Brute Camp meets true brutality, and you will know that your time is coming. Because I don’t have to beat YOU, Nest. Not this time.”
“But I can still make it hurt.”
Tiffany Song wasn’t a doctor known for her bedside manner which both irritated the family members there to visit and offered comfort to more serious patients. But when the patient was serious and a family member, ‘bedside manner’ was a four letter word.
“And what reality would that be?” Hana sneered back as she pulled the sleeve down over her arm, covering the small bandage and gauze that were freshly applied.
“That it’s not getting better. I can’t keep this up forever, I’m pretty sure they revoke licenses for this.”
“Well, that shouldn’t matter to you, ‘doctor’.”
“I’m being serious here, Hana. As your doctor I can’t-”
“I’m my doctor. I’m not stopping. Look at how far we’ve...How far I’VE come. I just...need more time.”
“Why is this so important to you?”
Hana didn’t answer right away; she couldn’t believe the question had even been asked. Her look of incredulity was plenty loud regardless.
“Because I never go back on a promise.”
___
“Well this is certainly quite the odd arrangement, isn’t it?” Hana is outside, her voice carrying over the night breeze blowing through. Behind her, trees sway and the lights of planes flying overhead periodically pass through. Hana is bundled up, a black coat a few sizes too big, and a hat. Her face remains ever visible and with it her sneering grin.
“I’m speaking, of course, about this six man affair I’ve found myself in. In the one corner you’ve got a pair of upstarts riding a wave of good fortune and luck along with a man living on borrowed time as far as the strap around his waist is concerned. And in the other there’s yours truly along with a self-absorbed supposed ‘prince’ and a butcher. On the surface there’s really nothing we have in common with each other - apart from Prince, sorry, you were ugly then or something, the Baroness and myself pairing up that one time. But of course there’s a connecting line between my partners and I. I don’t need to tell you; use your own brains for once.”
“I have to question why Nest would so casually toss his supposed friend aside. Then again, what I said came to pass, didn’t it? He beat Terrence and has no further use for him. But once again my path brings me against him, the supposed creme de la creme of the Den and by now it should be very apparent that my goal is quite clear. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves, yes?”
“In terms of Brute Camp...apart from a name that is as dull as the name ‘Mason Mannion’...my exposure to them has been mercifully brief. Mason made a mistake of crossing paths with my associate and he paid the price for that. Did it sting, Mason, the venom in your eyes? The boots to your head? What will sting more, I wonder, the memory or having to watch as the same fate befalls your plucky girlfriend or whoever it is. How can you two call yourselves Brute Camp when there’s nothing brutal about you. The true ‘brute camp’ is the three people staring you down. Well...two brutes and one camp, but that’s simple semantics.”
“My eyes are on you, Nest, as are, I suspect, those of my temporary allies. Your bodyguards won’t be enough to keep three people from giving you exactly what’s coming to you. I might not even have to do much of anything at all, lord knows I’m no stranger to making those who hunt with me into momentary predators after all, and these two are feisty. Or they’d better be. This is not where I wanted to meet you again, Nest, but as you’ve ignored my warnings and invitations then the obvious solution is to show up on your doorstep. Now that I’ve swatted that annoying little gnat there’s really no one left to stand in my way. My minions in this match had better not screw this up, of course.”
“But you should count yourself fortunate, Nest, because the time is not right nor is the place. I want it to mean everything when the Adder goes in for the kill.”
“Which is precisely why my fangs will aim for Brute Camp in this dance of ours. Two young people, one of whom has been like a little lost doe at times, playing at being ‘tough’ or ‘brutal’...so adorable. And so beautiful when they’re writhing in pain. And you will watch, Nest, as Brute Camp meets true brutality, and you will know that your time is coming. Because I don’t have to beat YOU, Nest. Not this time.”
“But I can still make it hurt.”