Infirmary

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Spoiler:

To say there was a flurry of activity when the hulking nurse returned the redhead to the infirmary would be an understatement. Doctors, nurses, doctor’s assistants, they all flocked to her side in an orderly sort of chaos, taking stock of her situation and barking out orders to whomever was in charge of that sort of thing.

The emergency room was opened up and her limp form was gently, cautiously laid out on the cloth-covered exam table, her eyes cracked open enough to see there was a bit of worry on more than a few faces. None of the doctor’s had this face, of course, but not a small amount of the nurses threw questioning glances towards one another.

The sniper, on the other hand, is in such a state that she hardly registers anything at all. The pain…it was washing over her in racking waves, overloading her senses and causing a darkness to cover what little consciousness she had left. It goes without saying she didn’t want to die, but there was a sense that if she were to finally let go of everything, she wouldn’t have done it for nothing.

Her partner hadn’t needed her in this last instance of combat, not really. He had the situation under control – for the most part – but she still felt the pull to protect him. A panicking thought hit her then: would anyone else keep him close? Would there be someone to remind him how human he truly was? He is part machine, no doubt about it, but he is also a man, deserving the same respect from others as any normal flesh-and-blood individual could rightfully claim.

These thoughts, they ran round and round in her mind even as her body began to reject the help being given. Too much blood was filling what shouldn’t be filled, and it rose up out of her in welling amounts, choking her, giving her no room to continue breathe, no room to live.

The doctors, they were doing what they were supposed to do, doing what they could, but those worried faces continued to watch as she battled between finally giving in, and fighting for that one more breath. Her eyelids, heavy and unwilling to part, were pried open enough to search for her partner, to see him again, even with shredded check and torn robes and bloodied skin.

She thinks she will miss him.

Drenched in blood and covered in bits of ash and flesh from their latest prey, the cyborg never fell behind the muscular nurse and his wounded partner. The feeling the cyborg was experiencing, despite not being able to show it on his literally torn features, was either worry or panic; perhaps a bit of both. Maybe he was mistaken in calling Meabh to help deal with the vampire, he knew she wasn't in any condition to be dragged into a fight; let alone fire a high-powered rifle multiple times, yet he still asked for her help. Its not like the vampire posed that large of a threat, it wouldn't of gotten out of the labs even if he failed.

There was little doubt in his mind that he had asked too much this time, and he felt responsible for the current condition his partner was in; the reason why she was injured in the first place was because he was too focused on the FREAK in London to intercept the bullets. The moment they reached the infirmary the cyborg didn't allow himself to pose as an obstacle for the surrounding medical personnel; though he stayed where he could see the redhead. There wasn't much he could do in this situation, he wasn't programmed for medical duty; and he knew nothing about medical surgery, so the most he would do is get in the way - but at least he'd be there.

The cyborg felt heavy as he watched his partner get looked over by the swarm of doctors and nurses; he didn't know what to expect. The situation hadn't changed since they began their operation, and the feeling a guilt still lingered inside him. Holding his place against the wall out of the way, he watched on, until a call came over his onboard radio.

Father Miles, he's here! Hellsings pet! Its-

Normally the mans sudden silence would of raised an interest, but the sudden explosion that came from the front steps could be heard even from inside.

Father Anderson was away taking care of other things, so there wasn't many others present who could deal with the situation, but he didn't feel threatened. It was his job after all, to deal with these things; and this time he wasn't going to drag Sister Meabh into it, not in her condition.

"Watch over her." Were the cyborgs last and only instructions to the medical staff as he turned toward the door, only throwing back a final look toward his partner before walking into the hall. His eyes flashed green as his body suddenly blurred, bolting down the hall as nothing more than a distorted after image of black and red, even ping-ponging off of two walls to round the corners needed to reach the front steps.

"All available members of the Armed Priest Corps, rendezvous at the front steps."

Exit --> Front Steps.

The surgeries, they went well. Better, really, than had previously thought possible. She'd been swimming in drugs and pain for hours, and then sight returned to her. She hurt, everywhere, but now the pain was at a level she was oddly comfortable with.

Her partner is nowhere to be found.

Confused at first, the red head's eyes cast about the room for his location, only to find a nurse standing neaby, moderating the many fluids flowing into her body. Taking in a deep, rib-stretching breath, Meabh sits up to her elbows, causing the younger nurse to startle and protest to the act. With a half-wave of her hand, the sniper brushes off the warnings and instead asks a question.

"Where is Father Miles?"

To be fair, the question came out rather like a statement, one expected to be answered promptly. The nurse looks as though she is debating an answer, that is, until the Irishwoman gives her a look so pointed it makes up the girl's mind for her.

"He is outside with the armed corp." She hesitates, then continues in a low tone. "The abomination is on the front steps."

There is only one thing on this planet that deserves having a definite article placed before its horrid moniker, and it w a creature she would be most happy to stare down again. He was evil, black, pure hell, but she'd seen into that and walked away before, and though her Father is absent, she knows this is an opportunity too good to pass up.

Grunting with effort - and shrugging off the nurse's attempts to keep her down - Meabh shoves herself up completely, focusing through the pain. Frowning, she peels the tape covering the needles in her arm, then slides each one out with a hiss. Throwing back the blanket, she swings her feet around, fighting back a sudden bout of vertigo as her eyes alight on a neatly folded stack of clothing, boots included, sitting on a corner chair.

"Hand me those."

The nurse gave her a conflicted look - the sniper was injured, but she was also a high ranking member of the organization - but in the end, rank won out. Peeling out of her paper-thin gown, the red head slides her feet to the cold tile floor, grimacing at the feeling on her skin. The nurse helps her into her tactical gear, lacing up her second boot just as Meabh shrugs on her shoulder holster - and feels oddly better for its presence. Underneath the clothing had been a set of knives, and a matte-black sidearm she knew to be hers. Thank you, Michel.

Holstering her weapons, she stretches for a moment, feeling out just how limited her actions would be; there wasn't much she would be able to do.

But she can still pull a trigger.

Limping out of the room, she spies a phone on a reception desk, immediately appropriating it for her own amidst more protests to the counter. Sending them all a withering look, she dials out to the armory, calling in for the Mechem once again, this time with ten magazines of HEIAP rounds. She then calls out to the tech division for a new comm link to Father Miles, and telling both departments to meet her on the fly.

Returning the phone to the cradle, she gives the younger nurse a half smile, then turns and strides out of the infirmary, limp barely noticeable.


---------------> Front Steps

OOC: Short post, Meabh agreed to let me do this.

Golden gospel pages filled the halls, rushing down corridor with a blinding speed. The torrent of pages carried Veronica's hidden form among them, along with a certain toy for a specific sniper. Veronica wasn't a much of a gun person, but the Father in the armory told her is was a Denel NTW-20. A rather big rifle, too big in her opinion. The pages twisted and turned each corner until she finally came upon Meabh, father Miles' partner, before they consumed her in their golden glory and lifted her from the ground, carrying her along toward the front steps - though seeing as how Sister Meabh had a specific talent she planned to assist in getting her to a more suitable perch. "Hello, Sister. I've got a present for you, courtesy of the armory.

Exit ------> Front steps, on a roof somewhere.

-----> Enter from Front steps.

Anthony fell silently from the pole. His pages catching him and then lowering him at the last moment via transportation lightly to the ground. There he had lain until the beast Alucard left the remainder of his friends alone. Although Anthony was done. He had lost to much blood. Done to much with a broken bone.

As he lay there he look at his bleeding side and his stained clothes. He did not even croke a goodbye before he left the area not really knowing what was going on.

Anthony standing now leaned against the wall dipping blood on the floor as he appeared in the infirmary was quickly taken by a nurse to a hospital bed. He leaned on her heavily almost unable to walk from the exertions that he had gone through. Although he knew that he was very lucky to be alive. Unlike very many of his colleagues. "Rib..." He coughed out.

Anthony though fading from the realm of consciousness let out a horrible raspy breathe caused by is anger. His newfound anger. His new found hatred the likes of which he had never felt.

The nurse told him. "No don't try and speak the rib might have hit a lung." As she lowered him unto the bed. Anthony his hatred and anger rising slowly faded into the blissful darkness that took away all thoughts from his mind which burned nearly as intense as his wounds.

He would live. The nurse would stop the bleeding and find out it was just a slight break. Within a weak Anthony would only have another scar to add to his collection and a very tender rib.

She had walked, by God, on all her own. This had been a mess of epic proportions and she had no desire to talk to anyone about it. Other than her partner, however, that man seemed caught up in whatever cleanup was happening in the square. 

So here she was, limping into the infirmary under the sudden realization that she hadn't slept nor eaten in 48 hours. Not anything that wasn't because of a head injury or through a tube, anyway. The redhead shuffles into the same room she'd had before the call to arms had come over the comms, and is grateful to see the same nurse marching her direction. To her left, however, was a priest she'd never had the opportunity to meet - Diem, she thinks, if her recall of files is still sharp - and he looked worse than she felt. Stripping out of her gear, and carefully hooking it on the back of a generic, metal chair, she sits on the still-rumpled bed, grateful to have something under her besides concrete and stone. 

She bends to unlace her boots, but decides this is a bad decision. Or rather, he protesting lung, ribs, and midsection had decided it for her. So she swings up a leg and strips out of the laces with deft fingers, the slight tremble in them causing her to frown. Tossing the boots under the chair next to the bed, she takes a moment to look back at the kid in the next bed, her frown not leaving her face. 

"You lived. Take your anger somewhere else."

She noticed the pain in him, but also anger. It was something she had felt once, only once, in the face of the creature they'd just had the good luck of meeting. Her lilting, Irish accent was soft, but she had no doubt he had heard her. 

"You lived, so that you can die some other day. Anger will make that day come all too soon."

The Irishwoman wriggles out of her black top, displaying horrid scars, new and old, bruising, and bandages over most of her torso. She hisses slightly at the feeling of the cool hospital air hitting the re-opened stitches, before standing and unbuckling her belt, sliding the nylon through the loops and dropping the fatigues to the floor. In full view, her body is a thing built for one purpose, and it bears the scars to prove it. Sitting back on the bed, she allows the nurse to begin a preliminary workup, poking and prodding as she felt out the extent of the new problems. 

She is tired, Christ she is tired, but she can't sleep just yet. Her partner hadn't returned.

Anthony looked up after after a moment. Through his anger something registered. A voice.  

"You lived. Take your anger somewhere else."

Then before he could respond he heard her again.



"You lived, so that you can die some other day. Anger will make that day come all too soon."


Anthony looked up and after a moment her words registered meaning in his clouded thoughts. This women his sister and warrior of the faith had been troubled after she had gone up against Alucard. Anthony did not want to add to her burdens in any way. Feeling poor he responded. 



"Very true Sister. And very wise if I may say so. I'm sorry to have troubled you."



"Forgive me." He pleaded to her. He may very well be useless, and unable to help or save anyone. But he would not be responsible for hindering those who could. He said to her next in all sincerity.



"You fought magnificently out there by the way, truly inspirational." He meant every word to. She had landed every hit she made against the beast and by the looks of it while she was already injured, and not only was this an unholy terror of the night this was in fact the king of such terrors perhaps the closest embodiment to satan on this earth. Perhaps not however muscle wise. But the disgusting pride, the sinful creation into what he is now, the start of what would later come many more like him.


Although Anthony thought to himself his mind wondering into philosophy for moment. Only one third of angels rebelled in heaven.   According to revelation more than half of humans will burn in the flames.

Robo priest enters from the front steps
--------------------------------------

Clean up wasn't his job, and as heartless as that may sound to those around him, he really didn't care. Only when they were shorthanded did he ever lend a hand to clearing the damage that had been caused, and the last time that happened was when the Knights attacked. He was programmed to protect the Vatican from threats, and as far as he could tell the threat had been pushed back, meaning part of his job was over. The other part was looking after his half-dead partner who's stubbornness continued to make her do unreasonable things. His feelings about Meabh continuing to push herself in her current condition, however, weren't those one would expect of him. The redhead hadn't gotten any real rest that was required for her human limits, and it was surprising she even had the strength to walk. This isn't to say he thought she was someone to be treated as a child, but in her current state of physical health it was something that bothered him.

Too many things had been happening in a short intervals of time which made it impossible for any downtime which was required, even for him on rare occasions despite his mechanical nature, let alone her with human limitations. Opening the door to the infirmary, the cybernetic killing doll entered the room with his right eye flashing an emerald green, several low beeps being audible from his onboard computer. He gave a quick glance toward Father Deim, gave a small nod of acknowledgement for his help with the recent trouble, before moving beside Meabhs bed; his blank face void of emotion as always. "I've suspended all missions for the next 840 hours (five weeks). Resting is now your primary objective."

She slid off the bed in a stiff, painful manner, turning so the nurse could prod some more, this time on the exit wounds of the bullets that had ripped her apart in London. She looks slightly exasperated for a moment, taking in the priest's words and not caring for them at all.

"Forgive you? Not my place."

The redhead winces as a particularly painful spot was poked on.

"And for what? For being hurt? Nearly killed?"

She waves off the nurse as the woman begins to instruct her on the finer points of not performing strenuous activities while in this condition. Instead of heeding her advice, the sniper rounds her bed and steps in beside the doctor fiddling around with the priest, the very same man who'd worked on her before. He stands aside slightly, marking a few things on a chart, giving her room to look at the younger priest in full view.

Her scarred body leans over the bed, coming closer to his face to make certain her words are heard.

"This is what we do.. We are Iscariot. We fight, we hurt, we bleed, and then we die. That is the way of it. Your rage...it will kill you long before any abomination."

She stands fully then, stretching and wincing as the muscles and bones protested her actions. She sees her partner enter, and for the first time since she'd entered the room, her cold eyes soften nearly imperceptibly, a wave of right warming her.

The woman turns back to the priest on the bed, her accent not impeding her meaning.

"Keep the faith. Lose the anger. You'll be fine."

Without waiting for a response, she makes her way back to her bed, just in time to her her partner say he was restricting their missions. Her missions. She grinds her teeth, knowing he is correct, but five weeks? Dear Lord in Heaven, help her not to shout.

"You know that isn't going to happen. Not five weeks."

She stares at him.

"Three at the most. Then I'll take it slow. Recon only."

She knew he would argue. She wouldn't have it any other way.

Father Anthony Diem smiled a hollow smile that did not reach his eyes. but she did not appear to be looking at him much anymore.

Although it was against his better judgment he did not heed her words. This anger and hatred for this disgusting scum of satan would be the fire that would forge his skills and instincts. It would keep him awake and it would keep his hollow soul warm, and then? When finally he had nothing left to burn. No more options no more strategies, no more allies. This fire would consume him and that one last enemy he would make sure to take down along with him in his deaths inferno.

He looked at her and a moment of guilt returned to his mind. But he ignored the voice which mentioned something about him being to weak to ignore his anger and make sure that he would ever get into that kind of situation.

He spoke calling to memory examples of others speech patterns and facial expression as there was nothing but that consuming fire in him for the moment. His speech pattern? Flawless?. His words? There was no error. His facial expression? only faltered towards the end.


"My apologies Sister. I should have been more specific. I beg your forgiveness for troubling your day. You have been through enough without having to deal with a punk like myself." He spoke to her perfectly calmly and normally trying not to interrupt the pair talking but thinking that his normal speech might help to ease her mind that he had actually listened to her. But at the last words he spoke his voice cracked just a little his anger being revealed only in the slightest at the mention of himself.

He nodded towards the cyborg and thought to himself. Keep the faith...Loose the anger...Those words continued to ring in his head and upon looking at the red headed sniper he smiled slightly. She was a fiery one. Iscariot was in good hands Anthony decided.

Looking away slightly less filled with this burning rage he nodded his head towards the cyborg. "It is an honor."

Anthony felt in this room honor in the presence of such esteemed warriors yet a slight twinge of further uselessness as he even though trying not to compared himself to these people.

Miles tilted his head slightly to the right, lines of tiny font scrolling across his pupils. Three weeks wasn't an adequate resting period for someone in her condition, but it didn't surprise him. It was expected of her; her unwillingness to sit still to rest had been proven many times over during their time together, and he had a feeling it wouldn't be the last. However, he wasn't going to back off that easily about something as important as her health.

"Negative, that is not acceptable, Meabh. 840 hours is the minimum down time for someone in your condition to recuperate properly. I suggest declining any field operations that slip by Operations Block I've erected in the database until then.

He turned his gaze toward Deim, his face retaining its indifferent stare with its now scarred features. He wouldn't get involved in their conversation, but he would respond to remarks tossed his way.

"Likewise."

He was a mess, nothing more than tattered robes and a torn cheek. Reaching out, she picks at the shredded flesh before sliding her fingers over the metal bones of his face.

"Fine. Fine. Five weeks. But you can't tell me to sit around on my arse and do nothing. You know better than that."

Her hand falls to his chest, where she pats the torn clothing. He is a complete mess, she concluded, but he was looking out for her all the same. A quick smile flashes over her features, and she looks up to him - no mean feat, as she was a touch over six feet - with a huff escaping her lips.

"You will get all this seen about, yeh?" She pats his chest again. "And I promise not to steal away while you do, alright? Happy now?"

Her lips part to continue when her ears pick up on the other priest in the room. Turning her attention back to him, she frowns, her odd, gold-rimmed eyes narrowing at his words.

"Troubling my day? That abomination and I have a history, so you cannot possibly be any further trouble to my day, even as much as you protest to be."

Then she scoffs at him, a rare emotion for her to show.

"Punk like you? Be careful, your self-loathing is showing."

He protests to be honored by their presence, and yet he acts as though a child, hindered by his views on what usefulness, and honor truly are. He wouldn't understand it today. Maybe not ever. But she had a small amount of hope that this priest would excel should he ever come to terms with his anger.

Frik, He had cracked. His emotions got the better of himself.

He smiled once more at this Sister of his. She appeared to not tolerate his attitude, for that Anthony was grateful. This world could be a cold and dark place, merciless in the face of these creatures even if he didn't want to listen to her he appreciated that she cared enough to bother with him.

Something did hit home on Anthony However. He was being a weakling. A disgusting sniveling weakling He let this monster get a hold of his heart. And corrupt it! He was changing all because that unholy filth had done what what? Wound his side? Hurt his feelings? Kill his family? What did he expect going into this fight!? This was the no life king! He was lucky to be alive. He decided that death would not stop him. Nor would the creatures of hell!

Anthony looked up and no longer did he smile in that way which should have made his skin crawl the frist couple times. It should have doe this because he was giving up! He was about to loose his life his very soul to himself. Not that beast.

Anthony clenched his fist no more in that illogical anger, no more in that wallow of self loathing. He didn't have time for that. He clenched in order to bring himself to reality to take way the darkness in himself he would need to battle it.

His hearts worries and doubts, Doubts about himself, He wasn't good enough. He would never be good enough. Why even bother? No one cared about him anyway. They drove an ice cold stake through his heart. These whispers perhaps coming from the imps hell had and were getting to him. Anthony lowered his head a little bit until he remembered who he was looking at. She cared... She cared.

Anthony thought to himself. These doubts were wrong. Who am I to judge my worth? Who am I to argue against this women who had suffered far more years of this than he had.

He raised his head and looking at her he promised himself. He promised her. That he would not disappoint her. She had pulled this drowning man from the sea of deceit and darkness and he would not disappoint her.

For the first time he smiled at her. Not a large smile. A very small smile. But nonetheless this smile was real. "Thank you sister."  he whispered under his breath. Louder he spoke. "I shall do one better sister. I shall make it none existent." Anthony may very well owe his sanity and humanity to this woman. He hoped that she would never stop kicking him back whenever he fell down.

He still felt...odd the way she treated him, but like always he didn't object. Her hand running over the metal where artificial flesh should be brought the need of getting repaired back into his mind. He would have to do something about his appearance in the near future, repair his cheek and whatever bullet wounds were left over from their trip to London. The recent vampire they eliminated in the section III labs left him in less than sanitary condition as well, have been painted with its blood from its body being torn to bits. The cyborg reached into the confines of his tattered robes and removed his orange glasses, placing them on his face after Meabh was done picking at him. Whether this was done to hide something in his eyes or for a reason unrelated to the situation was unknown.

"The expectancy of you sitting around in a hospital bed never crossed my mind. It would not suit you. Daily activities should not hamper your recovery in any major way, thus I am not against it. And positive, I will see to it."

She can't help but exhale a short laugh at her partner's words, given the fact that he was resigned to never keeping her in the same place for any extended period of time. Well, a period of time that didn't involve her sitting behind a scope.

Her nurse had returned, this time with a pair of scissors and a new supply of bandages. Knowing what was coming next she turns from both men and extends her arms slightly. The nurse sets down her tray of gauze and tape and slips the scissors under the fabric of the sniper's sport's bra, snipping it cleanly in half, allowing the woman to shrug out of the ruined bra without having to take it over her head.

Now the most gruesome of her scars can be seen, one that had been partially hidden by the black fabric: a ragged circle, the size of a tennis ball, rippled with scar tissue just below where her heart would be. It looked old and poorly sutured, healed with edges that pulled with every movement she made. This is what her partner had just heard about, the one scar that she is reminded of over and over, of being left behind, knowing nothing more could, would save her.

The cyborg hadn't left her.

The nurse begins the process of peeling off every inch of bandage wrapped around her bruised and torn torso, the sound of the tape pulling off causing her to cringe just as much as the feeling of cool air hitting the fresh wounds.

Once the gauze was clear, more than just old wounds were visible. Stitches ran in lines over round holes only recently closed. Even now, with her most recent exertions, some ran with red, her white skin smudged with smears of scarlet, and large patches of iodine. As the nurse wiped down the mess, she looks over her shoulder at Miles.

"Thank you."

She didn't elaborate, knowing he would understand, and she turned her attention to the other priest, not looking at him but knowing the man would understand she was talking to him.

"Do for yourself, first." She pauses, thinking carefully on her next words, before uttering them so quietly she wasn't certain he would hear.

"If I can, I will help."

She never offered such a thing, and even now, she doesn't know why the sentiment struck her.

Anthony listened to the dialogue between the cyborg and the sniper. It appeared the way they spoke to each other that they were very fond of the other person. Yes. Even Father Michel miles appeared to  have concerns for this woman. Although perhaps it was his programming to be able to diagnose injuries and set recovery time. He really didn't know. He knew that many people did not entirely consider him human. Even the files sounded like they swung towards the machine aspect of his existence. But Anthony ever the philosopher decided that even if he was no longer human he was still a being of some sort. After all he apparently has a sense of honor, Deduced by the fact that he considered it an honor to be in his presence. Anthony knew that it was unlikely for the Iscariot to program anything at all to give out nice and fuzzy compliments for no reason. He had known a trait only detectable by the free will of someone being that they must feel honored by that person. then he chose to voice that opinion. Another act of free will.

Anthony watched the brutal removal of her bandages and even perhaps more brutal shape of her body which looked all to much like having gone through a meat grinder. This woman was made of stern stuff it appeared.

However Anthony couldn't help but think to himself that it was really ironic for a sniper to receive so many bodily injuries.

He heard her words very clearly now that his thoughts were no longer poisoned by the burning ire of hell fire known as anger.

"Do for yourself, first."
She paused a moment.
Then barely audible Anthony leaned in slightly to hear the rest of what she said.
"If I can , I will help."

Anthony leaned back and his grin did not recede. She had already helped him more than he des- more than she herself perhaps knew.

To her first statement her responded. "As you wish,(then with the strangest bit of confidence he finished.) You have my word."

Just as Meabh's second sentence addressed towards him was quite so to was his response. He merely muttered a grateful. "Thank you."

He was grateful that the sniper would not leave him, would not stop picking him up when he fell, would never stop. Caring. For though this day was won. Satan was a deceitful enemy. The words which made his blood run cold were something that he had not yet escaped from, although he had made the first steps. The burning emotions of anger and hatred that would consume him. He fought back the flames but they were not yet extinguished forever. The chasm, the void, the thing that no matter what you threw in be it your soul, your life, your humanity, would never give you anything in return. Antony saw this black hole as the feelings of giving in, cowardice, and fear. These things he had also broken free from for the moment. But there was no guarantee that they would never try to bind him and drag him down into that darkness again.

Yes Anthony was grateful for her help. More grateful than perhaps she would ever know. He would need her.

Negative. It is nothing...."

That was all he said, taking several steps back away from the bed before finding a standing position against the wall. That's all he did, that's all he would do unless asked otherwise. He wasn't going to get involved with their conversation unless it was needed, and to be honest he had little interest in the matter. The fact than an Iscariot had such emotions was a bit strange, but everyone had their quirks. He was programmed with information on all Iscariot's currently active, and some weren't logically sound, others had inner conflicts with themselves, so it wasn't surprising to meet one with self-confidence issues.

His word. Interesting. She only nods in return to his statement, then grunts in pain as the nurse straps on new gauze taping it in place with all the bedside manner of troll. Not that it mattered; so long as the wounds were covered, so long as she was on the mend she didn't mind the pain so much.

Once finished, the nurse steps aside and offers the sniper a stretch tank top and black leggings, something easy to move in and easy to remove, should they need to check on her stitches. Which they would.

Slipping slowly into the tank top, then surprisingly gracefully pulling on the leggings, the woman eases back onto the bed, sighing as she runs a hand through her dusty, red locks. More to herself than anyone else, she mutters out an I need a shower, then turns slowly on the bed to face both men.

"Michel, would you mind calling down for the Mechem again? We need to become friends.

She turns her attention to the other priest, fighting the urge to scratch at the healing wounds covering her body.

"Diem? I think that's correct."

She doesn't wait for him to respond before she continues.

I only know about you from your file. Bible pages, and the like. Decent at hand-to-hand. What else is there about you?

Her gold-rimmed eyes are looking at him with an unknown emotion, on crossed between a hawk's stare and an inquisitive child.

Anthony was thankful that he had finally at least somewhat appeased this woman. He was very grateful for her help and her persistence but thought that she would also be a nice person to just know. As such when she turned her attention to him once again this time with a perhaps friendly yet inquisitive attitude he was greatly pleased and allowed himself to relax and perhaps enjoy this conversation.

He looked at her and eye brow raised when she mentioned his name. He nodded a yes and she continued mentioning some of his skills such as pages and hand-to-hand combat. then asked if there was anything more to him.


He smiled a little and resisted the urge to say nothing worth while. He racked his head and then bending slightly over the side of the bed he grabbed his jacket which contained the rest of his weapons. He pulled out a modified 1911 pistol that was rigged to contain 12 shot magazines. He held the gun by the barrel and handed her the instrument. "I use these a lot of the time." Then almost jokingly he said. "But I'm not a sniper or anything."

The only other thing he could think of was his daggers. Which he had to grab his belt in order to retrieve. "Nothing special here," He said as he pulled out the twin blades. "Just some small silver blades which I am ok with."

Then After sheathing the daggers in the belt and setting it on the floor he leaned back once more into a resting position against the wall.

"Although there is one other thing that I at least believe can be deadlier than any gun or blade."

Anthony raised his hand and pointed to his head.

"All of these weapons are only as good as the user is smart." Anthony said to her as he looked at her.

The only other thing that Anthony could think to say was tell her about his theories.

"That's it I suppose. Well unless you consider a head full of ideas that... I haven't put to use yet as a weapon."

After the word that Anthony was about to say couldn't but thought better about it. Not only because that would bug the friking crap out this kind women, but because he thought these ideas didn't seem so far fetched anymore. Just a little beyond his current grasp. Who knew? Perhaps a little time? Perhaps a little nudge here or there? And maybe just maybe could he find a way to get them to work.

But before he ceased talking he added in as an after thought.

"Speaking of my pages, I have a gift for you." Said Anthony as he reached for his bullet proof jacket.

It might have looked like that was his gift at first if he wouldn't have started to open the pockets on the inside of it. He began to summon the pages forth into his hand. One by one they came until they were all taken out of the jacket.

He looked at her and said to her. "So far as I know I was the first Iscariot to think of this, It's a more recent idea of mine but has proven to have worked in the past."

Next he asked her. "You remember back in the old days when soldiers when to war they would tell you to put a bible over your heart? Well this is relatively the same thing only this works as a permanent barrier against vampires and it also surrounds your whole body."

He smiled and told her. "You are quite literally putting on the armor of the lord."

He let the pages drift over to her bed and told her.

"If you were to find a vest, and then place these in the pockets of the vest, it should work to help shield you against weaker vampires, soften the blow of more powerful ones, and you can just forget about ghouls. Now while I said permanent, I mean only so long as these last. Given enough blows the shield will shatter but when that happens I can whip up another one for you pretty easily. "

Anthony leaned back having probably spoken more than was expected by the others and certainly more than was expected by himself.

Turning to the cyborg he also mentioned. "If you would like father Miles I could construct one for you as well?"

He stayed silent now, becoming nothing more than a statue with the occasional "beep" coming form his on-board computer sensors. Their conversation held little interest to him, his attention focused on running checks on his internal sensors and systems; inspecting the damage he had sustained over the previous missions. Bits of oil, his own fake blood and the blood of the recently killed Hellsing vampire had seeped into his already ruined clothing, so much so that certain tatters had a combination of each of them dripping onto the floor.

Series: Caedelius
Model: HCP
Unit_number: XIII

System: Run_scan [time lapse: 00:01]

█ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █
100%

Systems: Active
Input: Casvil_net

Password: *****************
Access: Filter_Alpha
User: Self-Operated Administrator

System: Run_diagnostics [body]

█ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █
100%

Damage: 17.56%
Status: Operational
Suggested Repair time: 1 hour, 35 minutes, 21 seconds.

Luckily the recent encounter with the No Life King didn't stack even more onto his current injuries, and, despite being able to go toe-to-toe with mid-class and lower tier high-class vampires, Miles had been moving, fighting, and taking impacts nearly nonstop. He may have limits that put lower vampires to shame, but limits still existed for him. Hopefully no more unexpected arrivals would put him in a position where a prolonged battle could erupt. He'd have to return to his room to get repaired soon. His attention was pulled away from his systems check when Meabh spoke.

"Positive. I will contact the armory." He fell silent for a moment, a wireless message being sent through the Iscariot database to the computer of one of the workers in the armory of the Vatican, requesting for the desired rifle to be brought to the infirmary, with an added assurance that it was purely by request and not due to another conflict making the need for it arise.

His attention turned to Father Deim at his question. He found it odd.

"Negative, Father Deim. I am constructed of lexan strips and kevlar fibers, wrapped in a synthetic weave; reinforced steel plating on top of it with reinforced steel making up 98% of my skeletal structure. I can withstand hails of gunfire from 7.62×39mm and 5.56×45mm NATO ammunition from pointblank range for a suspended period of time. Your offer is noted, but such a defense is not needed. Meabh, however, should accept this piece of equipment, as she has a tendency to jump into odds that are more than illogical."


The last remark no doubt being a poor attempt at a joke regarding Meabhs feat with the ghouls in London.

She listens quietly as the younger man speaks, reaching out to take the proffered Colt and ejecting the mag while he continues, drawing back the slide to eject the chambered round, catching it as it flies upwards in a deft motion that spoke of many hours of practice. She was pleased to see he kept one in the chamber at least.

Working the slide, then testing the pull of the trigger, she listens a bit longer, not interjecting any of her thoughts on the matter, instead choosing to let the priest arrive to whatever conclusion his speech was going to on his own. When he came to the mention of "ideas", she began putting the 1911 back together, slapping in the mag, chambering a round, then ejecting the mag again. She reloads the stray round back into the magazine, her face blank as she thinks on what to say; the mag is inserted back into the sidearm and she hold it out to him, grip first.

They would be exchanging gifts, as it were.

She takes the "vest", holding it before her eyes as she studies its many scribbles and overlapping pages, remarking finally on the entire conversation from behind this patchwork curtain.

"Your ideas. Explain them."

She is utterly ignoring the Father's mention of why the vest would be helpful, but when her partner chose to jump in, she cuts a glance his way before continuing her overlook of the strange garment in her hands.

"Someone was busy. Was I supposed to let thirty two undead shuffle over a civilian area?"

She pauses for a split second.

"There were children. You know that."

Her grey eyes grew dark for a moment; true, she should have remained in the helicopter, but there was too great a risk involved to those on the ground. And Father Miles had, indeed, been occupied. So now she was in an infirmary, with nothing let to do but talk.

She doesn't like talking.

This is good practice, she supposed.

Her eyes jump over to the harness draped over the chair next to her bed, long knives sheathed, though she knew their scrolled lines by heart. She should really clean them, before she takes apart the Mechem, but they were never unsheathed in the open unless they were to be used for their one purpose. Her partner, however, had seen them before, the only one who had witnessed them being unsheathed without deadly intent.

Hefting the vest still in her arms, she stares over it at the man in the bed next to her, intent on hearing more about him, what made him tick. Why he was in this bed. Mostly, what was he doing in Iscariot. Eventually, these questions would come, she assumed, but for now, her previous one still stood.

Anthony almost smiled at the conversation between the two. Was that an attempt at humor from the cyborg?

He decided it was and then proceeded to respond to Meabh's question. He raised his hand and rubbed it over his hair. Breathing out deeply he took a moment for thought.

"Well, these ideas I suppose are very similar to what I have already showed you. The armor I gave you? Not my own invention. But the way I use it. That was my idea. Us humans we're fragile. We can't go toe to toe very easily with these beasts. But the lord has given us blessing and powers to use against them. Such as creating barriers. Most clergy just use this as a means of sealing off the area but I feel that we can use it to do more...In fact I have proven that. "

That is what Anthony started with. Finally bringing his arm down back to his lap he finished speaking to her.

"However why should we stop there? Why not try something else? Why not try using old weapons in the newest ways which no one has seen before. I feel that it could be done in fact I already have a few ideas. (He smiled and assured her.) Don't worry I'll get to those ideas soon enough. I just need t work out some bugs."

Reaching to his cloak once more he pulled it up and pulled out a couple of nails. He summoned some pages from his bible to his hand and wrapped them around the nails. Then summoned various others to wrap around the nail in the shape of a two dimensional stake.

Anthony

"This is my current idea, The one that I search for how to perfect day and night. It has been my crutch but also my bane. However recently I figured out a way to not only throw a constructed small barrier into the vampire and have it shock them and block out some of their filthy sorceries, as well as do some blunt damage but have it stick in them rather than just bounce off."

He unfolded the paper and took out the wrapped nail.

"This will be the key to the success of the idea. But..."

Anthony looed over at the wall and holding his nail in his hand he threw it with all his might at the wall. For a moment the nail soared straight but then after a few moments I fell out of the paper an stuck itself into the floor.

The bible page having lost their calculated weight flew upward ad smacked into the all at least four feet off target.

He turned back to Meabh not necessarily sad but more or less longing. Longing for success having that would feel all the more enhanced as the bitter taste of defeat left him.

"If I were to add the barrier to that who knows what direction that would fly in. (Then with a small spark of victory in his eyes he said.) But I now know that this isn't beyond my grasp. Little by little I will improve, and when I finally master this. Who knows? Maybe one day i'll get up to three or four?"

Anthony stopped talking and summoned his pages to him. One he used to keep bumping the nail closer to him.

"Im sorry if I happen to b talking your ear off, but since you asked there is one more. This one is simple but will need to be practiced before it can be used. This one involves entangling a vampire in pages. Not uncommon no, but if one created a barrier with these pages as that vampire lay inside of them. (Anthony smiled in a darker pleasure while thinking of this situation) Well, Not only would that make they're movement highly impaired. But it would hurt too with the shocking factor."

Anthony now almost finished only said this one more thing.

"But that last technique I haven't even experimented with yet. It could or could not happen. Time will have to tell."

"Positive, but your actions were still not entirely logical, regardless of how the situation turned out."

That was all he said on the matter, remaining in his place by the wall. The assistant from the armory soon arrived, carrying the large rifle that was requested on his back by a strap. He knocked before entering, slinging the rifle off of his shoulder before placing it on the bed.

"Your request, Sister...."

He left it at that, having carried it all the way from the armory across the vatican to the infirmary left him slightly out breath, so he bowed his head and retreated from the room.

----------

OOC: Short is short...

He is talking. A lot. This was a good thing, she thinks, and as he continues to explain, and then demonstrate his ideas, she places the vest next to her on the bed and sits back on her hands, propping herself up to relieve a bit of pressure on her ribs.

His ideas, they are good, solid, but as he said, they needed work. Her eyes follow the path of the first stake, her mind calculating the trajectory, the possibilities of its end point. As it fell to the tiled floor, she raised a single eyebrow, taking into consideration the weight of the thing, its size. She watches him as he waved the pages back to his bible, her mind mulling over what she'd seen; there were possibilities to his tricks, but they were wrinkled with problems he looked vexed about.

She says nothing - what could she add? - until the last comment, which occurred around the same time the Mechem arrived. She nods once to the young man who'd brought the massive rifle, before sliding painfully off the bed and cutting a look to her partner; there are no words that pass between them but the look is enough. She walks around the bed, so as to keep an eye on the younger priest, while allowing her fingers to run smoothly over the frame of the rifle, feeling its curves and planes, learning how it was shaped, not with her eyes, but with her hands. She would know this gun as intimately as she knew the others by time she was allowed to leave.

"Finding you something to experiment on isn't gong to be an issue. Your knives," she points to the stake being floated back to the Father, "we will need to work on. They are...flawed."

The last word seemed out of place, as though she wasn't quite certain what to call them. Regardless, she opened a small bag that had been brought with the rifle, and pulled out a few tools needed for the disassembling of the large rifle. But finding another vampire to test his theories on? She made it sound so simple, so easy. Perhaps to her, it was.

He listened to her and agreed. But there was not much else he could do other than practice with these items. He could hardly go any smaller than these nails if he still wanted to do damage with them. But he never had a nack for controlling weapons like some Iscariot did. He wondered how he could improve this. Ah well that wasn't too concerning right now. What did interest him was this prospect of practice on something. Almost like she had a plan of some sort.

Anthony resigned himself to his almost normal demeanor of following orders. He would be happy to follow the suggestions of whatever this sister offered. But no longer because of the uselessness of his own mind. But because he trusted her. Because since she had saved his life it was no longer his. He would not disappoint her.

"Well sister do you have any other questions for me? I would be happy to answer them."

Anthony asked her. He was grateful that she cared enough about him to talk with him but when the situation arose he would love to get to know her and ask her a few questions.

"I will be back once repairs are finished. Systems in my quarters are online now."

Michel exits to his room

-----> exit.

A nod of her head is the only response to her partner's exit; he should have taken care of that first thing, but she knew why he had waited. Tossing the flat pillows of her bed onto her chair, she strips the thin blanket and then the sheet from the thin mattress, maneuvering them around the rifle that already took up so much space.

Now with a flat, white workspace, she begins to slowly, deliberately break down every inch of the black weapon, sliding pieces out there and pulling bits off here; it is slow, but is it sure, and smooth as practiced silk. While removing the stock, she hears the priest's comment, and though she doesn't look up to him - her attention is remarkably split between him and the task at hand - she speaks with an unplaced tone that the young man wouldn't be familiar with for a long time.

"What is your favourite colour?"

She looks up briefly at him, as though to say "I am not at all joking", then back down to her work, lithe, calloused fingers going about their jobs in precise, intricate moves.

Anthony leaned back and almost laughed. His smile bright and suddenly remembering that he was human he remembered a couple things.

Number one: Life can be good.
Number two: He was cold. Most likely from blood lose.
Number three: He should try and make more friends, because currently she was the closest thing he had to one and it turns out they can be pretty fun.

Anthony looked at her and covering himself in his hospital blanket he said.

"To tell you the truth, as much as I hate to associate myself with irony. It's red."

He hoped that she didn't think he was messing with her because even though he had seen a lot of bloodshed he still found that whenever you find red in nature it's always something beautiful. Except blood of course. Now of course he found it ironic that his favorite color was red, and that he was a vampire hunter.

"Now if I may ask sister. Whats your favorite color?"

She runs a hand over her stomach, feeling the pull of the stitches, and answers almost distractedly.

"White."

Most of the pieces were floating around on the stripped bed, and she seems to be doing nothing but standing...and staring. Just staring at the multiple parts arrayed on the mattress, but in reality, her mind was soaking in every small detail; before the end of this day, she would know this rifle.

The priest's words cut into her thoughts, and part of her mind focused on his answer. Suddenly, without any indication of movement, she begins to assemble the rifle, screwing and snapping and sliding everything back into place. Her voice rings out with its Irish tint over the click of metal being snapped and slid back together.

"If you had a choice between a new sports car and an original Aston Martin, what would you choose?"

The stock is back in place, and she lifts the thing, all five feet of it, off the bed and pulls back the cocking mechanism, hearing the clean sound of a rifle ready for work. She looks up at the Father just as that beautiful sound rings in the air, giving him that same odd look.

"The sports car is red, if that helps."

Father Anthony Diem laughed just a little bit. This woman was relentless. But if she had been anything but that. Anthony might very well still be that useless self loathing husk sitting on the bed. As such he wouldn't want her to be any different.

He answered her question swiftly giving little time for thought for himself.

"Sports car I suppose. Not only would it be red but it would go great with my sunglasses."

Anthony happily awaited her next response. Or weather it be another question, an order, whatever. Prehaps she wanted to stop talking? That would be fine. But Anthony hoped that he would be able to speak with her later sometime.

She sets the rifle back onto the bed, and then immediately begins taking it apart once more, stripping it down to its basic parts once again. This time, she is faster. This time, she knows her way around the rifle.

The barely healed holes in her body were causing her grief now, and she has to take a moment to breathe slightly, to take in and out small breaths to stretch out the muscles, to loosen the tightness forming in her body. As she runs through that small breathing exercise, she asks yet another inane question, this one even more a non-sequitur than the previous.

"Do you prefer blondes or brunettes?"

Once the question is asked, and she can breathe normally again, she returns to the rifle, quickly forming it back into its original shape, deft hands going through motions only recently learned.

Anthony raised an eye brow at this question. Technically he was as a priest supposed to consider all children of God either his brother and sister or son and daughter. So he would have to answer this from a tactical and careful angle that wouldn't be crossing over the boundaries of his clergy duties and responsibilities. Thus he would have to make his answer articulate and also philosophically and ethically approaching from and appropriate angle. These were thoughts that ran through Anthony's mind a split second before he answered matter of factly with zero explanation.

"Brunetts."

Then asking he quickly asked her a question.

"Why do you like white above the rest of the color spectrum?"

He took a second with that one. And not because he was deciding on hair colour, she assumed. The rifle was being put back together again as she answers his question.

"Because it's pretty."

She waits a moment beofre deciding to actually answer him; he'd been honest thus far, and she figured she owed him a bit in return.

"White is every colour of the spectrum. It is the combination of all light we see, yet it can be broken apart into any of its parts with a simple piece of glass."

Her hands finish their work, and she cocks and then dry fires the gun, satisfied with the result.

"White can also be anything. As a pigment, it can lighten any colour, can be a base for all colours. You can paint over it time and again, and yet in the end, everything painted stands on a base of white."

She sets the rifle on the bed, stretching again as a stitch in her side forces her to take in a sharp breath, which she exhales just as sharply.

"Why do you are weak, undeserving?"

Her golden-rimmed eyes suddenly look up to find his.

"It is written all over you. Why the doubt?"

Anthony listened to her words drinking them in. He was glad that she felt she could tell him at least some things about her life. But then the question came that in the back of his mind he himself didn't want to ask. Or rather his version of the question. Why was he so weak? why was he so undeserving? Why did he doubt himself?

Anthony looked at her and thought a moment before answering.

"I think I am weak sister...Because...Because that is all I have ever seen in myself. I have no great deeds attached to my name. No mighty feats of heroism. No saintly acts of good. Yet I am in the most powerful and holiest organization of warriors in the world. I don't why I was given this chance. I can do almost nothing other than burden my brother's and sisters. I imagine that I just get in the way. The only thing I see hen I look in the mirror is some useless man masquerading as a warrior for God. While he lives and continue to bog down the entire group. His brothers and sisters true warriors of the faith die around him. He useless to stop it no matter who they try and take. Be it people that he has known since childhood, or his friends, or even his own family."

Anthony looked down at his feet and stared blankly as he continued.

"If I have not answered your last question dear Sister I shall answer it now. I doubted everything about myself. I used to doubt that I would ever change. I used to think there was no such thing as hope forme. If left on my own. I'm sure there wouldn't have been."

Anthony continued starring at his feet. He did not ask anther question but awaited her response.

Enter ------ Mikey's quarters

----------------------------

The repairs took a little over an hour, but luckily it passed by quickly. The damage he had sustained had been all but fixed, looking as if he had never been damaged in the first place; and his clothing was as good as new, though the outfit was an exact copy of the previously shredded fabrics he once wore. The blood and gore that once covered his face and body had also been washed and torn away during his repairs, removing any signs that he was ever covered in the blood of a vampire at all.

The thud of his boots against the hallway floor gave the priest away even before he opened the door and reentered the infirmary; his orange shades still on his face and his expression as blank and void of emotion as always. It seemed like the two were getting along, and he was thankful for both Diem and the Machem being enough to keep her situated in one spot without disappearing, but the his auditory sensors were able to pick up parts of what Diem had said before he entered and it didn't sit well with the mechanical being standing before them, but he chose not to interfere.

Well, isn't this a little bit of something. He'd opened up, and is telling her absolute truth, and all she can think is how silly it all sounds. Hefting the rifle, she sets it upright on the wall next to the chair holding her shoulder harness, which is retrieved and set on the bed. Pulling the .45 USP from its lace on the harness, she slides out the magazine and pops out the remaining round in the chamber, placing the entire set on the table near the bed.

Just before he finishes, she reaches out to grasp the hilt of one of her long knives, fingers wrapping around the cool leather just as his final words come. Slowly, deliberately, feeling that this is one person who she can unsheathe this with, she draws the knife from its snug home, a slight hiss coming from the steel gliding along the sheath.

Without glancing at him, she sighs.

"Idiot."

Her eyes fall on him as her hand lays the knife on the bed, facing her, before pulling the other. They are both intricate and beautiful, designs that are possibly words scrolled along the blades, curling and weaving to create a wondrous pattern of gleaming art.

"Truly, you are an idiot."

She returns the harness to the chair.

"Great deeds? Heroism? We are not noble knights on some perishable crusade. We are Iscariot. We move to eradicate abominations and hold back the tide of death that creeps around the edges of life. We don't know great deeds. We know our jobs."

A single red eyebrow raises.

"You know your job, yeah? To fight? Then to die fighting? Nothing more is asked of you."

Her attention returns to her knives.

"Idiot."

She doesn't look to him, but she knows he feels her attention change to him.

Father Miles, comments?"

"Hahahaha!" Father Anthony Diem laughed if he had only met this women before! Such passion! Such life! Was she an angel? Thought Anthony to himself.

Anthony got up off his bed and though he wobbled a little he did not grab ahold of anything. He wuld stand or fall on his own. At least for the moment being. She had lifted hi high enough. It was time she saw tha tit had paid off.

"You truly are an amazing women Sister. You are so amazing that even my clouded mind agreed with you. It agreed with you before we even stated asking each other questions. Your honesty, Your bravery, Your thoughts, All of them sing the wisdom of the glorious saints themselves! It is because you are so amazing, so inspiring, So moving. That I am forced to disagree with you. Deny that. Prove you wrong. But of course you would rather not be right at the moment wouldn't you?"

Anthony looked at her and he also glanced at the father who had entered the room.

"If I may before you say anything."

Anthony returned his gaze to Meabh.

"Those the thoughts I had given you were indeed true. Were. True. Remember how I mentioned change? That already happened. You asked why I thought I was weak. Well that was why. But no longer. You asked why I thought myself undeserving? I poured out my heart you. Or rather what use to be in my heart. Then as I pour out to you the closest thing I could to the truth you accuse me of being an idiot. Even though you asked the question. And for that Sister! I love you. You are impossible to take from your path. Impossible to stop. It is as I said before Inspiring. It is even more honoring that you would do all of this for me? Perhaps I still don't trust myself but I trust you sister. So in order to prove my trust in you. I changed myself. Let it never be said that we are not the true rulers of our hearts. For we are."

Anthony now smiling like he hadn't for years continued.

"So those answers I gave you? They were from the old Anthony. The Anthony who you asked. The only one with the answers to the question because he was the only one here whom those questions applied to. For he was the one with those issues. For this Anthony, myself. Who I have become and will try to stay. Has no such doubts. No such fears. No such weaknesses. And I have you to thank for that my glorious sister."

Anthony taking a breath finished.

"And Believe me sister I know my job. I know what have to do. And I know that I will not fail."

Antony his rant done. Stopped his grinning and his intense gazing. His face relaxed into an easy smile his face said. I hope this is what you wanted from me.

Michel wasn't going to say anything regardless of if Diem asked him to wait or not, nothing aside from the usual "negative" in response Meabhs asking of if he had anything to add. Miles had nothing to say on the matter anymore. He found Diem's previous disposition, and his current one to some extent, as illogical, and that was covered by what Sister Meabh had said; so there was really no reason to repeat it. He took his steps back, finding a place beside the door where he would stay.

--------

OOC: Short is short.

He is enthusiastic to say the least. His speech was rousing, and very heartfelt, but it really came down to one thing: he was listening. Which is a good thing, in her experience. But he still had some ways to go, although he seemed very passionate about getting there.

Her breath hitches again, and a muttered curse in a fluid language escapes her lips. Looking up at his for a moment, she looks as though she is going to say something, but stops herself. Instead, she looks back down to her blades. Sliding her fingers down one, she lifts it from the bed and hands it out to him hilt first.

She doesn't explain, just waits for him to take it.

Anthony was wary around the blood. She seemed...Attached to these blades or something similar.

He looked at her wondering what exactly he was doing. He made a mental note of where the blades were in case she decided to play a game of cricket with them. All the while he starred into her face. Wondering if she would show any kind of emotion. If Anthony was able to get his hand onto the handle of the blade. Then he would make sure she knew that he appreciated the gesture. For obviously it was rare and great honor. Otherwise she wouldn't make this such a big deal.

So Anthony's hand slowly but surely made its way to the blades handle. If she allowed him to grab it. He would thank her. If not, He would do his best to complete this task set by her to him.

As soon as his fingers touched the hilt, the blade was released and was his to catch. She payed no more attention to him, turning to the tray set on a rolling table next to the bed. Her eyes alight on a scalpel, and her hand sweeps it up, cradling it for a moment before twisting it about her fingers.

It was a small thing, but it looked somehow wicked in her hand.

She rounds the bed, standing just shy of the her intricate blade's length should it be extended in his hand, and sets upon him a look that is vacant of nearly everything except a sharp cunning in her grey eyes. The Irishwoman extends her arm, scalpel in hand, and cocks an eyebrow.

"Disarm me."

She is entirely serious, and the look she gives him brooks no argument to the contrary of the actions she orders.

Anthony smiles as he grips the blade. He looks at it and then he bows his head quickly and short. Not proper but he needed to be quick and not take his eyes off of her. Yet he still wished to show her that he was honored beyond words. She wanted him to be an Iscariot eh. Very well. He shall be an Iscariot. Anthony reached for his bible with his other hand.

"As you wish sister. But first. A little something from the good book to protect us yes?"

As Anthony opened and the book flipped open he threw it at her and it exploded first pages swirling around her eyes. Then a wall erected between him and her completely masking her vision of him. The pages which swarmed around her fell to the ground. However while she could not see him He could not guarantee that she wouldn't have seen the pages he sent towards her go behind her while he thought she was distracted. She might see through this tactic but Anthony thought that a back attack was the way to go.

Good. He improvises.

The pages came at her in a flurry, and on instinct she brings her arm back to her body,scalpel held across her chest. She's read about his ability, and he'd told her as much, but it was still slightly surprising and not just a little curious to her. the pages never touched her, showing he had a level of skill, and though she couldn't see, she could feel. The pages, they moved around her in a fluttering dance, then she felt them sweep around behind her, whipping around her as they flew past her vision, distorting her view of him. But then they fell away from her sight, a wall before and...pages behind.

It was a good tactic, but they were too few in number from what she could tell; she'd seen Sister Veronica's ability, and they were oddly similar. If she could go off of what she saw during the previous fight, then there is no way he could have traveled behind her with so few pages.

Interesting.

He was either behind the wall, or using it to move.

So she stands there, waiting for him to move. Her sense of the room grew, taking in the pages, the beds, the tables, even Father Miles. She could remember the layout of the room, and knew where he would be in it should he be behind the wall, or where he could move without making too much noise. if he tried to op a bed or slide around a curtain, he would be heard, or seen.

Of course, she is basing this on how Sister Veronica's pages worked.

Simply put, she waits. Waits for him to make his next move, one that would be coming soon, assuming he assumed the distraction worked.

He waited only a moment or so before making his move. The wall of his split in half and one side traveled to the right of Meabh. The other the left. Tony traveled on the left. While both walls would go on either side of her Anthony decided to do something simple. Yet something little people actually did.


Go down the middle. He moved with the left wall for only a moment and then sprung from the side of it in between both walls. He sprung forward and Anthony attempted a grab to Meabh's wrist wielding the blade. He sent all of his weight on this grab which was heading right. He would try and grab and using his strength and weight he would attempt to pull her arm slightly forward and bent so that her elbow would be taunt. He would work on disarming her if that succeeded.

And then that happened.

The wall split before her, and the man was nowhere to be seen. Her body relaxes, muscles ready for an attack; it wouldn't come from behind, not now, which left only three options remaining: the front, the right, or the left. And then suddenly, he leaps from the left, taking hold of her arm. Her body, relaxed and poised, allows him to manipulate her, but she flows with the attack, twisting around until she is facing the same direction he is. Her arm is still bent at an odd angle, and he has quite the grip on it, but that wouldn't matter.

She uses that momentum, the rush he had been in to take hold of her arm, and directs it where she wants it. Her back impacts his chest, and in less that a heartbeat, her hand is behind his neck, and she is pulling forward and down, her rip not as strong as his, but she is manipulating his movement now, so it didn't need to be.

He has her arm, but he is about to go over her shoulder and end up on his back.

Anthony's attack was working well up until the point where she carried with his momentum and Judo threw onto his back. Or rather tried. Anthony knowing she had years of experience more than he did and much training in martial arts expected this type of rebuttal. She threw alright but as soon as he felt her hand on his neck a multitude of pages flowed from his chest pocket and swished him away right after the first parts of his body hit the floor. Which hurt but not as much as it would have had that attack gone completely through.

Anthony reappeared behind her and attempted a half nelson on her. Where he would subdue the knife hand and use his other hand to pry open hers and grab the knife. He made sure not to stab Meabh with her own knife.

Worth a shot.

Popped a few stitches though.

Grunting with the pain and the sudden grip around her neck - damn pain and its repercussions - she frowns and sucks in a breath before his grip took hold. Her blade, her beloved blades, was against her now, and as his arms closed in on her, she almost smiles.

Almost.

Suddenly, she exhales rapidly, and whips her leg up in a kick aimed for his face. The one over her shoulder. Her core muscles - bruised and sore - lifted her enough for her foot to be able to reach his head. It was a swift move, one no one ever suspects, one few could pull off.

In the same second, the scalpel snaps up and stabs him in the hand holding the blade, intent on causing him to release the knife.

Anthony dodged her kick easily enough. The head was a small target. However Her kick did force him very far away from him. As he dodged her kick and released  all holds on her he his was sliced open by the scalpel. Had he not jumped backwards his hand would have been skewered through. As it was even though as fast as he could he dived to the left and backwards she scrapped the side of his hand.

Anthony's hand bled profusely. Good. He thought to himself. Anthony's pages soared around him and he was quickly taken in front of Meabh at a five foot distance. He flung more pages in her face. Then more pages. Then more pages. He would continue throwing them at her until he had used them all. Then when the room was covered in them he would be able to call them up from any where. However in the end of this stream of pages Anthony charged forward inside of them and attempting to discombobulate her he not only snapped his fingers in her eyes but used his bloody hand to do it so that she would be even more blinded. Then continuing with that motion his hand reached down for hers and he attempted to grab the blade of the scalpel hard as he could. Then wedge his thumb into her grip and then his fist knifed hand he pushed her backwards and onto his legs which he put behind hers. As his leg slipped behind hers his fist and the knife but hit her waist and his elbow hit around her shoulder. Hopefully tripping her. If she fell he would hope that her weight and his force both pulling away from him would be enough to rip this blade from his grasp.