Match of the Millennium

Description: Zach Glenn has been set on a quest to find Nakoruru's sacred cloth. The trail leds to on Bolivar Diez.

[BOLIVAR]
The assassination last night was a grueling effort, and Bolivar is still recovering. After nearly dying at Sorcha's hands, he managed to seal the witch into the hellish landscape she was doomed to the moment she made a deal with chaos. The battle was not fun, although he completed his purpose. He can't help but ponder what clockwork cogs of the world behind reality put all this in motion, but after that bout, he's pondering Shang Tsung's belief in the Elder Gods more carefully. The Island, which he once regarded as a supernatural freakshow that merely disgusted him, now places him in a low, animal terror.

Bolivar sits in his room with the door open, on his plain white cot. There's a pile of rags in the corner, and his other suit ready on a small ironing board and iron he's brought with him, a meager plastic bucket beside with a container of cloth cleaning soap. His supplies in his second suitcase. He's presently looking in a mirror, wincing as he bandages the left side of his face, over his cheek, ear, mouth, and even his eye. Black burns from chaos magick are still present, unbandaged as of yet.

[ZACH GLENN]
Zach Glenn was on a quest, plain and simple. Seeking out a piece of magical cloth at the request of a warrior lost in time is no easy task. Luckily, Zach had assistance, in the form of a guardian shade. Glen had been questing about, looking for the woman known as Sorcha who was the last known bearer of the item in question. The shade had used arcane abilities at his disposal to track the person responsible for her... death? Banishment? It was hard to make out for certain, but all that remained of the chaos sorceress was a pile of ash... and no magic hankie. Glen was eventually able to track down the man responsible, and led his charge to the room in which Diez was staying.

The former Marine knocks on the door politely, waiting to be let in.

[BOLIVAR]
Bolivar slowly looks to the side with his good eye, seeing Zach Glenn in the doorway. He spots the stance of a former professional soldier, compared to Bolivar's unusual blend of law student, prison convict, and special forces assassin. He frowns briefly, before a faint wince comes across his face as he feels his burnt up mouth on his left side wrench against nerve endings that used to be beneath lips. "Come in," he says, perhaps too trusting, as he looks back to the mirror, rolling the bandage around his brow to keep the bandages sealed to his face in place, moving the roll of antibacterial cotton-plastic hybrid around his head several times, before sticking it in place and folding it under a mass of the material.

"The name is Bolivar. What can I do for you." It's not a question, but a tired statement. If this is an assassin from Outworld, he knows he is dead.

[ZACH GLENN]
Zach's only reaction to the man's injuries is a sharply inhaled breath. He centers himself quickly, he's literally had worse on this island. He holds up empty hands before slowly moving them towards pockets. Zach recognizes the stance, the gait, the bearing of the man. Bolivar is a fighter, and likely a killer. So no sudden moves. He comes up with a pen and paper.

He writes quickly before showing the pad to the taller man. "Can you read and speak English?" the note reads.

[BOLIVAR]
Bolivar nods quietly, lowering his burned arms to his semi-scorched legs, a pair of white boxer shorts all he's wearing. His eyes glide about the room conspiratorily, knowing that a wire or bug on Shang Tsung's Island may not constitute an actual mechanical implement. It is beyond his training, but apparently, this individual knows what to do. He lowers his arms to his legs, shifting on the bed to partially face Zach, signalling his comfort. It is not an assassin, it appears.

[ZACH GLENN]
Zach lets out a slow breath; his command of other languages (aside from Japanese) would not have enabled any conversations as easily. He takes the notepad back, writing furiously before showing the pad to the man again.

"You fought a woman with four arms recently. Referred to herself as Sorcha the Mighty Terrible. She was in possession of an item I am trying to find: a white cloth with red trim." There is a quick sketch of the trim pattern to illustrate. "Do you, by any chance, know what happened to it?"

[BOLIVAR]
Bolivar's eye scan with a speed that bespeaks of a high intelligence, the rigorous procedure of his remaining eye despite the pain a telling juxtaposition to his history. "Her blood caught fire and cooked her to cinders. I applied holy water and gave her the Lord's Prayer, plus a request to Christ for her soul." He says this quietly, looking up at Zach with a strange, haunted look, before he looks down at the backs of his hands. "At the end, whatever controlled the girl left her, and allowed me to win. I expected as much. It is the way it goes."

[ZACH GLENN]
Zach scowls at this. He takes the pad back, scribbling furiously. "But she didn't have the cloth?" the writing asks, the script a little ragged in Zach's emotional haste. There are arrows pointing back to the pattern on the sketch. His eyes are locked on Bolivar, as if trying to looks past the flesh and into the man's soul.

Apparently this is important to the man in the longcoat.

[BOLIVAR]
Bolivar shakes his head, very slowly, staring back. Zach can sense inside Bolivar a history of hardship beyond his control. And the fact that, while Bolivar wishes to help, he is very much a human machine from his experiences, one that questions his orders but nonetheless is compelled to comply. And then, like a whale cresting through a black ocean to show itself, he quietly lets Zach know that he has ulterior motives than Earth Realm's, and it is not his doing. He looks down and away to the side from Zach, the proverbial whale sinking back into the churning waves of Bolivar's tortured psyche. But still, his exterior is cool and calm.

[ZACH GLENN]
Zach closes his eyes, and lets out a long but oddly silent breath. He writes one last message on the pad. There is a pause before he adds more. "I am sorry to have bothered you, then," it reads. "If you want, I can help patch you up a bit, maybe speed the healing process along."

[BOLIVAR]
Bolivar gestures at his wounded left eye, or at least, the space on the bandage above it. He says nothing else, knowing that his orders from the War Crimes Tribunal's orders have damned someone to a horrible fate before redemption could be sought. He knows it is a jagged edge he walks, choosing between the safety of others from the target, and the target's own destiny.

[ZACH GLENN]
Zach scribbles again. "I am literally incapable of speaking," it reads. "My ears work fine. I don't follow your meaning."

[BOLIVAR]
Bolivar tilts his head down and slowly pulls the bandages back, showing his lid, charred shut over a damaged eyeball. "I need my eye back, for knife fighting, and avoiding long distance attacks," he explains quietly.

[ZACH GLENN]
Zach blinks once at the wound, then motions for the man to sit down. He looks about, checking the stash of supplies. This... this is more than he has ever tried to patch up. He writes a quick note. "Obviously going to need my hands free for this. It might sting a little. Or it might not. Or it might not even work," is shown to Bolivar for just enough time before the pad and pen go into his pockets.

Zach presses his palms together, rubbing them gently against one another as they take on an odd green glow.

[BOLIVAR]
Bolivar shifts on his cot as he sits, getting into a more comfortable position and leaning forward, shifting his arms forward on his thighs and letting his hands dangle between his knees. His head tilts downwards, letting Zach do his work as Diez waits quietly.

[ZACH GLENN]
Zach lets another slow and silent breath before placing one hand over the wound and another over the man's heart before releasing a gentle flow of power. The energy is not painful, or overwhelming, but oddly warm and supportive. Zach is not so much forcibly healing the man's wounds, so much as lending Bolivar the power to do so on his own a bit more readily.

He won't force the matter; it won't even /work/ without Bolivar's conscious consent in the matter.

[BOLIVAR]
Bolivar resists, at first, being a Latino law student in Mississippi prison with a life sentence for killing a major skinhead leader's son, not a plus. Luckily for Bolivar, he already knew Navy SEAL hand-to-hand from his caretaker in Miami, so it's just a matter of finding the right Christian convert to protect after breaking a few septums with thumb swipes into metal cafeteria counters during breakfast. Zach can feel Bolivar relax and release his resistance, and the eye quietly returns to sight, sans the eyelid's function, of course. There's a quiet, bleary sound, as his eyelid forces its way open and he can see with full depth perception again.

[ZACH GLENN]
Zach pulls his hands away slowly, peering into the restored eye. He grins faintly, nodding once as he straightens up. He pulls the pad and pen out, and scribbles.

"That ought to do it. If you could be on the lookout for that cloth, I would be grateful," it reads. There is a scribble, and Bolivar might or might not see through the scribble to read 'keep an eye out for.'

[BOLIVAR]
Bolivar sighs in relief as he peels the bandages off his eye, just leaving the one on his mouth and cheek that prevents him from drooling constantly out the side of his mouth. "Of course," he says with a low sound, mostly relief, with just a little foreboding. What has he meddled in?

[ZACH GLENN]
Probably nothing anymore, really. Zach was out of leads. He takes a deep breath, and shoves the pad and pen back in his pockets as he heads out the door. He waves over his shoulder before departing completely.

Log created on 18:32:07 10/23/2016 by Zach Glenn, and last modified on 20:45:56 10/23/2016.