Description: There is a small break in the action in the immediate aftermath of that encounter in the bank. Howard Rust thinks to catch up with someone he's been working with in the aftermath of the Gaia Tournament fight to let him know he has to leave Metro City, following the trail of their current location to Metro General Hospital... where he catches wind of a current patient of no small concern - Zach Glen. Zach, himself, has far greater concerns in the wake of an encounter where not only did he lack the upper hand... it may have cost him far more dearly than anyone can hope to replace.
Metro General Hospital
31AUG2014
Evening
The main wards of Metro General hospital have been running at full capacity since the storms started. Emergency response teams have been strained nearly to the point of breaking, bringing injured and sick people in from the elements. The mood is one of dire tension throughout the building. One of the wards has populated almost exclusively by law enforcement and emergence responseders wounded in the line of duty. There is, however, an exception.
Zach Glen is neither a cop nor a paramedic, but he has become something of a force for good in Metro City. He was wounded during a fight that might have been considered a misunderstanding until the lethal ordinance was brought into play. The psion is currently resting in bed, under light medication. Heartrate and breathing are monitored; saving Zach's life was a close thing apparently.
Ever since that encounter at the bank... well, no it's been ever since that chance reunion with Igniz some indeterminate number of days ago by now, everything's gone upside down. Now he has an opportunity to go back to Southtown... the stage seems set to return to people who must be out and out afraid of what must have happened to him. It's been nigh-impossible to get any sort of communication through the crises that have popped up all over the world, each one more severe and improbable than the last.
Every three hours, a helicopter's set up to help people evacuate over to the United Nations... but his conscience wouldn't see him leave quietly without letting some people he's already worked with here know. It's been difficult enough navigating the horrid rains, clutching a torn but re-stuffed mass of plastic as the sole real protection against the rains. It is full of the money he needs to get back to Southtown, to pretty much as normal a life as he can be said to have given all that goes on with him.
He tracks down the whereabouts of some guy whose name is ultimately irrelevant outside of an established authority on the fortification process against rising waters to one of the functioning hospitals that may not be standing if this nastiness keeps up for much longer - or gets worse.
He hears murmurs of a completely different name present. Two syllables that are impossible for him not to hear, given the seeming distress and worry those syllables are being spoken.
Zach Glen.
All but dropping the notion of seeing who he meant to originally, Howard inquires about what happened to Zach, his whereabouts... and some time later... a creaky, poppy knee is heard just outside of where Zach rests before the rest of him shows back up. He absolutely reeks, from having waded through all the disgusting pooled water everywhere. His distinctive sound and newly picked-up scents announces the rest of him...
"Zach?" Howard's voice asks, concerned, from the doorway, as he's lead inside, a shiny length of pipe in one hand, a mysteriously stuffed mass of many layers of plastic in the other, and clothing that seems more appropriate to a day out on the beach. (He still seems to have a clean, white stripe of sunscreen going across his nose.)
Zach opens his eyes slowly, and looks like ten miles of bad road. His left arm is underneath the blanket still as he tries to rub at his eyes with his right hand. He stops short when the IV line gives a bit of protest. He is silent for a long moment, and while he tries to smile at the entrance of his friend, it seems like Zach is just too exhausted to even manage that.
"Hey," he finally croaks as he tries to sit up a little straighter. "Long time no see, man. I'd stand, but..." Zach gestures vaguely at himself with his right hand.
"Zach, I, I heard that--" Howard approaches as Zach sits up, moving ever closer. He probably shouldn't put his hand on the bed, or anywhere near Zach given where he's /been/. And yet, as he draws close...
"'s been... crazy, you, you wouldn't believe the... the beginnin--" No, of course he would, who is he kidding? What have these two been through together? Howard shakes his head. "Ah, I'll... I'll get into that later, how are you, ah... shit, I, I woulda brought some chips, or, or... or that, that vending machine pizza, y-you liked... pepperoni, right?" He looks off to the side, as though wondering if one would magically be in the building - a place of medicine and healing - but of course that's just silly wishful thinking.
"'s... a mess, down there, you... you don't need me to, uh, say that," it's all pretty self-evident, "are you--"
"Ran into a nutjob that thought that using a grenade launcher in a fight was a good idea," he says hoarsely. He doesn't look Rust in the eye. "I think..." Zach fumbles for words. "The campus is a mess, I've heard. Won't know... when... if it can be fixed. Not until the storm passes." He takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. He looks out the window at the wind and rain pounding on the side of the building.
"If it can't be fixed," he says, "I don't know what I'm going to do." There's... weight to that statement. Something is not being said.
Howard visibly grimaces at the window nearby. How much longer is that window going to withstand the abuse the weather heaps on Metro City? Last thing he'd want to see is Zach - or anyone else - being sprayed in glass and other such shrapnel with the strain becomes too much for it to bear.
To say nothing about the grenade launcher thing.
"Blew up... blew up your school, didn't he," he murmurs. Structural damage is nothing new in the world of fighting. Misunderstanding Zach's specific words and meaning. Howard exhales loudly as he carefully sets Ol' Rusty down on the floor - and also the plastic-encased... thing... whatever it is.
It has a piece of duct tape affixed to it in the center for some reason.
"Look... look, Zach," Howard reaches out, but retracts his hand as though realizing that yeah, maybe touching a recovering guy when you've just waded through hell-knows-what over the last couple of days is probably not the best idea. He's amazed he was even allowed this close to someone recovering, in retrospect, as he circles around the bed.
"When, when this all passes... I-I'll do what I can to, to swing by and... and fix it, okay?" He says, continuing to misunderstand the real meaning of Zach's words. "Besides, th-there really aren't any better carpenters than--"
"He didn't get near it," he says quietly. "Assuming it's still there. If it's not..." A sigh. "...then I'll need a new line of work."
Zach slides his left arm out from under the blanket. It's wrapped up to the elbow in thick bandaging, but there's something just /off/ about it. "Professional fighting's not much of an option anymore." It might take Rust a moment to realize that the proportions of the bandaging aren't right.
Especially when Zach lays them next to his right hand on his lap, and the two don't touch.
Howard looks entirely nonplussed at the correction, raising a hand as if to say 'wait, what, you just said, hold on, what--'
He stops when Zach shows his left arm, with the accompanying clarification about his prospects of going into the ring ever again. Sure, he could pop off and say 'hey, remember what happened during the Southtown Invasion with my hand?' AS he's not wearing work gloves, the scarring on his right hand is plainly visible even now.
Zach doesn't need his hand bare to communicate the difference in magnitude, when Zach puts the hands close together.
The silence as Howard lowers his own hand probably speaks volumes more than anything he could say.
"Catching grenades is bad for you," Zach says simply. He looks like he's trying to make a joke of it. The smile is weak, comes nowhere near his eyes.
And to think no more than a few hours ago Howard nearly had a bunch of grenades stuck to his borrowed construction work vest explode just shy of him, still showering him with a short-lived burning sensation and a nasty concussive force against that outstretched arm of his.
That's when it dawns to him, perhaps, how lucky he is he didn't lose a finger or two from that engagement, as the aging American man's head lowers, looks to the side... what's there to say that can console him? His grip on his right hand's weaker, weak enough to the point that it's made it that much harder for him to work in his craft when he has to do things like very carefully grasp and adjust small things, or what have you.
The hand is reasonably intact, in his case.
Zach's, is...
...
...
Howard shakes his head. "I... I... I can't even." He clears his throat. "'scuse me, I, I can't... c-can't even..."
Zach shrugs weakly. "Meanwhile, things are going to shit out there. I can /feel/ it," he says quietly, "All that fear and anger out there, all that helplessness, pressing against me." Zach shudders. "Wasn't much I could do for it then," he finally says. "Not sure what I can do about it now."
He can't even say he knows what that feels like, in full - to know that your hand's probably destroyed beyond repair. Or to know what Zach - or any psion - goes through when in an environment full of negative, terrible emotion. The way all that has to wear on them... and the worst of all, to him.
The fact he knows he can't stay long.
Turning his head to the side, he makes a couple of faces as he tries to think about what there is to say - what could he suggest? He wouldn't want to drag Zach out through the rain over to Rolento. Moving beyond the fact that the prodigal soldier has been entirely sincere about assisting in the recovery and transportation of civilians to safety, he is not exactly a man one would casually recommend to someone like one might a chiropractor, or a hairdresser.
Zach's hand is almost assuredly too far gone even for him.
To say nothing as to how Zach would react to the idea to begin with, given that man's reputation and known actions.
There really isn't an easy answer in any of this.
"Zach, I," Howard finally speaks up as he rubs at the back of his head, thinking about what to say - he only goes as far as deciding he needs to say something.
"I..."
Zach finally turns to face Rust, shadows under emerald eyes showing. The psion is too taxed, too exhausted physically and mentally, to be angry or even impatient. He waits for Rust to gather his thoughts. He knows the larger man is not what most people would call glib.
Grunt. Mumbling. Further proving the point behind Zach's knowledge that Rust is simply not the most polished speaker among his friends. He takes in another deep breath as he slowly turns to face back to Zach.
"Y-You're in the company of... of good people, Zach," he says, "I, I'm not just... I-I'm not just saying that." He shakes his head. He probably is just saying that to buy time as he thinks about what else to say, even with the sincerity of wanting to bring some kind of consolation, somehow.
"It's... it's a god damn mess out there, but... Metro, Metro's got... 's got the best mayor keeping it together as, as best he can, I mean... shit," Howard throws his hands up. "Soon as, soon as I knew where... where everyone was... movin', working from... and, and, I... I don't mean just now, it's..."
Howard clears his throat as he stands up a little straighter, working out a kink in his back. (Huh, from his back? Must be a newer one. Maybe someone should suggest a new chiropractor to him...)
"Th-these days, Zach... people're... 're a lot better 'bout... helping people do work, even if... even if they can't... see, or, or hear, or... shit, someone with your name, I-I wouldn't be surprised if... if research firms or, or whoever else hit you up for, y'know, the latest... aides, to that," he tiptoes around saying the exact nature of the physical disability both of them are already full aware of.
But is that really assuring? His voice trails off as he seems to struggle to say much more about it.
"Maybe," he says dully. He doesn't sound convinced. Rust has seen Zach pretty banged up from fights and more-than-fights, but this? This easily tops the 'worst shape Zach has been in' list by orders of magnitude.
The boxer lays back, closing his eyes as he tries to fight off oncoming fatigue. Whatever else might be wrong with him, Zach is /not/ about to let himself pass out in front of Rust.
Zach doesn't have a lot to say; he hasn't really had a lot of time to process all of this himself.
He can tell he's losing him. It's not easy to reassure someone who might have - no, definitely - lost something forever. Howard tries to lean in a bit closer as he moves to the side of Zach's bed, raising a hand but thinking better once more of reaching out to touch him when he is probably already on a bunch of antibiotics for any potential infections from having... that, happen out in those conditions.
"J-Just... just hold strong, okay? Keep a... keep a... a good thought." Easier said than done, he knows it, as he looks to the window. His entire body twinges in pain from the changes in pressure. He can tell that storm is not about to let up any time soon.
Not to mention how little time he has before he has to hurry back to make sure a potential incident doesn't happen (...again), plus the extraction...
"I-I'm sorry, I... I really am," he trails off as he looks away again... and bows his head, "Zach, I... I don't have much time here, I... I've been out of, of Southtown for some days, and... and the people there, I-I know they're... they're gonna be worried sick. I can't even... reach 'em, right now."
Plus, that whole Fuji eruption crisis... or the seas near Thailand flash freezing...
"IT's... it's pretty bad, I, I can't lie 'bout that, Zach, but... it's...."
"It's not the end of the world."
Those are extremely bold words to say in the face of so many amazing catastrophes that have sprung up, back to back, changing the course of human history right then and there.
"...Two hands or, or one, Zach, there's... there's still gonna be people who, who need you. Just, ah... just..."
The corner of Zach's lip twitches just a bit. "Lemme get some rest," he mumbles, with a faint trace of good humor. "Docs gave me allll the good drugs." The psion is still worn out, exhausted. He's suffered some serious trauma and the environment, while physically safe and clean, is not really the best place for anyone with psychic sensitivity to try and rest. Too many strong emotions here for that.
There's plenty to say.
Rust's voice is highly apologetic, knowing one of his very best friends, right there, is suffering when he might need him the most to be there. He wants to say why - but he knows that going over the laundry list of circumstances that saw him end up in Metro to begin with is just going to add to his worry. To his despair.
The request to get some rest... it's met with a slow nod. Howard backs away and thinks to reach down and tear off the duct tape from that plastic... bag thing, but stops. No, everyone involved is going to do the best they can. Money does not magically make things appear out of thin air. There's great people in Metro doing what they can when they're all banding together with what limited communication channels are available to them, at great personal cost. It's inspiring, even when coming across the occasional looter or other unsavory opportunistic individual.
Mike Haggar does his job well - so long as he's willing, there won't be any opponent in elections that could take that office from him. Haggar would probably have to fight his way through his own city's citizens to leave his position as it is...
Rust scoops back up the shiny new pipe and bag alike in both arms, taking in a deep breath one more time.
"I-I'll see you soon, okay... okay, Zach?" He says, not backing away until he gets some sort of affirmation. Even then, what is there more to say between the two? They both clearly understand the predicament, and where they're both at. "Soon as... soon as I can."
Soon as this all blows ov--
...Good thing he's not saying that out loud. 'Soon as all this blows over,' in the middle of probably the single worst storm in human history, that's worthy of a shooting...
Zach is already emitting a faint snore. Apparently that short talk wore the psion out somthing fierce.
Log created on 23:11:44 08/31/2014 by Rust, and last modified on 01:14:48 09/01/2014.