I don't need to be kind to the armies of night

[apothegm]

That had been a long, long drop. He never actually felt the water at the end of the icy plunge, as unexpected a sensation as the sun-warmed stones beneath his back, and as thoroughly welcome as the lack of an enraged, criminal mastermind in his grip. Flailing his way upright was a terrible mistake– the rest of the intact sutures in his shoulder neatly pop, and though still half frozen, that is not a pleasant sensation at all.

It won't take him long to find the helpful, welcoming instructions of the place, the how-to's and cheery pamphlets. Is he dead? All his numerous aches say otherwise.

Satisfied at present with the oddness of his situation, and that his surroundings seem to be going nowhere in a hurry, he'll offer up his question, "How far have you gone, to commit an act of vengeance?"

After a beat, as Holmes shoves the heel of his palm against his fine, if bedraggled dress coat, coming away with a smear of red:

"...and is there a doctor in residence?"

Comments

[chiaro_oscuro]

Ben's...not exactly comfortable with the first question. Vindictiveness has always been one of his most prominent negative character traits, that and his nasty temper. He has a better handle on them now, but that doesn't mean they aren't there. He's been reminded of that in the Nexus a couple times. Improvement is a process.

That, and the fact that the other man's visibly injured is a more immediate concern for him. "Yes. There are a few places to go for medical care - the clinic and Healing Hands, both in the downtown area. How serious is it?" It's hard to tell, since Ben can't see the wound, only the blood on the stranger's hand. But the sight of red is enough. "You should have that looked at."

Ben considers offering to try and heal the wound, but he's still a little cautious. The only time he used Force healing on a person, he died - but this man is in good enough condition to at least stand and walk, and Ben himself is in much better health. He decides to at least ask. It would be the right thing to do.

"If you like, I can fix that for you, at least some of it. I'm not a doctor, but I have a few tricks of my own." He offers a hand. "You can call me Ben."

[the_rebel_son]

There have been many new arrivals since Lucifer first came here himself. A newcomer perusing the pamphlets gets hardly a second glance from the angel, but that question stops him in his tracks. Stops him so quickly that the feathers in his white wings audibly rustle.

He can't help the laughter that follows as he stares, brow lifted in amusement. "Of all the residents to ask that question..."

His eyes are drawn to the blood. "I am not a doctor but I can assist, either the old fashion way or as a healer."

[tr1ckortreat]

The face was familiar but the voice wasn't quite matching up to the usual confident American accent the man spoke in. Loki's brow knitted in confusion at seeing the man here within the Nexus but he wasn't quite himself. He, himself was dressed in his usual Asgardian green, black and gold armoured attire.

Loki approached the man who looked like Stark with a wary step, allowing his eyes to grace over his appearance. The blood on his coat was another thing. He was injured. Then there was his attire; it wasn't quite Stark's style.

"Stark? I have only arrived here myself not a day or two ago, so cannot offer you assistance in regards to a doctor. Unless, you give me permission to use my magic to create bindings to stop the bleeding for now."

Would he help this man? Loki was not the type to offer charitable aid to Stark, since he had caused the Chitauri invasion not long ago and had destroyed his front room with the help of Hulk. Yet, that was past history and this man was obviously some sort of twin brother, perhaps? One who had an accent unlike his own.

[eumenis]

This is not an angel of mercy. In fact, to a man from Sherlock's time and place, she might even be a disturbing figure, a slender woman in leather and tight-wrapped linen, jingling with belts, left arm bearing some kind of heavy mechanical monstrosity as a prosthesis. There's a big man in matching gear following behind her with a laden hand-cart, but both pause to look at the question.

The woman's sharp eyes flick over him, taking in the state of his clothes as well as the blood. "Pretty fucking far," she answers. "About three days' drive and then back again like hell was nipping at my heels. Might have been worth it."

"Oi, Crux," she calls over her shoulder at her companion, "fetch me a kit and a canteen from the bikes. Apple if we have any."

And then back at the stranger, she points to his shoulder. "I'm not a doctor but there are plenty around. But you better sit and stanch that before you bleed yourself dizzy. Carrying you to a clinic is a harder sell than walking you to one."

[adregem]

"Whoa."

Roland stumbles upon the odd, scruffy man and immediately notices his injury.

"I'd offer you a welcome basket, but not sure what good that'll do right now." He says with little amusement. "Let's talk about that vengeance stuff for when you're not bleeding out in the open." His keen brown eyes make a quick assessment of the damage - the primary source of bleeding, and if he was injured elsewhere - and after he's done his duty, he pulls out a Three-Leaf Soreaway medicinal herb from his Arms Band. It's been prepared for consumption in advance, ground into a fine paste and placed in a convenient glass jar.

"I've got something to help with that, just enough to tide you over till I can escort you to the clinic." He leans his arm against his hip jutting to one side as he speaks next. "I'm Roland. Don't worry about pleasantries. It can wait till you're better." Not one for mincing words when help was needed, Roland waits for the man to steady himself further before continuing.

[wouldilietoyou]

There's one concerned teenager.

"I'm not a doctor, but I have some knowledge, maybe I could help! What happened?!"