Log; Ongoing

[bitingnightmare.livejournal.com]

When; wee hours of Sept. 11
Rating; PG? language? gore?
Characters; Scarab (noh_dancer), The Corinthian (bitingnightmare), John Constantine (silkcutremix)
Summary; TBA
Log;
It wasn't so much the pain, rather The Corinthian wanted that wound healed as soon as possible. He felt vulnerable having to hide it, for it reminded him of what had happened, what still made little sense to him. For now he'd settled with just queling the headache in the shower, once spotless towel now completely tainted. The laughing magician was still dumpster diving for who knows what, a mop did he say? Maybe John would leave him alone after sniffing out some grub. The Nightmare felt... he didn't know how he felt, only what he needed. Because Scarab had mentioned stitching, he hoped she could employ her specialized skills on this visit.

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[noh-dancer.livejournal.com]

Scarab didn't have the faintest clue where 'The Coloseum' was, nor much of an idea where to even begin looking.
Instead she had pretty much shut her eyes and thought about finding Alex, then let the city's built in navigation do it's thing.

Strangely ( or maybe not so strange, considering everything else in this asylum) this method worked far better than any she had attempted so far, because in less than two blocks worth of walking Scarab found herself in a part of the city she had never seen before.

The sign above the pub entrance made her grin.
She made a mental note to bring Faye and Frederick here soon, under better circumstances, obviously.

After finding such a landmark, locating the afore mentioned apartement wasn't much trouble at all.
She did consider knocking first, but if Alex was in need of doctoring, she thought it best to save him the trouble of having to stand, walk and open the door when he knew she was on her way.

She let herself in, and immeadiately noticed the rather copious amounts of blood smeared along the floor, and cooling on the ratty couch.

Sweet merciful fuck!

She hastily dropped her bag, and rooted through it to pull out an EMT worker's Flambeau box.
After her first run-in with old pointy head, she had decided to nurture the paranoia of being under stocked in medical supplies, and after a good deal of combing the city for suitable supplies ( as well as stealing enough drugs, sterile bandages, hyposermics, and saline drips to supply a small third world country) she was prepared.

Well...prepared supply-wise.
No one can really be prepared to see a man with teeth for eyes and a gaping knife wound to the neck being upright, apparently alive, and leaking into a bathtub.

" Sweet Fucking BUDDHA!" she exclaimed, nearly dropping the medkit, " What the fuck happened? How are you still conscious, let alone alive?!"