「 Spade Territory; Working at the Triage Centre 」.
⤷ @its-max-okay
Jeo Duri hated Tournament Day.
The special day held by the Spade ruled Arena was popular amongst fighters and lowrankers wanting to earn a spot higher on the social ladder, given that it was owned by the military style faction meant that plenty of civilians and soldiers came through the doors of the Triage Centre with more than just a few broken bones. Considering that it went on every two weeks, he should be used to it however Duri couldn’t possibly be. He couldn’t even be judgemental towards those lower ranked that participated, knowing what it was like to be so desperate for food rations, items, or money though he had never come so close to risking his own life this way.
The first patient wheeled in front of Duri was already a hard one, a struggle to distinguish what exactly he was looking at other than just blood and torn flesh coming from what should be the soldier’s arm. His abhorrence towards the sight of blood and gore should be something of the past but Duri still visibly flinched whenever a badly hurt patient came in with extreme injuries where one could see more flesh and bone than skin.
The silver glow that emitted from Duri’s fingertips was shaky at best, fortunately the skin was starting to stick itself back together and the flesh tones of skin was beginning to dominate what was once only red. Though unlike the stitching and weaving that it should be doing, Duri’s powers always made it look more like a hot glue gun had gone to town on the person and stuck the pieces back together.
Oh no.
Vision flaking from reality it was offering an oil painting of red and tan brush strokes swirling together into an abstract kaleidoscope, he shouldn’t still be seeing things after last night. Squeezing his eyes shut, if the hallucinations could just stop for a second then maybe he could actually see through his blurry vision to finish healing. He had to finish, abandoning the patient would cause too much attention. The scar that would remain will be a raised mess worse than what he normally produced, evidence that he was definitely not himself. At least the patient would live.
Taking a step back from the gurney, somehow Duri was able to find the leading emitter without too much trouble. Hand finding her arm, the Nine wasn’t even paying attention at what she was doing.
“Uh, Max... I- I need to take a breath.” He stuttered out, knowing that his actions will be frowned upon by any students watching on.
Looking like Van Goghs in contempt, their faces meant very little to him. He averted his gaze from Max’s, the one face that would matter even if it was made of paints and canvas than body. To be disappointment to the Queen, the face card that sponsored his very being here, he feared would mean a question would be raised on his place there with the Spades.