Who: Mukuro Ikusaba and Kiyotaka Ishimaru
What: Ishimaru gets a makeover, post being identified on the news.
Where: BE-15
When: After this phone call.
Warnings: idk man shsl socially awkward

( wearing your black eye like a badge of honor )

Who: Rick and YOU
What: Some idiot got stabbed in the kidney and had to be hospitalized. He tries to escape and it doesn't go over very well. Open to visitations and mocking.
Where: FDC general hospital
When: April 25th - April 29th
Warnings: R for Rick. Minor gore if you read the live action adaptation.
Alternate reading: The live action adaptation where Rick is played by Jason Statham.


( Who's got my fucking strawberry tart? )

"He really should've been dead after that!"

Voices came in a haze, vision even worse. All Rick could make out at first were two vaguely female humanoid shapes at the end of the... bed? Bed. He was back in the bed. There was a soft, steady beeping of a machine, and nnghnnn... his whole body ached, head to toe. He tried moving and found resistance in just about every limb.

"He probably didn't because you like, gave him way too much--Oh... look who's awake!"

This time two nurses. Both redheads. Two peppy redheads.

To Rick's merit, there wasn't something shoved down his throat this time so it made speaking an easier task.

"Wh--" Not that he could say much before the nurse cut him off.

"Yep. You're strapped to the bed now." It wasn't quite what was said but how cheerfully it came out of her ditzy mouth that kept him quiet. Indeed, Rick registered the weight bearing against his limbs as being actual restraints--leather straps cuffed around his wrists, ankles, and two bigger straps across his thighs and chest. Say nothing for all the tubes and needles stuck back in him where they belonged. Rick grunted and tested them, finding them snug and secure, and much to his chagrin. There was no longer an overwhelming paranoia flooding his brain that urged him to escape, but Rick didn't want to be here all the same.

"This your idea of a good time?" He rasped to the redhead with a grin that bared teeth.

"That's what you get for being crazy, sweetie. Sorry it has to be this way. But, hey, at least you're open for visits now."

Who: Connor and Gordon
What: Friendly competition.
Where: Arena training, archery range.
When: Not long after their first conversation.

Gordon had made a habit of visiting the shooting ranges for a few hours every week. True, grenades and RPGs tended to obey a horseshoes principle where you get them anywhere close to the target and it gets the point across, but he could always use a little more seasoning with the rest of his armaments.

Doubly so when those armaments consist of a makeshift sniper crossbow that uses electrically-heated rebar as ammunition. He's disconnected the heating current so as not to set fire to the whole range, and has a small pouch of tools open on a shelf nearby that he occasionally goes to to make an adjustment here, a modification there.