Hello, Cruel World!

With the arrival of the dawn, his inner flesh had been set alight. To the inconsistent drumming of his boiling heart, the fire lapped at every inch of his interior, reminding him once more of the anxiety and despair that had settled within his core. For an hour’s time, he had been allowed to forget. For an hour which he had spent in an unintended slumber, his overwhelming sense of failure had separated from his body. It had hovered above him, in waiting for his return to the world of the living, like a spirit. And so it was as Nemo sat upright upon the floor on which he’d rested, that he was met with his grief; much in the manner of an uncomfortably warm breeze.

Without the consent of his slowly whirring mind, the shirt that draped over his shoulders was adjusted by his creaking digits, so that his stomach was covered once more, and the hem met with that of a pair of the dirty denims he’d dressed in a day before. Fingernails scratched idly through his unkempt hair, and he blinked in a futile attempt to make sense of the blurred image of the room in which he presently stood. It was an unfamiliar haze of pastels, rather than the comforting mismatched shades that usually greeted him as he awakened. His anxiety peeked, and his heart rattled off one beat too many as his mind tried to cope with his confusion.

It hadn’t occurred to Nemo that his legs had crumpled beneath him until his kneecaps had collided with the unforgiving floor, creating a cringe-worthy crack that echoed off of the walls. Those walls which had swung from side to side in blurred movements as he’d fallen. His once-amused eyes were empty as he gazed across the floor with which his face was parallel, and he spoke aloud faintly, “Hello,” he whispered, his own ears unhearing, “Cruel world.”

Jack had one secret that she feared would be uncovered at the Ministry. Okay, she had quite a few things she would not care to go public about- namely her history with werewolves and poltergeists. No, there was small thing she was afraid would be revealed or found out and there would be a bit of a laugh over. And it was so silly, and yet here she was, a little edgy as she was every morning. She held her coffee cup but there was no coffee inside. Just... yes. Coca-cola.

It was hard being an eighteen year old head of department. People thought she was a kid. And she had always enjoyed a soda in the early hours of the morning, but she had seen the snickers and had even found a mini can in her inbox, with the note, 'Don't drink this after 8pm, it will disrupt your sleep.' That had been a slap in the face. Ever since, she had been sneaking her soda in the coffee mug, hoping no one ever tripped her and the contents would spill out and everyone would know-

"Ah!"

Her foot caught something and she tumbled forward, the mug slipping from her hands, the lid dangerously wobbling. Her eyes widened and as her feet fixed themselves, she pulled the mug closer to her and slammed the heel of her palm against the lid, closing it firmly. She stood silently for a moment, her eyes closed with relief, before realizing she had someone to be angry with.

She turned around, pulling the strap of her bag higher onto her shoulder and pushing her hair out of her face. She looked down. "What is your purpose on the ground?" she asked in an authoratative tone. Had it been later, she might have been more amused, but right now... Irritation was the name of the game.

Nemo was shaken from his stupor by the abrupt arrival of awareness of his position on the floor, which was brought about by the toe of a boot-clad foot. The rough tip knocked into his unsuspecting gut, and the force was absorbed by his spine. But the pain of a rounded bruise did not compare to that of his abdomen, which had been, at the time, a source of agony without an origin. “Hey – don’t,” he complained halfheartedly, while attempting to raise his head. But his efforts were to no avail; despite his ability to comprehend the fact that another being had joined him, he hadn’t the strength to s support his slowly regaining sense of clarity. “Don’t… do that,” he whispered unknowingly, before lowering one side of his face to the marble below to rest once more.

But it was as he had begun to return to the floor when something had erupted within his stomach, and his upper body was thrown forward with the force of a great shove. He parted his lips reluctantly as the substance crawled quickly from his gut. At once, the foul taste of copper joined with the stale flavor of the previous evening’s alcohol - that which was to blame for his present state - upon his tongue.

As he balanced himself in an uncharacteristically uncoordinated fashion upon his forearms, the rest of his body having remained in a crooked line along the floor, Nemo lurched forward for a second time, and from his lips sprung the dark-toned bodily fluid that was blood. He sputtered, fighting for the opportunity to breath once more, but his airway was not so easily cleared.

Nemo’s eyelids peeled slowly apart as the blood thickened, only to reveal with the flick of his lashes that the whites of his eyes had been tinted an unsightly yellow. He dragged his pupils upwards in search of the face of the woman who stood before him, but there was no desperation written on his face, as was to be expected. There was no plea for assistance. No fear, or sorrow. Rather, a sickly relief. It was the expression which often accompanied the pride of a job well done.

It would seem he had succeeded.

Jack was accostomed to getting what she wanted out of people because she had the nerve to ask for what she wanted. People in the Ministry respected her because she had demanded and earned their respect. So when she did not get an immediate answer, she was irritated. And when he answered with a mumble, she found her agitation grow. She clenched her fist and blinked, opening her mouth to respond in her own angry way.

The man repeated himself and Jack felt indignation rise in her chest. Did he really think she had intended on tripping over a bum on her way to her office? Was he really that dense? How could anyone think that there was a person out there who wanted to start their morning tripping over a stranger? She placed her hands on her hips and began, "For your information-"

But before she could properly educate this man, he suddenly writhed before her. She took a step back out of alarm and he jerked and flailed again. He strained his neck and his face turned a few different colors. "Hey," she said, in a warning voice, a little weirded out. "Hey," she said, raising her voice a bit more. And suddenly, he expelled blood from his mouth.

Jack was not a healer type. She had no maternal or gentle instincts. She knew how to heal bumps and bruises and scrapes. Luckily, they were surrounded by Healers trained to heal people mutilated by creatures and creatures that were harmed. The second the blood hit thr ground, she was stepping forward, stopping down to grab the man.

"Come on, let's get up and get some help, okay?" She spoke in a clear, calm, brisk tone. This was business. If she was not worried, how could he be? Right? She tried heaving him onto his feet. "There's a bunch of Healers around here, we just need to get to them. Okay?" She turned her head and, using her free hand, whistled with two fingers, trying to signal somebody.

The fatal drop. Nemo knew it well, for he had defied its terms and regulations in several instances in the past. In fact, it was in all likelihood that he had challenged his luck one too many times. And yet he remained uncaring, save his strong desire for the pain that tore through his every fiber of flesh to subside.

With no more effort than that of a dozing man turning over on his side, Nemo moved his arm to rest around the shoulders of the redheaded stranger who had insisted upon dragging him. Though it seemed that she had set a vital goal, Nemo could not detect the end result with his suddenly short-sighted vision. He had eyes for nothing more than the promise of a relief from another moment spent without the knowledge of the future. For he had discovered with every previous, failed attempt to commit suicide that such an immense amount of damage done often resulted in the return of his precognition. And there was nothing of more importance.

“No, you…” He attempted to speak, only to be interrupted by the escape of a steady drizzle of blood from his parted lips. His knees quaked and his ankles locked, causing him to stumble into the hallway before him. The hall appeared to extend endlessly; the walls arched and wobbled, and the floor was ever lengthening.

As he crumbled beneath the weight of his distorted depth perception, he leaned heavily against the small frame of the woman at his side. One leg collapsing at a time, Nemo fell, having walked no further than the nearest junction, one of the many hallways that united the Ministry’s different wings.

On his knees he swayed. From left to right, to left again, blood forcing its way free from his restricting throat with his every movement.

The man was not exactly hindering her, but he was not doing much to help her either. She managed to get him on unsteady feet and she said, "Right-o. Forward." She took a few steps forward, each step firm and steady, but the wobbling man she was holding up was swaying and causing her own legs to tremble and throwing off her own balance. But she was determined.

He began to speak and she turned, in time for a spray of blood to come out of his mouth. A drop landed on her chin, the rest spraying the front of her clothes. This distracted her momentarily and the man stumbled away from her, crashing into a hallway. She ran a bit down the hallway and whistled, saying, "HEY!" She turned around to see the man crash to the ground. She hurried forward and hoisted the man up. "Come on, stay with me."

A woman in Healers robes emerged from a door up ahead. She paled at the approaching sight- must have been an intern. However, she recognized Jack because she peeked her head back in and said, "We need some help! Ms Dyllan has an incapacitated stranger!" Jack rolled her eyes, unable to stop the response. Honestly. With the protocol.

A man in Healers robes came over, dropping to his knees and murmuring unintelligable things as he waved his wand over the man. "Who is he?" he asked. Jack shrugged. "I honestly have no idea." The man gave her a hesitant look and turned back, continuing to cast his spells.

Gargling. I can’t hear you. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. Garble. Garlging. I’m underwater.

The element of sound had defied the laws of its standard nature as the redhead had attempted to speak to him. As Nemo had stared onward through his ‘Jaundice Yellow’ stained eyes, he had noted with a sense of detachment that the woman’s lips were slowly moving to form syllables as she’d kneeled before him. But the words that she had uttered hadn’t reached Nemo, for it was as though he had been contained in a glass box, as blood continuously tricked over his bottom lip in thick globs and proceeded down the flesh of his neck.

Cold, hard.

Sticky, sticky, stretch-gooey. Slide.

The floors were chilled, and his hands were all too warm with the substance that pooled in his palms. These details had not gone unnoticed - though it was entirely beyond his own knowledge as to why his mind had collected said seemingly unnecessary information at as critical a moment as his impending death.

With this same ignorance of his surroundings, Nemo briefly acknowledge the arrival of another unfamiliar face.

Hands – grabbing. Urgent.

Magic! Prickling, tingling, itch. Scratch – must. Need. Get it out.

Nemo desperately enveloped his midsection in his arms, fists crumpled tightly as the healing process began. He could feel it within his core; the effect of a charm hard at work on his vital organs.

Relief. Buzzzzz. Whirrrrrr. I’m home.

What did he say?

Who am I? I know that. I know that.

From his position on the floor, spine arched and forehead moving ever-closer to the floor of that particular Ministry hallway, which had taken on a disturbingly gruesome appearance due to Nemo’s actions, he introduced himself, “Mortimer Omara. It's a pleasure to meet you." He extended his right arm at an awkward angle in his savior's direction, so to jokingly offer her his dripping hand. "Shake?"

Jack did what she could, which really only left bracing the man for the Healer to take care of. Jack knew her share of Healing spells, sure, but nothing that would be helpful on this level. From what she could gather, the injuries sustained by the man were not surface level bumps, bruises, and scratches, which was what she had to deal with. Sure, she could deal with a minor stabbing or a gash or burn from a dragon. But this seemed to be internal.

Whatever the injuries were, they must have been horrendous, and Jack was starting to think she might have come in to work to see a man die. But, the man suddenly grew a little stiller and more aware. He picked himself away from the Healer and Jack enough to support himself a bit, Jack’s hands still hovering at a cautionary distance.

He suddenly extended a bloody hand to her. Jack grinned at his words, saying “Nice to meet you.” She looked at his hand and his joking expression, before reaching up to firmly grab his hand and shake it. She was no stranger to blood and she was no wuss. “I’m Jack Dyllan. Welcome back to the land of the living.” She looked up at the Healer. “Can we get an intern in here to clean up Mr. Omara’s mess he so inconsiderately left us?”

The sloppy sound of Nemo’s laugh was atrocious, but could not be contained as Jack demanded with the bluntness of a blade that had spent the duration of its existing in the dirt, that the mess that Nemo had made be cleaned up. She had tact, but it was her lack thereof. Whether it was intentional, or he had been mistaken when he’d assumed that the front that she was putting up was quite simply her noisy personality, Nemo could not immediately determine, as he had yet to peel himself from the soiled floor to which he’d flopped, and he was still rousing his mind from its momentary hibernation. It was the physical contact required of a handshake that he was relying on, for both his analysis of the redhead to which he’d already taken a liking, and his diagnosis of the state of his precognitive ability. Ah, to kill two birds with one stone.

The blood that coated his hand, and appeared to have seeped through several layers of said skin, glued their palms together for the briefest of moments, but he made no move to retrieve his appendage. Rather, he remained still as he craned his neck to glance in Jack’s direction. Though it had been slow to stir, Nemo was greeted once more by the presence of an intelligence other than his own within the confines of his skull – and was simultaneously overwhelmed by a chill that could have dusted his every bone in frost.

Blood. Murder, screams. Stop the screaming! Please, stop! It hurts too much. I can't -

Anger. Anger. Anger. RAGE. Heat, burning. Somebody, help me! Help!

Imagery of a land in which the air hung from the sky in the form of black drapes, and blood pooled infinitely upon the ground, coursed through Nemo's consciousness. Several emotions accompanied the scene: fear, betrayal, and anger in suffocating abundance. The only light to be seen was that of an unidentifiable figure, far off from where Nemo seemed to be rooted to the spot in a psychological sense. But the figure twisted and turned, if only to prevent Nemo from spying upon it with a sense of who it could be.

He awakened with a start from his journey outside of the present, and withdrew his hand from Jack’s. He looked shaken; even more so than he had been during his time spent as a crimson fountain. And yet, it was with a sense of humor and a calmness that he next spoke, “Well,” he began after a moment of recovery. “I certainly hadn’t expected to find that in there.”

OOC: If you at all disagree with the god-modding I did in this post, feel free to kick me in the arse.

OOC: No worries.

Jack had caused him to laugh, which she took as a good sign of his return to this realm of the conscious and not-on-the-verge-of-bleeding-to-death. If he could laugh at her antics, he must be getting a little better. The Healer had nodded and hurried off, she was his boss after all, leaving her with this blood soaked newcomer named Mortimer.

She took his bloody hand in hers, and their hands stuck together with the sticky binding of his dark red blood. Jack paid it no mind and gave him her usual firm handshake. He turned to look at her better, and just as Jack was becoming more aware of the prolonged length of their handshake, it was as though a veil were dropped before Mortimer’s eyes and he fell back, unconscious.

“Shit, can’t this guy stay away for even a moment?” Jack muttered to herself. Their hands were still locked and she twisted her body to look behind her. An intern was being led in by the Healer. She whistled and jerked her head at the limp body next to her, and the Healer took a guess by what she meant. He ran over and crouched down next to the man, putting his fingers to the man’s neck. The intern was backing away, her eyes wide in horror, but Jack commanded, “Don’t leave. We might need help.” The intern stared at Jack like she was crazy.

Jack turned back to the man to see his eyes fly open and him sit up. Their hands pulled apart with the noise a suction cup might make when peeled off a window. He was pale and almost looked deranged, but he spoke calmly. Jack gave him a weird, confused look, but decided this was not something to be discussed in the hallway.

“Okay, Aley, clean up this mess,” Jack commanded. The intern stepped forward and began siphoning away the blood. The Healer informed Mortimer he would be performing a spell that should relax his body and continue to heal any injuries. He suggested a trip to St. Mungos. “First, I was wondering if you wanted to join me in my office for a drink,” Jack said. “Until you gather your bearings.”