living life with no regrets; out of control..

A loud wham announced her arrival. Funny how that sound often did. Blood smeared the glass sliding doors and a low growl accompanied the noise. Shallow breaths gasped from her failing lungs; the pain threatened to take her over, but she pushed it back. Her eye's were narrowed against a mentally created fog, and her mouth was half open, panting. Not exactly stooped, but not as straight as she normally was. Her right arm hung uselessly at her side, her left was shaking and holding a dark jacket to hide the evidence of the wound. A large, dark stain had spread across the material; a deeper, red-tinted gray than the rest of the cloth. A snarl creased her nose and cheeks, baring her blood-covered teeth in an animalistic noise that was a cross between a grating gasp and a roar. Whatever she had been wearing now looking like a sopping wet, blood-stained rag of a toga, torn in several places and showing some bare skin on one side. It had been a dress, but little evidence of that was now shown. Her left hand's milk-white skin turned, if possible, a shade paler and she blinked hard, struggling to stay conscious. She moved quickly, rushing to the front desk, drawing eyes but no help came. The pale, clearly veined hand shot out and slammed onto the counter, alerting the sleeping night-secretary. She slipped a little, her legs weakening slightly, and the jacket fell off. The young woman behind the counter gasped as blood spurted out of the intruding patient. The paperwork was irreversibly stained, and the laptop that lay on top of it fizzled slightly as the hot blood hit it's inner workings. Her pale skin and freckled shoulder was bare, a shredded strap of what might have once been a camisole showing through. A rasp was emitted, her blue eyes filled with pain but no tears. She narrowed them, her sight failing and felt someone come up from behind them. Elegantly, she fell, her arm going limp and more blood falling freely away from her wound, now that the pressure was gone. Her entire right side was a mass of blood, burned fabric, and exposed tissue. Coughing feebly, she looked up into the masked face of a young man and managed a bared grin, showing every one of her blood-stained gnashers. "Nice day, innit?" She said, winking one eye weakly. Darkness took her, and she remembered no more.

A sharp pain in her side and the lifting on her gown by an unseen hand ignited dormant reflexes, and she acted without thinking. Twisting violently to avoid being caught, she snarled, contorting her face in rage. Kicking out with a bare foot, arched and strong as it was, she hit something with a sickening sound like metal hitting raw meat. She felt a prickling on the inside of her leathery sole, but vision had not yet caught up with the lightning fast movements, and she didn't realize what made the sensation. They had followed her too long, too far and too visciously for her to be caught unawares. The bellowed oath and yell of pain was ignored as she wrapped one defined leg around a feebly batting arm and bent it so that the being came crashing down with resounding impact, cracking their head solidly on the ground. Not enough to kill, she would need to interrogate him or her, but certainly enough to hurt for several hours and maybe knock out. Blue eyes flashed in irrational anger as the thing under her struggled. Her voice was a commanding alto tone, accented with a graceful blend of South African and Cheapside cockney, "You are never to attempt what you just did, am I making myself clear?! Where are am I, what do you want?!" She hissed, but images were coming back now, the room around her came into focus. A man wearing white groaned under her weight, sporting a broken nose and a bloodied face. The surroundings were unfamiliar, but not foreign. Charts; an IV holder that had crashed to the ground, sending viscuous fluid everywhere; a hospital bed, sheets ripped off and half wrapped around her; and a neatly folded, very beaten looking white dress. She remembered that dress. The woman must've been quite a sight as she stared blankly at the ground, highlights dancing in her eyes as a lamp sputtered slowly out, the bulb half smashed by a kick she had made. The hospital room came into final sharp focus, and she released the moaning Doctor, stumbling back against the wall. She coughed loudly, and the taste of blood came to her mouth, the tang of iron sharp and unpleasant. Everything around her was too white, much too bright, and intrusive. The snarl left her face, her red hair had long since come out of the knot she had had it in when she arrived, and her blue eyes had lost the animalistic edge. The addrenaline rush was over, and she felt pain return to every part of her body. As if she had been recently crushed under a steam-roller, every bone broken, every muscle bruised. Her right side was almost completely numb, and blood had started to trickle down her leg from the three wounds that peppered her front, the light blue nightdress she wore sticking to the freshly opened wounds. Feeling lightheaded, she slid down the wall and listened to the sound of nurses rushing in, acting in result to the emergency siren now sounding. Hands grabbed at her, inquiring after her health and how she felt. Looking ironically, and rather hazily, at one of the male nurses she managed to whisper, "How...do I feel? Hah...Grand. Apart from the bleeding, I'm excell--" She broke off as she hacked roughly, blood staining the sheets as it was spit out. They lay her down on the bed delicately, and slid the IV back in. Her head fell back onto the pillows with a muttered protest, and she heard the rattling of her bed being moved to the surgery room.

Pardon us the lapse...1 week later:

"You are healing remarkably well, Ms Wilde--"
"It's Lucy or nothing, darling. Got a cigarette? Haven't had one in ages..."
"Er...As hospital staff I really shouldn't be allowed to call you by--"
A raised eyebrow, mildly arched and infinitely more sarcastic than the male nurse could ever be, waltzed across her brow.
"I was wondering the other day, would you like to have a broken nose too? It looked rather fetching on Mr Kirk, don't you think?"
"Um...Lucy then--"
"Good lad! What were you saying then? Unlike you, I haven't got all day. Be quick about it, I am losing my interest."
She said, infuriatingly smug and headstrong in her tone and manner.
"Ah...You are healing very quickly, L-Lucy. Er, apart from the two bullet wounds and knife wound, the shards of bone from Mr Kirk's nose have been removed from your foot and the the minor puncture wound in your lung has been operated on. You should be able to leave in about 3 weeks."

The conversation took place at about 3:00 in the afternoon, between a male nurse with a name plate that read 'George' and our Ms Lucy Fera Wilde. After the 'incident' with Doc Kirk, they had questioned her as to how she had received the wounds and she had innocently stated that she had amnesia and no memory of how. She had been walking home from work, she had not specified what her occupation was, and then everything went black. Her side was like a constant throbbing lightning bolt, sending lancing pains up her back and stomach every time she breathed or coughed a little. But, as the nurse had said, she was healing well. The hospital room was as typical as one could imagine, boring and white. She hated white. She would have painted it blue, or orange, if she had her way. Her acid eyes glanced around at the walls for a moment, before politely returning her attention to the nurse, giving him her first real genuine smile. Her smiled nervously back, and she changed her delicate expression into one of a feral grin, showing her sharp canines, and seeming to lift her entire face in a deep-rooted, wicked sort of look that she reserved for special occaisions. Her high cheekbones were rounded as she flashed her teeth at him, the clear lines of where they began every more pronounced. She was, after all, a very pretty woman, with curves enough to suit anybody. Even in this state, quite pale with her red hair seeming to be too bright for the room, and mildly freckled face definitely out of place in it's air she held beauty. The curtains around her individual bed had been drawn back so that the open door allowed her to monitor the people coming in and out of this small wing of the hospital marked 'Aggravated Wounds & Internal Hemorrage'. She had received no visitors, no calls, and no letters. But it didn't surprise her, nor did it upset her. She had been alone since the moment Mother died, that was nothing new. She was hardened, and something in her smile must've hinted at that, because the nurse looked simultaneously frightened and attracted. Hmm...She would not mess with him. He wasn't strong enough, and she didn't want to break him. But one had to keep one's options open, so she changed her smile into a more secretive one and winked at him, indicating they could talk later. Her bandages itched, and she motioned for the nurse to close the door, which he did. Lucy felt not the slightest bit abashed as she took the ugly night dress off in one fluid movement. She gave a teasing smile at the nurse, as she revealed the white bandage that covered her from the scar and tattoo on her collarbone to her waist. The wounds, afterall, had done a good deal of bleeding and needed to be bound tightly. Wriggling into a shirt that had been laid out for her, she frowned at the lack of stylishness it held, but shrugged and then winced as she did so. The nurse stuttered a little, and she rolled her eyes, snapping her fingers at him, indicating it was time for him to leave. "Leave the door open, lovey, I want to see what kind of people you get in here." He complied, and she watched with those devilish eyes of her the doors, wondering what patients today would bring.