Welcome to Gaia! ::

Oh great. It was the guy's mom. Why couldn't it have been a girlfriend, or stalker, or a public relations agent? Reyin was already pretty pale from his little ice-cold dip, but what little color was left in his face flushed away pretty quickly.

"I uhh..."

Reyin reached up and scratched the back of his head, clearing his throat and casting his eyes downward. It wasn't like Reyin was intimidated or anything. He was a pretty sturdy athletic specimen himself, but he was pretty well-mannered and well-behaved to boot. Putting that together with compassion and, well, you had a guy who felt pretty bad about what he had done.

"Yeah."

He finally spit it out before regaining eye contact.

"Wasn't like I wanted to, though. Just...well, it is a fighting tournament and...let's face it, he wanted to win just as badly as I did."

He let the silence hang in the air for a moment before he tried to peer around the woman again. At least he seemed genuinely concerned about Tres' condition, instead of trying to get into the room and start round two.

"Is he okay?"

Sahen walked in to the infirmary in complete silence. Saphen still wore the broken mask but half of his face was covered by bandages not due to damage...but to hide the exposed area. There was a part in the wrapping where the eye was so it could look around just as it's brother did and sitting on one of the beds he turned to a nurse.

"I dislocated the arm I just need you to get it back in..."

The woman looked at him awkwardly curious of the mask but after the initial interest faded she checked his arm and indeed it was dislocated and right when she was about to speak he interrupted her.

"Yes yes brace my self right just do it."

A quick jerk and his eyes flinched beneath the mask his teeth were almost grinding to still any sound. After another motion the arm was fit in all the right places and he sighed in relief. Saphen flexed his fingers and moved the arm slightly though it still hurt and smiled, though that was only evident by his eyes closing in a soft expression.

"Thank you that is all," he said to the woman and she left to attend others happy to be away from the strange man. Removing his mandolin strap he set it on his lap and began to restring it as well as replace a couple of broken tuning knobs.

This is what he did for hours, taking tedious care to repair his instrument hoping he would have a chance at another battle...but that was not yet decided.

The brief span between rounds, Omi spent in the infirmary. Laying on a medical bed, drifting in and out of consciousness the first day; it wasn't until the second day, that the results of the match came to him, much to his surprise. Odd enough, and against his expectations.. he'd been victor.

Luckily, his body seemed to have an innate "regeneration" function in relation to the many flames that'd coated his body not long ago; already, his skin was looking normal, if not a few areas looking "sun-burned." The big issue was the self-imposed stab wound, which fortunately missed any vital organs but was still rather open to risk of infection and re-opening and thus, was the core of the treatments at hand.

The pain was leaving his body rapidly.. likely, he'd be fine to compete in the next round. The downside was, there'd be no exercising before the match - no information seeking, even. "Likely, I'll have to lay here until the very hour of my fight.." Crossing both hands behind his head, the weary swordsman made a soft grunt of discontent - only making another thought:
"Fair enough."

So the swordsman found himself laying in the infirmary while nurses and doctors rushed all around, treating the injured and those who were...injured.
Same thing, but the numbers here were strangely minute.

And while his right arm was crushed under the fight a few days back against an earth user which he'd never got his name, still to this point no doctor or any medical healer came to help tend his injuries at least, his presence almost masked by the more popular fighters that is fighting for the finals and the first/second place here; the spectators too, in some strange situations or scenarios that brought them here.

It isn't hard to notice that he isn't very well liked here, probably because of his rugged or tattered cloth, and the filth of dirt and soil stained on his sweaty body that made his appearance all the more...dirty.
But come on, there has to be something more the medical people here can do for him other than putting a cast on his broken arm and telling him that someone would be here to attend to him shortly - which was dragging on to days and the nurses giving him signs to shut up about calling for attention.

Even the brat a few beds away from him is getting more care for a simple cut on his shoulder, and he arrived later than the swordsman did for days at end.

What the hell.

He sighed, eyeing some people that were hitting on the nurses and getting some luxurious treatments while he laid there with idle patience, both arms still paralyzed and as dirty as the first day he dragged himself to the infirmary, out of breath and in tatters.

This is going to take a while, he thought while his eyes wandered to some person bitching at how he got himself injured in a bar and was the apparent...victim of it all.
...
You know, they could at least give the swordsman some medicine or some light healing to get rid of this god-awful pain still welling up inside the crushed arm.

It didn't take long for the swordsman's mood to go from sour to beyond foul.
More like a few seconds in rapid mood shift, but seeing his previous opponent pop up into the infirmary...
Thank goodness that he can't use his hands right now, or else the swordsman might've done something bad.
Really bad.
To Ryu.

But that was the past, and the swordsman glanced over at Ryu calling out to him. Giving a sigh, he tried to hoist himself up on the bed he was laying on, the grimy and sickening feel of dry sweat clinging to his body rather...icky.

"Sup."

He paused, wincing at feeling the sharp pain burn more on his right side.

"If it's just flesh wounds, maybe; water can at least help accelerate the healing a bit. But, if you'd recalled..." He said with a raised look in his eyes, pointing with his left towards the crushed arm. "I'll be damned if you know some way to heal my crushed bones from its...condition. No thanks to your little armor spill of course."

He then glanced towards Ryu's injured side, some nurse passing by with a lazy look on her skinny face.

"...Still hurting there, eh?"

If Ryu thought that was enough to make the swordsman mad as hell, the swordsman coldy replied with a returned chuckle.

"At least, if I am to be deemed the winner I'll still have the fact remaining that I've kicked your a**. Hard.
That's more than enough motivation to kick the next person's a** harder. With a boot."

"Besides," he commented, "I don't have to use my right arm in the next fight. Who says that a swordsman is either a right-handed or a left-handed person?"

The eyes gazed at Ryu with a devious look.

"Why do you think I fight with two weapons?"