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"Glen, Dr. Jonathan Glen. It's a pleasure Miss. Kaik-..."

It was then that the doctor noted the arrival of the dark elf.

"if you'll excuse me..."

With a curt nod and a flash of his pearly whites, he was off to assist the man. Pulling up his coat sleeves and pulling a pair of pristine white gloves, he quickly inserted himself into the throng of nurses and began to work. Unlike the Nurses the technique that the doctor used was no form of white magic. The ability to craft flesh was a useful talent he'd was versed in extensively. White magic was far more effective in healing at an accelerated rate; fleshcrafting a far more technical art requiring a great deal of patience and discipline.

He started by placing the fingers of his right hand around the impaling trident. The other moved to the elf's head after quickly reading the fair one's weak vitals. With the use of his technique he was able to pool the circulation in the places that required the most attention. Within seconds, the blood flow from the gaping wound would cease and vital life giving blood sent to the ailing parts of his brain and limbs.

"Get this man on a IV, now."

Once he'd effectively stopped the bleeding he went about the arduous task of removing the pronged weapon. Like most similar weapons, a trident was designed to do more damage when it was removed than the initial impact. Gently he inserted his fingers into the man's wound. With so little blood keeping him alive and the nurses preoccupied with treating a patient that didn't respond to their usual methods; morphine was a afterthought. Glen himself was more preoccupied with saving the elf's life than sparing him discomfort.

Had the man been awake, it was sure to hurt like hell as the doctors fingers probed the wound to slowly unhook the prongs deeply embedded into his tissue.

"When I say when, pull the trident out."

The task was excruciatingly slow as he did his best to do further damage than the sad state the man was already in. As he worked the nurses stood by tentatively, grasping the shaft of the weapon to support it as it lost it's grip. As he freed the third and final prong the tissue was pushed backwards enough to prevent further slicing as it moved outward.

"Now!"

The nurses pulled and found that the weapon was surprisingly easy to remove, sending the three nurses sprawling on the floor.

The obstruction removed, Glen probed deeper to distinguish what the trident had done to the man's organs. Surgery was almost certain.

Couldn't a man, a dragon, or a ********' field mouse for that matter get some kind of peace and quite in a hospital? Even in Vince's private bed and curtain, he was still being bothered left and right, and by more than one of kind of person. Claire's arrival had been a rather welcome sight, but other than that, people had done nothing other than piss him off. First was the white mage who claimed that he wasn't forsaken, which he knew damned well that he was, and then there were multiple visits from his son, his sister, and even his brother, who had wandered in drunk and immediately called him a p***y.

His emerald eyes snapped open from their peaceful rest, in which he'd been staring at his eye-lids without so much as a rustle of his bed-sheets, and set upon the female. Rather, they would have set upon the female, instead, they were greeted with a giant metal-orb made of mesh wiring attached to a plastic flash-light looking thing. Vince sighed as soon as he realized it was a microphone, and the giant black box upon the male's shoulder was.. God damnit.

"If you must know, I'm feeling well enough to get up and put my size eighteen boot up your a**.", The dragon spat, his right hand tightening around the metal rail for a second before his left came out of no-where and aimed to smack the microphone right out of the woman's hand and send it flying. The dragon was definitely not in the mood to be interrogated, and especially not by some woman who wouldn't even take the slightest bit of sympathy even if Vince told her he was dying.

Such was the way of journalism and media. They came for what they wanted, and what that was, Vince still hadn't figured it out after many times dealing with these people. The dragon's head hurt, and trying to figure out all of his memories that had been rushing back and trying to remember how to function properly, was only making the pain worse. Adding reporters and television crews to the mix was surely a dangerous thing, and they would soon find out.

Vince's eyebrow raised at her questioning. God damnit, these journalists and fancy reporter types didn't take threats for what they were; serious. They also didn't take a hint, because regardless of the dragon smacked the microphone away from him, she put it right back towards him, and kept up with the un-ending barrage of questions. He just wanted to stare at his eyelids, and he didn't want to deal with these ignorant people who had probably never even been in a fight who kept battering his already hurting head with more pointless questions.

The dragon's eyes narrowed, his mouth opened, and his muscles tensed as Vince registered the meaning of her question. Regardless of if she meant it or not, her question was accusatory in Vince's mind, and in that regard, he didn't take it lightly. Basically, by asking him that, he took it that he was being scrutinized for having died. If Vince would have known his opponents intention, well, obviously, the dragon wouldn't be here; his opponent would have been, and Vince would have killed him repeatedly, if it would have had to be the case.

The man's right hand tightened so much that the bed rail actually crumpled, bending beneath his hand's power before a response was spit angrily from his mouth, "I don't give a ******** about the ruling. I'm perfectly content with death, and if my opponent would have fought like a man, I would have killed him with my own bare hands. Instead, in a bout of pure sport and competition, he killed me. As I realized I was dead, I was fine with it. To HELL with this place, these people, and <********> the rules."

Vince's eyes narrowed considerably more, and Vince's left hand shot to the table at his bed-side and came up with something else a moment later. Nearly two seconds after his words were spit, a black remote would come flying across his bed-side, aimed right at the man who held the camera. The target on that man? His face, which as a reporter, he likely valued highly; without his face, he couldn't talk with all the ladies and see what he was ********' media.

<********> the rules."

Is was an interesting phrase for Catlyn to have greet her ears as she woke up, again. Somehow, probably due to the excessive medication she'd been given, she had managed to pass out again after her struggle.

She looked down after trying in vain to move, only to find that she was still strapped to the bed. She shook her head and laughed.

"I second that notion!" She yelled from her bed, unsure whether or not the disembodied voice's creator would hear her. The color had come back to her flesh, and with it had come her spirit.

At least she was feeling better, now.

The story of Vincent was over, at least for the reporter and camera man. They received an order from the president of their company, which led them towards the mother and father of a fallen participant; Thurgood aka The Dark Elf Guy.

There was no formal introduction to the family, except that the fact that the reporter and cameraman were standing in front of the parents.

"Excuse me, do you mind if we ask you a few questions?" The reporter asked, and it was obvious the parents weren't being filmed or recorded at the moment.

Disappointment of a match? Perhaps there was a reason someone was interested in Thurgood after all. The female reporter shook her head from side to side softly.

"The people that control our station see something that most do not, potential." The reporter explained with a gentle smile. There was no forceful interview as when Vincent was involved, it was complete kindness.

The female nodded to her counterpart, who brought the camera up and began filming.

"Your son, in the eyes of some, preformed valiantly. He was a new face to this tournament, and despite not reaching past this first round, someone in particular wonders if this man will return in the future to test himself. Do you have any thoughts on his future, be it this tournament or another?" She asked and once she was done speaking she waited patiently for either parent to speak.

The woman let them banter back and forth before interjecting herself further into the conversation. Her smile remained, her body and face showing complete business like qualities.

"The President of Shinjiko Enterprises has released a quiet statement in regards to your son. In this statement, he explained that under the right advisement your son could become a top competitor in the future. Do you think your son would object to training under the President of Shinjiko Enterprises; Tous Shinjiko?" She asked, though there was more to this than was let on. Tous had watched most of the matches up until the point that Tous himself was summoned to his match.

The massive man ignored the woman's questions, chuckling to himself as he heard the woman yell in agreement to his earlier statement of ******** the rules. After a moment of them not getting a response from Vince, they eventually left, moving off to interrogate some other poor people. However, as they left, Vince's muscles tightened, and his in-human strength made it possible for him to rip the railing off of the bed he was lying in.

The railing, seconds later, would go flying across the room with a sudden woosh and a burst of laughter from the massive man. The target was the retreating forms of the two reporters, even though it was unlikely he would do damage even if he hit them; still, another camera broken would be interesting. To the woman who had yelled for Vincent, he replied;

"Ye've got a beautiful voice, whoever the hell you are. Have them wheel your bed next to mine and lets chat." The grin on Vince's face was ear to ear.