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((I sorta skimmed through the recent posts, so just notice me if you feel like it :U))

Wham! A large red door opened up. It was the entrance to a bar, well known for it's class, and it's strong bouncers. At first it seemed as just another drunkard getting kicked out of the bar, but the used up army suit was enough to tell anyone this was either some crazy drunkard thinking he was a soldier, or a crazy soldier still wearing his combat suit, at this point, none could tell the difference, not even the drunkard himself. A large gorilla like hand held him by the collar as the retired soldier sang his song with utter joy.

"The general waited by the sea! As naked as can be! The soldier's privates standing up in glee! They just wanted to touch that sweet p-" Crash, the bouncer punched this foul man in the mouth, sending him flying right into a pile of garbage cans. Surprisingly, the resilient drunkard wasen't bleeding as much as the bouncer's knuckles. "For the last time bub, stop coming in here, getting drunk, then singing those songs, it disturbs the customers! Why don't you stop drinking and get over the war?" The muscular peice of meat shouted rather loudly, probably attracting the attention of others, his face was filled with a frown directed at the foolish retired soldier.

Half unconscious, the alcohol filled man lifted a finger, and prepared himself to speak. "In vino veritas!" He shouted, swinging his finger from side to side as if lecturing the towering oaf. "What the hell is that supposed to mean you gibberish talking fool?" replied the bouncer. "Didn't they teach you anything in school? It means 'truth is in wine' in latin! And as an honest man, I live by that quote!" After his short statement, the drunkard started laughing with his eyes half closed, practically drooling the intoxicating substance.

"There's a difference between wine and eighty ounces of mixed liquor!" And with that last comment, the bouncer through the only two items the drunkard carried around at him, slamming the big fancy door of the bar. "No there isn-" Once again, the poor drunk man is hit, this time by two of his most prized possessions! The first was a canteen being able to hold about thirtee ounces of water (or liquor in his case), with a picture of a naked woman stuck on the front. The other item was a custom made sniper, it was green with many performance modifications, but it looked pretty old and worn out, just like the man himself was.

He laid there, sitting in the trash remains, his brain still too slow to process the fact he just lost both of his only items, the only things he truly cared for in life, well, other than himself. "Oh noes! Betsy and Charles! Where art thou?" He looked from side to side, his right eye closing as he looked to the left, and his left eye closing as he looked to the right. "Oh, porque dios mio esto me tiene que pasar~" My, my, first latin, then spanish? This was an educated alcoholic! What a rare find!

When the car engine roared and they speeded to wherever Keiji's fancy could bring them, Lucya opened her eyes to see the back seat fully stuffed. A big, yet pale and almost fainting teen was located between herself and the gothic-looking girl, who took care of the bleeding injury with professionally harsh movements. Lucya shuddered at the sight of the wound and tried to move as far as she could from the dirty blood-spotted punk. At the same time, she felt such a relief to realize that noone was kidnapping her, that she almost smiled.

But when Tuesday shouted at her to keep pressing, Lucya stared at her in dusgust and then glanced at the guy's side again. Now that Tuesday tore his top, the injury was exposed to everyone. It looked really awful. But not as awful as an old woman's teethless stinking mouth, though.
She hesitated and pulled out a red silk handkershief from her bra. Cool sliding movement made her gasp, yet it was no time or place for delight, even if adrenalin always made her flustered.
Lucya noticed the teen's face go pale-blue and slapped him slightly onto the cheek.

"You mean... You mean, pressing the cut? Like this?"

She covered the wound with both hands, trying to stop the bleeding. Little ruby-red trickles ran in between her fingers. Lucya stared at them, hypnotized by blood's magnetic beauty, but Tuesday's voice kept piercing her mind. Sugar? What the hell could this chick need sugar right now? No ideas, unless the girl has a sudden hypoglycemia access...

"No honey" - she grinned at the girl, - "I'm on a strict diet. What I have is..."
She reached down to her long jackboots and picked out a little paper package, full of snowy-white cocaine from the boottop.

It was the enjoyment most filthy rich enterprises executives treated themselves and were generous enough to share with their companions. Lucya was never fond of cocaine herself. Once or twice when she did sniff it, it took her a couple of hours to stop nose-bleeding. But every time one of the fat-faced sweating "high and mighties" offered her a dose, she could not resist. Cocaine was an expensive delight and you could always sell it or at least have it in case one of the top-echelon clients urgently need dope.

So, she threw the pack into Tuesday's lap.
"That can give him a bit of anaesthesia... I think... Just make sure you don't overdose. One sniff won't make his heart stop. Though, if you'd rather operate on him right now, he'd better have a shot of vodka. How badly is he..."

Lucya did not finish the question.
All of a sudden, she looked at the situation from aside, with the eyes of a casual observer, and it seemed so impossible to her that Lucya bit her tongue and shook her head several times, as if trying to wake up from a surrealistic dream, brought by "green fairy" and laughing grass...

Nothing faded away, when she looked back up. The guy's ruby blood was still streaming along her hands, colouring the seat. Lucya sat straight, though still pressing at the guy's wound, and asked, addressing to everyone at once.

"Who the hell are you all?"

((I fear I may need to post before Bagel, everyone's leaving me in the dust. I'll give him a few more hours though. gonk ))

Tuesday sighed, tearing her gaze from the chaotic madness that was the inside of the front large pocket of her bag as to give Lucya a sidelong glance. "Sugar," she stated in a somewhat as-a-matter of fact fashion. "Is a coagilative. As the crystals and red platelets bond, the blood turns really sticky. If enough of it is poured onto the wound, it helps the white blood cells create an outer shell; a scab if you will. Pepper would do. Salt too..."

Large orbs then fell onto the paper bag set on her lap moments before it was taken away. "Nevermind the overdose, just a touch of that and our patient will be a gonner. The last thing we need is to speed up his heartbeat." A knife she thought, hurredly pulling her arms out of her coat. Straight from behind.. It explains the abnormal large laceration and the depthness.

"He's a left hander." She said abruptly, finding it hard to shut off her one-tracked mind. "The stab's at an awkward angle and its safe to assume that the right hand was used. Tall fellah, too, as the blade was angled downar-- sorry." I'm such a ******** idiot. Maybe Thursday was right, I need better social skills. "Bad habits are hard to break... Did you take a good look at him, Iris?"

Her eyes shifted from patient to make-shift nurse and back before cupping her hands over Lucya's own. "A bit more pressure... and I'd stay away from the cocaine... it corrodes the cartiledge of the nose and.... oh.. I'm rambling again... sorry. " If he dies on me.... Tuesday shook her head as if to snap the deadly thought from running its course.

"God damnit, and this is the reason why I refuse to be a doctor. What's the worst I can do as a pathologist, bring someone back from the ******** dead?" She whispered to herself, hoping that no one else had heard.

"Tuesday," She stated after a moment, in a calm, clear and audible tone of voice. "Tuesday Addams....Hey, aren't you that kid who sits off in a corner in my anatomy class, Iris?"

Keep him awake, damnit, keep him awake.

"Sugar.." Keiji began to pat his pockets in search of the sugar that Tuesday requested. Mind you, he was using both hands to reach the pockets of his bloodied military coat while he drove with his knees. Naturally, as the taxi sped on dpown the road it swirved side to side wildly nearly speeding over a lady and her baby. However, Keiji was a lucky young man- that much was obvious as he lived on the streets so.. Well.

Keiji shifted in his seat resulting in the taxi to swirve around the lady who pushed her child in a stroller. Narrowly, but he got around them. Finally, after much fumbling and so on and so forth, Keiji produced a small box of sugar cubes. The best he had, but it worked. "One moment, please!" Keiji stated as he tossed the box on the floor of the car to break the hardened cubes of sugar into powder, the best he could at least.

However, how he would recover it afterwards as a mystery. Once he stomped on the box with his foot, he slipped his boot off as well as his white sock and grabbed the box with his toes after much fuss and slipped his hand back onto the wheel. (Ack, run-on sentence. >o<) T'was like a monkey driving a car! Lucky for Keiji it was an automatic rather than standard automobile.

Having better control of the car, Keiji's foot peeked over the bench seat holding the box of sugar which was currently pouring out most of the white substance. Lucky for Iris, it was also a large block. Keiji needed a boost of energy time to time, and sugar did just that if needed.

"Here's some sugar." Was all Keiji stated as he sped along. Just where was he going? Seiji seemed to have been left behind, unless the idiot climbed into the trunk. Therefore, the original plan had failed. So where exactly was Keiji off to? "Tuesday, where's the nearest clothing store? I'll be damned if I walk around all bloody."

The least he could have done was take Iris to a hospital! Alas that was too good for the young punk. He ruined Keiji's coat- and there'd be hell to pay!

Though, when he heard name questioning, he took his brown gaze up to the mirror. "Ito, Keiji. Grandson of the late Ito Ken'ichi." One of Japan's most talented guitarists back in the day.

[ Message temporarily off-line ]

It was as though he were floating. While he could hear everything that went around him perfectly, it was as though he were watching television instead of accually bleeding from a knife wound inside of a taxi full of people he only just met. It was almost relaxing. Hell, if it weren't for the pain shooting up his side and the dull sensation of people touching him, he might as well be watching a movie.

Sleep was fleeting however. Everytime his eyelids started to sink down over his dark eyes, he would force them back open. Even when it felt as though he were in the midst of a dream, he couldn't sleep. To go to sleep now would mean risking never waking up, and that was a risk he wasn't willing to take.

"Not good."

The two words slipped out suddenly. They weren't a reply to any question, or even had anything to do with anything going on in the taxi right now. But he couldn't help it. He could feel himself drifting into shock, and was prepared to do everything to try and stop it. Luckly he was always to nervous to sleep when there were people around that he didn't know. Although there wasn't much hope of that keeping him awake if he lost any more blood.

Biting his lip hard, Iris ignored the thin trickle of blood that escaped from the corner of his mouth as he did so. Forcing himself to sit up right, he turned his body slighty towards Tuesday so that she could reach his wounded side easier. His moves were slow and sluggish, but that was hardly his fault. At least he was attempting to help himself instead of solely depending on everyone else to do everything.

Keiji introducing himself and asking for the nearest clothing store helped jolt Iris back into reality for at least a little while. Looking up to the front of the cab to meet the colorful hobo's gaze in the mirror, he raised an eyebrow slightly and winced in pain as Tuesday poured the sugar over his side. "I did say I was sorry for bumping into you, but if you wanted me to apologize for accendentally getting blood on you as well you only had to ask." Alas, his voice gave away his weakness as it was rather quiet and halting. "I'll even pay to get your soiled clothes cleaned or even get you new clothes if I get out of this mess alive."

Sliping his left hand down to his pants pocket, he fished around for a few moments until he found the thing that he was searching for. Pulling out the thin black case, he flicked open the latch that held it shut and offered it to Tuesday with a slightly shaking hand. The small wooden case held three different sized sewing needles and a couple different kinds of durable thread.

Gasp! The punks secret hobby was now out in the open for all to see. Could it be that he liked to sew and possibly make clothing? That sure would explain why his clothing looked brand new even though it was purposely torn in some places, and why he carried around a emergancy sewing kit. Appearently there was more to the antisocial, studded punk that meets the eye.

Lucya's taxi companions introduced themselves, answering her half-rhetorical question. Even the bleeding teen informed her of his name. That was too much. The situation became the most ridiculous Lucya ever got into. It resembled her of the plotless road movies, boring for everyone but their characters. And this time she was no idle spectator.

Oh, how she wished now to find herself in the high-tech comfort of silk sheets and glassy-chromed surfaces of her appartament. Oh, how disgusting was the blood-spotted shabby inside welting of the car, how sickening was every wild turn of the car.

Very often we envy the movie characters who live a hectic and adventurous life, leaving aside the fact, that the characters themselves may want something else. Very often we watch the characters who, by chance, get into the magic fantasy world. And we accuse them of hypocrisy when they struggle and complain. We like to discuss the if-I-were-there twists of plot not realizing that in truth not many of us would happily accept the crush of the daily routine. We have plans, maybe not adventurous, yet expected. And many of us hate to see our plans ruined without a promise of a happy-end or at least a kind of prize.

Yes, that was too much. All of a sudden, Lucya's patience and inner energy exhausted their limits. She went pale and felt weakness all over her body. The girl would have fallen down if she wasn't already sitting. An eyesight dimout almost hid the car passengers and Lucya shook her head again and again, hopelessly trying to clarify the vision. The air was so hot that it was hardly fitting the nostrils. Each breath burned the lungs. Lucya's hand slid down from the bleeding wound. She heard neither Tuesday's brief talk, nor Iris' mumbling, nor the car engine roar.

Her head with long black hair leaned back and Lucya closed her eyes. Helicopters whirled in front of her mind as if she was drunk or in fever. Trying to get rid of the constant dizziness, she concentrated on repeating to herself - "It'll be over... I will be over soon" - hoping that it would turn out to be true. She wasn't sure what made her sick - the speed and the turning of the car or the sight of blood.

Her right hand clenched the door knob so hard that the fingers were almost white. The glass would not go down and Lucya was too sick to put enough effort to press on it. So she could do nothing but count the helicopters, hope that it would soon be over and hold the sickness