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General Schörl considered the small voice coming from her breast pocket while a body went limp in a bed. The search for the perfect stickpin, sadly, continued onwards as the starseed she turned over in her hand proved to be a boring pastel pink. Not suitable at all. An eyesore, really. Upsetting Elʿazar may as well be a sport. Passing out is an interesting addition.

Curiosity piqued, she turned away from a limp body to the rest of the city and a successive series of teleports and rapid jumps to make the distance between uptown and the highend, industrial lofts. The half-youma captain's presence in the area was noticeable well before her building was in sight. Schörl sighed through her teeth, found the roof, the improvised climbing anchors that formed stairs down the bricks to a small grate porch and windows that had been converted into a glass door entry along the more private side of the building. That entrance fed into the commons area with the hookah, drink set up, plush carpets and seating rolls that she had made long ago to house any powered company that may have stopped by.

"Mayhaps the lion is sleeping because she doesn't roar?" The words echoed up into the industrial ceiling. Blood clotted the air as well as a scent of ashes and burning, curious compared to what might otherwise be expected of distress. Occasional slight crinkle of tarp followed to the reclining captain in her plight of discomfort. "Well now. What made a mouse of you, luv. What's been done already by way of energy or starseeds?"

Unusual combination of ashes and blood. Half-youma, half-destroyed. Youma regenerate...do you? Humans heal, not regenerate. Humans who can't heal die. Would that there was more research and reports submitted by Mica or Amethyst, or any other of the fledgling medical. It would put dealing with this less touch and go. The Lady or the Tiger.

" It always helps- that isn't a matter of thinking. The life of one to heal the flesh of another. But too many starseeds eaten in succession leads down one road. It would finish off what's left of you, pet. I'd rather not flirt with damning your potential to the base limitations of a full youma. "

" Not astute strategy, for a bounty hunter. How much serendipity it would take for a super senshi to defeat one of our General Sovereigns? It is simple math, even for what formal martial training offers. The average human reaction speed 0.25 seconds to a visual stimulus. Say a captain is .083 seconds. A general .0625 seconds. A sovereign or a royal then is .05 seconds. There's a significant difference between .08 and .05 seconds. There is a similar significance in the difference between lifting 250lbs as a captain, 300 as a general and 400 as a sovereign. Roughest estimates, but telling. " I leapt onto that eternal who turned into a princess....but that was at a mission. I'd gauged risks, knowing how many other operatives were near, we had the ambush of fire above and Leto on our side. Bischofite was supposed to open that gate to the Rift. It was playing for time, not expecting that I was going to win against the eternal or her friends right next to her. Much of it depends on how early into any of it she knew it was Castor, a known Royal.

" 'Just thought I'd try' was stupid on the basis of being alone, worse you weren't just facing a royal. It was a royal plus one. " Schörl let Cinnabar struggle a moment, going to a drawer to retrieve a straight razor. Once back, the problem pieces of clothing were quickly removed by clean, cut removals. It could all be summoned back good as new like any uniform.

" 'Left a pile of bodies' but 'decided we were equal enough and I'd have an edge'. These do not add up in quick assessment and strategy to command a situation. " It was more than a rookie mistake out of a captain, it was plain hubris and stupidity in a double cocktail. The wounds were deserved, and it drew into question Cinnabar's fitness for any sort of command or rank other than shock troop. Oft times the burned hand teaches best of fire. Are you capable of being Edmund Pevensie, thrice the loyal and fit because of your early failing? That seems someone more for a lieutenant's trials. We've done this sort of thing before with you. Is this Strike Two or Strike Three?

"Lay back and still. What flesh there is to stitch, or to pack with sterile gauzes, will be better done not bent in sitting. The ashing...it is no boon to wound care to lack the meatstuffs wanted to pinch closed a hole. How much you regenerate as a youma, and how much as a woman will be an interesting race. More energy balls will come later, with enough time passed." She endangers herself only on these solo stupidities. At least so much cannot be brought against her, that she leads others to death and dismemberment and waste. Does ending her here an now add up to more or less for Metallia? As long as others are not given to similar bravado and bad influence....less. She should live. An effective distraction, maybe, if a formal strike and hunt could be called for the Prince. He might go for her, seeing her out and about. It could give time for others to close on him and a trap sprung.
Another chance to learn. "This might be useful."

It didn't take long to bring over the substantial first aid kits stocked for just such occasion.

Schörl let Cinnabar's words hold in the air between them, unanswered, in order to work silently on the task at hand. Wound packing. This will need changed periodically and checked for how the Youma part is progressing in healing. And how much energy balls consumed effect it.

So much salvage there must be from so much wreckage.

Tentanus didn't seem a likely problem for someone not even of a viable earth biology anymore. Magic didn't get viruses or bacteria, and there was some argument in that truth that Youma wouldn't either. Or at least they would be more resilient. The wound was deep, gaping open but lacking most debris. A quick assembly provided a squeeze bottle with fluid for flushing the edges off with the precision of a pipette. No signs of infection, such as redness, or discharge. There were no streaks forming around the wound on the skin that remained womanly. The General unpacked swaths of sterile bandage next to dab away the leavings of the rinse first, then to start packing and applying pressure. With some maneuvering and lifting at Cinnabar's ample hips, wrapping and securing of the packing with more sterile bandage was achieved. A constant, low level pressure would stabilize without interfering the way a tourniquet would.

Finally, Schörl pet palms flattened against Cinnabar's temples and back into her long hair. The gesture was repeated, pulling lightly to relieve the scalp muscles with stimulation from tension. It was more than a little like petting and tugging on a cat's cheeks. "Mistakes can be learned from; it would be worse if you were stagnant and doing naught like so many. You will do better."

The last was punctuated with a kiss to the dip between bottom lip and crest of Cinnabar's chin. Then another at the very corner of the full lips, still not on them.

"You will rise above this. Your willingness to push your limits is not the failing. You've learned you cannot make the wall into a door with your fists, but you are using too much dynamite to make a door there...and just blowing yourself up. One stick will do. Or digging under the wall. Or climbing over it. Let's consider our uses of this."

"Tell me about the battle itself. Did you incense this Castor? Would he chase you to finish the job? Or on a larger field, could you lure him to focus on you ? A 'battle' could be made to look to have one purpose, when his maiming, capture, or death could be the real aim. Or this little senshi that you played with...she could be a useful target. You did not come away empty-handed of information. " As much as pain and injury may addle you, Sinner, time and sleep ruin more memory. So you must do your thinking now that you didn't then.

"Not nearly enough. There's not been reports recent to the database itself, or to the mouldering, over-sized bulletin board in the general halls, on most senshi or knights of any kind or title-tier. But on the old board there is a page wearing thin and faded- 'Name: Sailor Castor, White a** and arm wings, pale blue pants, white spats, white cross-top over crotch. Rank: Eternal, Power Base: Hail. Blue eyes and sandy hair. Known 'magical' attacks being All offensive, involving a cold fist and hail from the sky. ' "

"He is not unknown to the Intelligence Branch, once upon a fledgling time. And that bit about corpse pile. I would appreciate, once you're well enough, if you'd make an entry in the database regarding your experience. What InFos doesn't keep themselves, SpecOps can still use. " And so far as I know, the upkeep is so rare and dour that the sovereigns still offer a medal just for making an entry. Schörl considered a few moments more, letting silence settle over the gentle tuggings.

"Priority can be given to finding out more about the girl, if the information was true, who she is, and what her magic is. But this is all for later. " It's easy enough to take the prize from his side, whether he will or no with our teleportation skill. It just means that part of a plan should be done by a General. Things to consider for later. Things that could be recruited and trained for.

"It will be at least a day before we should try giving you energy or a starseed to boost your healing. Sleep now, Cinnabar. " The General pulled her own communicator out again, speaking generally into it the order for a corrupted Mauvian to report to aura-blocking duty immediately and the address of where.

"I keep my own. Rest. "