fandomhighdorms | The Gym; Early Saturday Evening.

After a lot of stretching and warming up, the boy who thought himself to be someone Bolton based on the stuff he'd been searching through all morning in the room he woke up in was ready to head down to the gym and practice. He woke up not exactly feeling himself...or, he could assume that much, as he didn't know who himself was. He knew his roommate had to have been an artist or something, since there was paintstuff all over the other bed and the room looked kind of artsy, but on the side of the room he'd woken up in, there was sports stuff, and jerseys and thing, so he at least knew that much. And lube, which was a little weird, but he figured that had something to do with the artist roommate. Since someone Bolton couldn't remember anything else, he figured he'd better get his athletic butt down to the gym to make sure he hadn't lost all his awesome basketball skills.

Outlook was appearing pretty badly, though, as he constant shots, pursued with what he thought was the utmost personification of grace and skill, were all failing. "Come on!" he shouted at the basket as if it were its fault, but then again, what did he expect? Of course it was going to be an off day. He should have known that the moment he had woken up with no memory...

He was still trying, though.

[[ posted with a certain encounter in mind (lol, of course), but definitely open if anyone wants to drop in before them in the timeline. ]]

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Ronan came into the gym, not having even really spoken to anyone today; he'd decided to start working on lifting weights, start to bulk up a little bit. He was completely and utterly unaware of any Fandom strangeness occuring, having missed out on speaking to anyone up to this point.

By this point, Bolton (he probably just went by his last name anyway; it was, like, cool or something) had figured out what the problem was. Clearly, he was working on things that were too simple. He needed to up his game; the fact that he wasn't challenging himself just made him flounder. That was the reasoning, anyway, on why he was on the bleachers right now with the basketball, at the very top, jaw hanging slightly in concentration as he dribbled the ball. He was so going to make this flying supershot and it would be awesome. It was a shame there weren't many people in the gym to see it.

Let's do this thing. Bolton bolted (ha!) as fast as he could down the bleachers, trying to gage where would be the best spot to launch off for his super awesome shot, which totally made sense in his head, really. But, in his head, he was a great athlete.

This was not so much the case with his body, though. At all he barely got to his take-off point when his clumsy, unathletic feet tangled up in each other and he started to trip just as he was launching himself.

He landed on the gym floor with a very, very sickening crack, his arm tucked painfully under the weight of his body.

"Oh, God."

That did not work out as planned....

Ronan ran over as soon as he heard the crack -- that was a sound he was familiar with. "Man, what were you thinking?" he exclaimed as he came over. "Here, let me take a look at that."

Holy hell, that hurt. "Clearly," he managed to get out with a groan, an attempt to make humor lesson the incredible pain, "I wasn't. Oh, shit..." He let the other guy do whatever; it didn't matter, really, beacuse all he could think about was the agony. That was definitely something broken, oh God...

An array of spells unfolded in Ronan's head, courtesy of the time he'd spent studying for his work in the clinic; it was a matter of moments to lay out a pain-killing spell in his head and run through it, confidence lending power to his voice. "That should help with the pain," he said, "but it won't have fixed any of the damage, so we're going to need to be careful when I move you." His hands grabbed 'Bolton' firmly at shoulder and hip, and rolled him as gently as he could off of the arm.

Bolton didn't know what the heck this guy did to his arm, but it made it feel better and that was all that mattered. Geeez, he could forget who he was; why couldn't he forget that this ever happened? He let out another groan and leaned heavily on the guy helping him and asked, "What makes you think I wouldn't be careful?"

The Knowledge had minimal diagnostic functionality, especially when compared to a lot of the hardcopy Manual implementations, but it was sufficient, at least, for Ronan's purpose. "You've got a compound fracture," he said. "I can heal it for you, but not here. I need some... supplies... back in my room." He frowned. "Here," he said, running a hand carefully along 'Bolton's arm. Another series of liquid syllables fell from his lips, encasing Bolton's arm in hardened air. "That should keep it immobile while we move. Think you can walk? Is the pain gone enough?"

What was with all that strange talking this guy did? Well, either way, his arm wasn't hurting, so Bolton couldn't complain. "Yeah, it's...mostly gone...Kind of. And I think walking's good. Didn't mess up my legs at all..."

Miraculously.

"Here, c'mon, then," Ronan said, helping him up. "It's not too far. Oh, my name's Ronan," he added. "Ronan Nolan."

The Gym; Early Saturday Evening.

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