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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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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