Blue versus Green, A Duel at Dawn by TiAM325 (Patreon)

/// Since TiAM325 is now my ghost writer, I've been encouraging him to continue his omakes by giving him his own Waifu War channel on the discord for his work. Emoji responses only in there, please!

(Red versus Yellow, An MMA Match)

   On the main floor, cosplay clad hedonists dance, writhe, and grind to pounding J-Pop underneath blinding strobes and flashing lights. Off to the side, scattered couches, tables, and chairs mark more private areas. One of the couch and table sets has been claimed by Brian and his girls.

   Megan is on the far right, back in her Pandape cosplay. Her eyes are glazed and unfocused, her jaw slack; she has never been at the couches before. Rebecca is next to her, streaks of copper in her auburn hair. She is now clad in a dirndl skirt and tight white blouse. Mara's hawkish eyes study everyone, appraisingly.

   Brian sits in the middle, his fantasy Wars uniform artfully disheveled. Emily is bouncing in his lap, skirt wide covering them both.

   Stephanie is to Brian's left, back in her pink and red sundress.  Kelly is on the outside, snuggling tightly to Stephanie. While there are drinks on the table, no ones hands are visible.  If the music were to stop, and you were standing next to the sofa, you might hear some wet schlick sounds.

   "Careful Em, we don't want to get caught now." Brian chides her.  She grunts softly and circles her hips in his lap, grinding down.

   "Just let her have some fun. It is her turn. Who knew she was such an exhibitionist?" Kelly rejoins just before letting out a gasp and a groan. "Oh damn Stephie, right there."

   There is a slight shift in Stephanie's shoulder as Kelly's breathing deepens.  Emily bucks harder and thrashed front to back and side to side.

   Emily flings her arms and Seablue tressed head back, just as Melanie runs past with a double strawberry syrup vodka monstrosity.

   As fully predictable, the cup gets upset and the entire contents dump on Emily's face and chest.

   "You ignorant little bint. Watch where the fuck you're going. "

   "Hey I was just walking here.  What is a bint? Giggle. Now I have to go flirt for another drink."

   "No, you are going to get me some clean clothes and an apology you clumsy cow."

   "The vendors room is closed, I don't have extra clothes. Don't call me a cow."

   "Keep your udders controlled and I won't have too. Bessie, the dairy cow."

   "That isn't nice. Don't call me that."

   "You ruined a cosplay and are upset that I point out you have big tits.  My dear fat fuzzy buddha you are dumb."

   "Don't call me dumb" Melanie's voice has been raising in volume. She snakes out her left hand and slaps Emily in the side of her face will all 118 pounds of her bodyweight.

   Emily gently tongues her split lip.  "Blood has been spilled. I DEMAND satisfaction."

   "Fine you were thrashing about and then were very mean.  I'll satisfy you. I'll satisfy you right in the kisser."

   Rebecca's rich alto cut through the chatter. "I am Emily's second. Appoint yours. Tomorrow morning on the river walk."

   Melanie turns back to the bar meeting her talk dark friend Jordyn. After a whispered conversation, the caffe au lait skinned beauty walks to Emily and the gang. "Tomorrow morning on the riverwalk will be good. Knives, no armor. Honor must be satisfied."

   "Acceptable terms. Honor will be satisfied.  Will you and I inspect weapons, or try to find a neutral party." Mara's harshness was leaking out. 

   "You and I, I think. Hard to find a neutral party that will be understanding. "

   With that, Jordyn spins on her heel and returns to Foxy's antiharem across the room.

   Rebecca looks back at her friends to see Emily now gracelessly sprawled out upon Brian, and Stephanie's fluffy pink hair in Brian's lap.

   She remove her fingers from Megan's wet slit and speaks to her dear friend. "Emily, why don't you let me clean you up.  I doubt you two used a prophylactic."

   Without waiting for an answer, Rebecca slides off the couch to join Stephanie on the floor. Rebecca leans in, rubbing her nose in the bright blue racing stripe of hair as her pink tongue rolls out to caress Emily's nether lips, searching for any taste of Brian

   "Rebecca. He wore a condom. I am cleaning him up and practicing."  Stephanie's voice was muted but clear.

*     *     *

   Fog lay heavy on the city as two groups make their way along the riverwalk in the predawn gloom.

   Most colors are muted; however, multiple heads of hair are positively neon in the distant glow of the streetlights.

   One group in dark colors with flashes of silver on the jackets and seams of the trousers. The other group, in lighter shades of apparent gray, are in long robe like garments.

   The groups get closer together with the solemnity of a funeral march. Emily strode towards the steps up to street level haughtily, arm in arm with Brian. They were surrounded by Kelly, Emily, Rebecca, and Megan took up the rear.

   Closing from the north, Melanie was bouncing on the balls of her feet, arms linked with Foxy and Mary. Jordyn was immediately behind and Sarah followed, holding hands with Luke.

   The two groups stop about 15 feet apart.  Rebecca and Jordyn advance and close.

   "My primary is willing to let the matter rest at this point. It is a beautiful morning to not bleed out." Rebecca's soft voice was clear in the hushed fog.

   "A simple public apology and display of guilt is all my primary requires." Jordyn keeps her voice even and low.

   "An apology is probable. A display of guilt is not.  Let us not overplay our hands."

   "Your primary caused the incident, according to mine.  Today should be to nice of a day to die."

   "I will ask." In a synchronized manner, both young ladies spin on their heels and return to their groups.

   "Em, sweety. She wants you to apologize and publicly admit guilt." "Sorry Rebecca. Really I am. But I was not wrong, am not guilty, and will not say I am." Emily grips Brian's arm tightly. Ten yards away, a similar conversation is happening. "Melanie. She is willing to let the whole thing drop. Everyone showed up, honor can be happy. Let's go back to bed." Jordyn looks pointedly at Melanie's green hair.

   "Heh, I probably should do that. But I don't want to. She spilled my drink. Let's do this." Melanie's usually bubbly soprano was harsh.

   The seconds again close at the base of the staircase. Purple and orange rays of light are breaking through darkness to the east.

   "The terms are not satisfactory, my primary wants to keep going." Jordyn speaks first. "My primary also wishes to continue. This is a good location. We will not be starting with the sun in anyone's eyes. We have at least 30 feet laterally and over 90 longitudinally of smooth pavement." With a wave, the two groups close to the center.

   Dawn is breaking, and the clothing choices become clear.  Foxy is in a yukata style trench coat patterned as a Hawaiian shirt, loud colorful flowers and birds.  Mary, clinging tightly to his left arm, is in a gold Chinese dress with white trim, her golden hair shining.  Jordyn's long yukata is white and purple.  Melanie is in a gi; green cotton pants with white trim, white jacket with green trim, closed with a green belt.  The shades of green in her gi match her hair.

   Sarah is in a long gray skirt and bright yellow silk blouse. Luke stands right behind her, hands lightly on her shoulders. His dove gray suit and yellow open necked shirt match Sarah's eyes and hair wonderfully. The two of them snuggle into each other as they stand a few feet away from the antiharem.

   Standing opposite, Rebecca looks much more somber in a black charro suit with bronze embroidery. The bronze silk blouse with ruffles matches her hair. Stephanie continues to be adorable in her similar pink embroidered black skirt and jacket with pink blouse. Unsurprisingly, Kelly is in a tighter shorter skirt suit trimmed in vibrant red. Brian's suit is trimmed and embroidered with silver. Emily breaks the pattern in a flowing black silk gown, styled after the fashion in Spanish California. The bodice and cap sleeves are cerulean blue silk. Her arms are covered in patterned black and blue above the elbow gloves.

   Megan is keeping to the back. The sex she witnessed last night blew her mind. However, only Rebecca had been touching her at all. (This morning, the suits and dresses were just hanging on the rack. They just appeared. Clothing for everyone but me. All the girls have awesome hair now, but me. Then again, everyone had sex with Brian but me. What do I have to offer him.)

   "Once more unto the breach dear friends. Once more. Or shall we close the wall up with our English dead. In peace there's nothing so becomes a man as modest stillness and humility. But when the trump of war blasts loud in his ears then call for the actions of the tiger. Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood.. "Oh crap my knee. .. Disguise fair nature with hard flavored rage...What is next. I know What is next." A short very heavyset bald black man stomps his way down the steps. His dangerously short shorts reveal an angry pink scar on his right knee, and many more jagged scars across both legs. "Oh, good morning. You ladies look serious. I am going to plod past you all, do not let me interupt you." His voice sounded suspiciously like the announcer from Kelly's match with Sarah.

   Both groups watch him walk away, now with the tap of a cane on the concrete path. Rebecca clears her throat. "Blade inspection. Let's get this moving along." She opens a thin rectangular maple case to reveal three large knives; a navaja, a main gauche, and a Spanish dirk. Jordyn wordlessly opens a chef's knife roll to reveal a more, eclectic collection. There is a sawbacked fantasy dagger, a jeweled karambit, and the bayonet off an AK-47.

   Rebecca has a harsh smirk on her usually calm face as she lifts and checks each of the three knives. No trick blades, hidden compartments, or secret firearms detected. Jordyn appears grim as she checks the historic styled blades. Everything appears intact. She snaps the case closed with a clunk, "Good to go here."

   "Now what exactly is happening here?" All heads swivel to track the voice. It is the same man from just before, now holding his cane in both hands more like a rifle or short spear than an assistive device. "A conflict of personality that is about to be resolved forcefully. " Kelly responds with saccharine sweetness. "What is in the case, or that roll. Do not lie to me young lady. Just open the case." The rumble of deep bass provokes obedience before conscious thought.

   Rebecca flips open the dark canvas roll first. He clucks his tongue as he picks up the fantasy dagger first. "Shiny dull pot metal, no tang, no effective point. Did you purchase this paperweight in a gas station? Next. A Kalashnikov bayonet? Really? This is not effective as a bayonet, let alone a knife. Finally, a karambit. Lovely tourist piece, the blade is made out of zinc, not steel. Politely, these are knife like objects, not knives."

   Jordyn hands him the case wordlessly. "Navaja, classic Spanish fighting folder. This one is a trainer. Edge like a butterknife, no lock, no good. Main gauche; classical piece, this one is actually a museum quality reproduction but the tang is short and the handle scales are weak. Look at them shift under pressure of my fingers. Lastly, the dirk. Lovely blade, good balance." The man has been flipping the blades through a quick flourish of cuts, thrusts, and parries as he speaks. "This one is an original, my dear worth a few hundred dollars at least."

   "Now young ladies. If you are going to do this, do it right. Use actual, quality blades, dress the part, have some witnesses, maybe appropriate music. This is an occasion people. Have some classs."

   Brian clears his throat. "Excuse me, but who are you and why should we care." The short man gave a barking laugh. "I am Tiberius Murphy; classicist, student of history and tradition. At your service." With that, he gives a sweeping bow.

   Foxy interjects, with a touch of a sneer. "Well mr. Murphy, where am I going to find an actual quality blade at this time of morning?"

   "I have a small selection in the truck. Give me a few minutes." With a tug at his forlock, Murphy turns and taps his way back up the stairs with his cane.

   "Foxy, what am I supposed to do now. I can't sit in this dress, it's silk." Mary starts to whine. "You can sit in silk. It isn't that hard. Uhmm, you just. You know. Sit." Stephanie attempts to explain.

   "I just sit. Come on you idiot."

   "Mary, that is being mean. I don't like it. Please stop."

   "Stop being a bitch Mary. She isn't worth it.  We are here for Melanie." Sarah calls out. She and Lucas are now sitting on a bench near the steps up, cuddling in an almost nauseating manner. 

   "Girls, shut up. I need to focus.  I gotta focus my zen. You know, channel my nirvana and stuff." Melanie chides as she sits on her knees in the middle of the walkway.

   Emily twirls to face her friends.  "Brian, girls, thank you for being here.  Please get your instruments out.  Kelly, will you please check my makeup.  Did anyone call the priest?"

   "Priest, I tried too. I called the church. But I was told 'the archbishop will not grant absolution or dispensation for dueling.' Or something like that." Stephanie's voice is somewhat muffled because she is digging in a large black duffel for a bass mandolin.

   "She was really sweet on the phone too. Hold your face still so I can finish. Do you want haunting allure, just haunting?" Kelly clarifies. "I want stunning Latin beauty from that old show. The guy in the mask with the sword." "You are all set girlie. Knock her dead."

   The tinny jangle of a bicycle bell rattles through the air. A fleshy blad man in the long black cassock of a Catholic priest is peddling his heart out from the direction behind Emily's group. "Children. Beloved. Am I too late?" Emily stiffens, her posture straightens and her face stills. "No Father. You are just in time." She gently lowers her self to her knees and brings both hands in front of her, a crucifix on a rosary clasped between them. "Forgive me father for I have sinned. It has been months, years since my last confession. I don't have time to go through all my sins of omission or commission." The priest takes both her hands in his, cutting her off. "The Curia has forbidden any sign or appearance of blessing an unlawful act such as dueling. However, that is pro forma, not de fide." He dips into his cossack and pulls out a small silver vial and thin wafer. "Hoc est enim Corpus meum." He says loudly, then his voice drops to a mumble for almost a minute. His hands wrapped around hers, both heads bowed. Emily eats the wafer, drinks from the vial and looks the priest in the eye. "En nominus Patri, ect Fili, ect Spiritus Sancti Amen."

   The solemnity of the moment is broken by the green haired bubblehead. "That looks cool and important. Can I get some of that?" "Are you baptized into the Church Catholic?" The priest asks with an edge to his voice. "My mom is Methodist and my daddy's Pentecostal. We don't go to church much." "No, young lady. Not today. Come to the parish of St Crispian tomorrow and we can talk. I am father Padriagh."

   "I do not have many options in the truck; however, I was able to find a few pieces." Murphy's deep bass rumbles from the top of the cement steps. "Padriagh," and then a stream of syllables pour forth that no one understands save the two older men. Murphy slowly descends the steps, his left hand close to his waistband.

   After barking similar sounds back, the priest responds in English as well. "I have changed Edax. Joined the church, tried to atone for my sins."

   "I know some of what you did. Not relevant now. What are you doing here?"

   "I was asked to hear confession, great absolution,  and maybe perform last rites. But the call came in very late last night. What are you doing here?"

   Murphy is now on the path, crossing so that no one is standing behind him.  "I was walking this morning and decided to intervene when I witnessed what appeared to be the start of a duel."

   "Some intervention, they still intend to go forward. " "I did not attempt to stop them. I requested an appropriate level of formality. I even took the time to change my attire." Instead of the moto tee shirt and silkies, Murphy is now in a forest green frock coat over a chocolate brown waistcoat, dove gray high waisted trousers, and a black tophat; more appropriate for a Jane Austen festival than Animecon.

   During their discussion, the young adults in black finish assembling their instruments. At Emily's motion, they begin to play 'Deguello' on trumpet and mariachi strings.

   Murphy carefully takes a long thin box from the tail pocket of his cost and hands it to Emily. "For the young lady in black and blue, this knife is for you. It is yours to keep, or be buried with." She opens the box to see a massive and graceful Bowie knife. The blade is satin polished over 3 fingers wide and a full 12 inches long. The almost delicate clip point has a smooth and wicked false edge. The guard is mirror bright silver, the handle polished black micarta, and a sapphire is set in the pommel.

   He then turns to Melanie, who has been sitting in a still posture of meditation for several minutes. "For the young lady in white and green, this gift. For life, or death, this blade is for you." She is handed a long thin object in a green silk bag. When Mel opens it, a smoothly curved tango is revealed. The mirror polished blade ends in an iris leaf point, the handle has a golden dragonfly on the sharkskin that has been wrapped in braided green silk cord.

   The two young ladies take their gifts and approach each other. Melanie tugs the buds out of her ears irritably, strains of "Road of Resistance" by Babymetal are plainly audible. 

   "Now is your last chance to say your sorry for spilling my drink." She growls.

   "I am sorry," Emily begins. 

   "There. We good. Time to anime shop." Melanie jumps into her speaking.

   "No you silly cow. I am sorry that you don't understand.  You ran your drink into me. You dumped a sugar monstrosity all over me and my cosplay. You, yoy clumsy cow, are at fucking fault.  Make it right, in one way or another." Emily finishes, teeth clenched.

   "No, you hit me. You pay me."

   Jordyn steps in hands patting down the air as if she could calm the two.  "Ladies, we seem to be st an impasse. Step back so we can clear everyone. It seems you are going to blood."

   Melanie and Emily step to about 6 feet apart.  They bow slightly to each other and raise their knives.  Emily brings her knife bearing right hand shoulder high, cutting edge up, point directed at Melanie's right foot.  Emily's left hand comes up between her modest breasts and a little forward with her palm out.

   Melanie is in a modified horse stance. Her heels are squared underneath her shoulders, her knees deeply bent.  The tango is held horizontally, cutting edge in with her right arm mostly extended. Melanie has her left hand all the way out and at the same level as the blade.

   <Holy crap holy crap holy crap.  She is actually going to fight me.  What am I doing? Why am I standing like this?>

   <Relax baby girl, this is fine. I am here to help you.  We know what we are doing, so you do too.>

   Melanie squints her eyes slightly and throws her weight forward in a poorly balanced lunge.  She attempts to sweep her blade across Emily's midsection.  Emily pulls her lead leg back behind the left foot, vacating the space melanie's knife just occupies.  At the same time, Emily drops her empty hand to redirect the knife away from her as she whips a snap cut at Melanie's eyes.

   The razor sharp tip splits open Melanie's left eyebrow, but goes no deeper. Faster than Emily can track, Mel pulls her head back and recovers from the lunge, settling back into her horse stance.  Emily resents as well, balancing on the balls of her feet.  Melanie is waving her blade and empty hand through the air, in a seemingly random pattern.

   <Stand stoic girl.  She can't reach you yet, don't move until she can.>

   Melanie is bouncing lightly on her feet, shifting her weight back and forth, moving her feet slightly.  Her eyes tighten and she stabs her tanto forward.  Emily chops her heavy Bowie down towards Melanie's knife hand while rolling her body to the left.  Fast as lightning Melanie pulls her blade back and down, to snap a rising thrust at Emily's hip.

   Emily uses the momentum of her rotation to fire a left hook into Melanie's jaw as the cutting edge of her knife bites into the rough canvas of Mel's gi.

   "That isn't fair. I said knives." Melanie whines as she backs up several steps.

   "This is a fight, not a dance. Silly cow."

   "I told you not to call me that!"  Melanie screams as she leaps forward again, blade flashing in the early morning light.  Emily attempts to parry, but is struggling to keep up the the dizzying assault.  She manages to keep her body from being cut, but she can feel the sharp impacts on her forearms.   Emily steps back and drops her hips, loading up for a rising thrust aimed for Melanie's naval.  As the needle-sharp point rises, Emily blocks the horizontal slash coming towards her face and rolls her head to the side.  Her timing isn't quite perfect, Melanie's knife slices off the tip of Emily's left ear.  She flinches as hot blood flows down the side of her face, changing the angle of her thrust. Instead of Melanie's belly, the big Bowie blade is buried upwards in Melanie's left breast.

   As the young ladies cross blades, their entourages stand back and glare. Those in black continue to play music softly.  Those in white fidget and shuffle their feet.  Sarah hides her face in lucas's shoulder , almost spilling off the bench to avoid seeing the bloodshed.  Meghan has plopped herself down on the steps gracelessly and hides her eyes as soon as the knives start to move.

   "Edax. Again. What are you doing here.  Dere isn't an enemy to fight, a village to burn.  Nothing for hundreds of miles. You vanished years ago. And now up you show. In my parish.  What is a humble priest to tink?"

   "Humble priest my hairy big toe. Padriagh, I fought with you. I know who you are. I know WHAT you are."

   The two men in their upper thirties sat near the middle of the grand stair case, heads always turning as they talk and bicker.

   "What I WAS lad. What I was. I left Afrika over a decade ago. I hung up my guns and took holy orders. I am doing penance for me sins."

   "Either Christ paid for all your sin, or none of it. There is no one partially in the kingdom."

   "Oh, yeah. You were a MK weren't ya?"

   "Proudly protestant. You damned papist.  Repent for the Kingdom of God is at hand."

   [MK, missionary kid]

   "I never did miss te fooking sermons. Ya little gobshite.  Some Christian you are, leaving at least one young girl to die. By your weapon if not your hand."

   "Padriagh, I am hurt you think so little of me.  Parked at the access ramp to that very path is an ambulance. Staffed by friends. Well friends of friends. Two former 68whiskey and an 18Delta I served with in the sandbox.

   [68W is army field medic. 18D is Special Forces medic]

   "Tinking of odders. Will wonders never cease."

   "You knew me when I was 17 years old. Don't be a bastard. Remember the hole in my chest? Tossing me in the back of that Toyota technical? I have changed since then."

   Padraig notices that the duel has started.  "Never you mind. Ta game is on."

   As the women bow to each other, the commentary flows.

   "Blue has taken Wylde's universal guard. Interesting choice with a big knife."

   "Da green gurl is very square, she'll loose fingers with her live hand out like dat."

   "Look at that, green tries a lunge from square? Slow and off balance."

   "Blue does a good job dere. Redirect. Flicking a cut at eyes, mean move." Like the grumpy puppets in the balcony, the two older men continue their critical commentary.

   Once blue hair's knife enters green hair's boob, Murphy reaches inside his jacket for his phone.

   "John, Murphy. Time to roll. Don't stop them yet. Out." With a tap of his thumb, the screen goes dark.  "As I have said previously.  An event such as this needs some decorum, but we can be safe and civilized."

   Down on the wide path, blood drips from both combatants. Melanie screams wordlessly, flips her tanto back, and stabs at Emily's groin faster than the eye can follow. Emily rolls her hips in an attempt to avoid the razor sharp edge. Her effort is mostly in vain, the point goes deep into her left hip, scraping the bone. 

   "Fuck that hurts!" She roars, ripping her Bowie knife out of Melanie's tit.

   They break apart, panting for air and leaking precious fluids.  Melanie attempts to stanch the flow from her massive mammary as blood continues to drip across her vision.  Emily clamps her left hand to her profusely bleeding hip while moving to a low guard.

   "You can quit whenever." She taunts.

   "Imma gonna gut you like a fish,"  Melanie snarls as she sweeps a wide powerful slash from the outside towards Emily's abdomen. The white of Melanie's gi rapidly turning brownish pink with the flow of blood.

   Emily lunges into the cut! Slamming the outside of her left forearm into the blade at a rising angle, to hopefully protect the bones, she drives the upward turned blade in a straight thrust into Melanie's body. The blade sinks to the hilt halfway between naval and public bone.

   Uugh, a grunt, and a gurgle. Melanie slips down to her knees as the first full day of dawn illuminates the dueling duo.  Emily raises both hands to the sky, and collapses onto her back in a boneless heap.

   Padraig and Murphy spring up from the steps and rum down to the two girls, but the friends get there first. The downed opponents are surrounded and covered in a flurry of useless activity.  Mary grabs for the knife in Melanie's belly and tries to pull it out. Brian hooks both hands under Emily's shoulders and gently pulls her back a bit.

   "Do not touch that knife." Murphy roars, closing on the huddle.  "Back up, give us room to work.  Padriag, check blue. I have green." Ignoring what blood might do to his suit, Murphy kneels down next to Melanie's body and starts reaching into his pockets.  Green nitrile gloves go on in a flash, a small black zipper pouch pops open.  Quickly, the blood soaked gi is cut away with bandage shears revealing pale flesh and two ugly wounds on the torso.

   Z fold clotting gauze is packed into the ugly tear in the breast, then the packing is secured with an Israeli battle dressing.  Murphy then stabilizes the knife with quikclot and ace wraps, hoping the ambulance gets here soon.  The two massive wounds addressed, he cuts clothing off her shapely limbs to make sure there are no other wounds.  Not finding massive hemmorage, he places a npa (nasal pharyngeal airway, aka nose hose) and looks for something dry to cover her with.

   Foxy is holding Mary and Jordyn, all three looking a little green around the hills. 

   "You, give me your coat." Murphy bellows, pointing a blood soaked glove at Foxy. 

   "What, why?"

   "She has lost a lot of blood. She might go into shock. She needs to be covered with something dry." Murpgy answers, speaking slowly, as if to a child.

   "Edax, need a hand." Padriag calls from a few yards away.

   "Wrap this one up and elevate her feet, quickly."  With that choppy command and a heave, Murphy dashes over to the body in black and blue.  "What do we have?"

   "Arterial bleed mid thigh. Holding pressure but can't check anything else."

   "Holding pressure? You have been out of the loop for a while.  Keep pressure."  Bandage scissors slice through the bloody silk exposing pale flesh covered with cuts of varied sizes.  Murphy dips into his case for a black bundle of webbing with metal bits. The CAT7 tourniquet is quickly wrapped around the leg, pulled tight, and then cranked down with the windlass.

   At a nod, Padraig releases his grip and the bleeding from Emily's left leg has stopped. The shears barely stopped moving, removing the entirety of her dress.  "Torso seems fine.  Deep cuts right thigh. Another TQ will fix." Murphy talks to himself as he checks her body.

   Quiet mordant presences filter into his awareness. The black clad friends of Murphy's patient now stood around him.  One with pink hair and trim on her skirt suit drops to her knees and cradles the cerulean tressed head.

   "Sir, we want to, need to help.  What can we do?"  a pleasant worried tenor cracks into Murphy's focus.  Warm green eyes stare into his as he looks up.

   "Get those gloves off, carefully." Murph answers gruffly.  "Were is that cursed ambulance.  "You, young man, gently reach into my jacket, right inside breast pocket, and get my phone.  Press the redial and tuck the phone next to my head."

   Brian carefully pulls out the old school flip phone and fumbles for the dial button.

   Gingerly Brian tries to remove Emily's black and blue left glove, only to have a spray of blood meet him.  More black webbing appears as the balding priest works quickly, muttering under his breath in an non-English tongue.

   "Doc, Murph.  Where are you?  Turned around?  Not rated for your bus?  No go Doc.  Calling it. Line 1. Base of staircase to riverwalk at T intersection of Jackson and Canal.  Line 2. Call back this number, or Edax 3 on CB channel 6. Line 3. Two Bravos [urgent surgical patients]. Line 4 Alpha[no special medical equipment needed, yet]. Line 5. Two Alpha [liter or non walking patients]. Line 6. November [no threat, area secure]. Line 7. Delta [no marking pickup site], although I can pop green smoke if you get lost.  Line 8.  Two Bravo [US civilians]. Line 9. Negative for CBRN [Chemcial, Biological, Radiological, Nuclear], environment is flat paved path, no issues once you get down here."

   Brian hears a burst of noise from the phone as Murphy continues to bandage quickly.  Coppery smelling blood is pooling around his best friend and now lover.  He squeezes her hand, and she squeezes back.  Emily takes a deep shuddering inhalation and flutters her dark eyes open.

   "Ow. that hurts.  Shit everything hurts."

   Murphy grunts and reaches over to shine a bright light in her eyes.  "Welcome back to the land of the living.  Your dress is done for, but you should be fine."  The physical exam did not stop.  "We are going to flip you over now and check for injuries on your back.  Padriagh, softer than with a gosling.  Young miss, this will hurt.  Count of three.  One, two, three."  rough calloused hands log rolled feather weight Emily as gently as a downy feather.

   Brian eases out the breath he didn't know he was holding.  Kelly's cage fight was nothing like this.  Everyone knew she would walk back out and be fine.  A few quick movements and Emily is laid back down.

   'Woop woop' and flashing lights lead the ambulance down the path. 4 burly bearded tattooed guys bounce out with coyote brown bags instead of the typical blue.

   "Doc, it is about time.  This one probably needs blood or fluids and some surgiglue.  The blonde seems stable but should have a surgeon soon."

   "Murphy, I got it.  Let us do our job now." The short guy in the lead, red beard shot through with gray, turns his head and continues.  "Biff, Toby.  You guys start on this one.  Zeke, with me."  Bags are opened.  Diagnostic equipment comes out, starting with stethoscopes and blood pressure cuffs, but quickly going to  devices Brian wasn't sure of the purpose.

   Biff and Toby firmly yet gently move everyone back from Emily.  Being bound to her does not trump needing medical care in their minds.

   Brian asks, "Sir is there anything we can do to help?"

   "Do you know her blood type?" The name tag reads Hardy asks.

   "Well no, I don't."

   "Then sorry son, the best you can do is pray.  We are out of Community General Hospital, will probably end up there."

   More bandages are placed over the first, a few long rolls of gauze are wrapped around her torso.  Emily is turning into a costume mummy before their eyes.  Hardy trots back to the ambulance while the other makes notes on his clipboard.  The ambulance run might have started off the books, but it seems a different book has been started.  Brian knows that there will be some cost, but shuts down that line of worry quickly.  It doesn't matter, Emily is worth it.

   About 10 yards away, Doc and Zeke are working on Melanie.  The big knife is again stablized with more kerlix and coban.  Zeke cuts away her clothing while Doc readies a tablet thing with a wand.

   "What are you doing with her?"  Foxy questions.  He hadn't cared when Sarah fought in the cage.  Keeping Sarah Starr to himself was a bit of a reach to begin with.  Melanie on the other hand, she was fun, easy to talk into things, very easy on the eyes, and as close to baggage free as any cosplayer over 13 he had ever met.  He would not use the 'L' word, even in his own mind, but he certainly did care for her.

   Doc heard, but was not answering.  He and Zeke had worked together in the field back in the army, this is nothing new for them.  The primary survey is completed quickly, words barely spoken bandage wrappers and bits of clothing flying as they work.  Once every apparent wound is dressed, Doc spreads some blue colored goo on Melanie's pale belly and still bloody breast.  Zeke nods his readiness, pen poised over the paper chart on his clipboard.  Starting at her boob, Doc runs the wand around her injuries.  He pauses frequently and changes angle or presses a button on the tablet or the wand itself.

   "Missed any of the major vessels, but not by much.  I hope she doesn't plan on nursing because the milk ducts are jacked.  Blade stayed well away from the chest wall.  Bad but not horrible.  Moving on."  He moves the probe down to the knife blade still protruding from her lower abdomen.  "MIssed the bladder, thank God.  Bladder is empty, oh she voided on herself.  No big deal, dress is toast anyway.  Intestines appear untouched, how the hell did that happen.  I don't know but that is a massive blessing.  Just the uterus."  After a few more measurement with the portable ultrasound machine he stands up.  "Let's get her on the cot.  She needs GYN and general surgery soonest."

   "Sir, what is happening to her?" Foxy asks again, louder this time.

   "She should live. It is a serious injury, but she should live.  However, there is some bad news.  Short of a miracle, she will not have children.  From what I can sed with the portable ultrasound, her uterus is severed.  A gynecologist might be able to repair that. But don't hold your breath." The doctor lets out a deep breath and calls out, "load them up stat.  We need to be at first Presbyterian hospital post haste."  First pres just opened a big women's surgical unit.

   Quickly and gently, the two young woman are lifted onto the transport cots and secured in the ambulance.  A bit of a snug fit, because usually one cot at a time.  Who won?  You decide.  You see, both live, but will carry the marks of this morning for the rest of their lives.  This is me, obnoxious announcer signing off.