"…How's he look as far as concussions?"

"Negative."

That's a good thing. Cardsharp worked to keep from grimacing. He had no idea where he was… best to lie low for a while. But, Din, that hurt…

"What about cranial fractures?" the nurse's voice came again, and Cardsharp was aware of fingers being drawn away from his head. He hadn't realized he was being examined…

"Looks like a negative there."

"And what's the status on the break?"

A short cough which seemed to vibrate all throughout his aching head. "Looks like multiple greenstick fractures to the upper femur, same to the hip. I'd say get a chemist or he'll have a slow time of it. Best to do it before he wakes."

There was the sound of a pencil scratching and then busied footsteps - he thought perhaps both of them had left, although he wasn't sure. Nonetheless, he allowed the cold sweat to break out on his forehead. A chemist! How on earth was he supposed to pay for that, on top of official exams? Impossible…

What an unglamorous way to be screwed over. Doctor bills. He made some ill-informed effort to move, and the pain shot up his spine in an agonizing wave. He bit back a scream and moaned through clenched teeth. Multiple hip fractures, the doctor had said? Cardsharp had a sinking feeling he was right.

Another hurried pair of footsteps stopped outside the door - to read the nameplate, he guessed, though what they had put there he had no idea - then came inside. The heavy door to Cardsharp's room shut with a sharp slam and the click of a lock. He lay still, trying his utmost not to look as tense and pain-filled as he felt.

The chemist was silent for a long while; there was the sound of a bottle being uncorked, and a glassy tinkle and clink, like the tinkle of a swizzle stick against glass. The chemist's hand went down over the break. Cardsharp jerked irreconcilably and bit back another yell. Farore, there is no way he could have not felt that…But apparently he hadn't.

He felt a momentary wetness against his hip and thigh, soon fading away to be replaced by a tingling feeling that enclosed his bones, and a sudden, unmerciful itching; the sensation grew to resemble pins and needles, and then faded away to nothing - no pain at all. A pause, and then fingers immersed in some sort of liquid drenched his temples, producing the same tingling before disappearing, taking his lingering headache with it. The boy wanted to cheer. Instead, he kept his eyes still shut, waiting for the man to leave. Clearly, an escape attempt was in order.

The chemist's footsteps trailed away - but they stopped before reaching the door. There was the faint whoosh of fabric dragging on fabric once more, and then the chemist came back to Cardsharp's bedside. There was a pause. What the hell is he doing…? Then, with fearful suddenness, he couldn't breathe. His eyes flew open - whiteness filled his vision. "Frmrph!" he cursed. Gauging carefully, he kicked out and was rewarded with an organic thump, a muffled groan. The young man threw the pillow off of his face and beheld his assaulter, clad in a chemist's long white coat, clutching his stomach.

Cardsharp scrambled to his feet, groping for his cards, but he realized suddenly that his coat had been taken off. "Oh, you bastard!" he yelled in frustration, and the doctor looked up. He swung at the man, fist connecting with chin, and laughed, partly in astonishment at his own violence. Sidestepping his assailant, and getting punched in the gut for his trouble, Cardsharp clutched his stomach, pushing away one fist aimed at his faced and the other hand as it reached for him. He glanced towards the attacker, realizing the open shot, and before the offender's arms could pin his own to his sides, he rammed one fist into the man's throat.

The gambler slipped away to cross the room, where he retrieved his coat and slipped it on. "And, by the way," he said as he struggled with a sleeve, "if I call out 'you bastard,' it's probably not much of a compliment to yourself if you look up." He smiled, then frowned abruptly. The man, recovering, had reached into his own pocket and pulled out a knife. He was advancing quickly.

For once in his life, Cardsharp was out of ideas.

Dammit, this is not a great way to die! he hissed at himself, backing into the coat rack and knocking it over, then remembering his own pocketknife and drawing it hurriedly out. The man lunged, and he let out a gasp as he stepped backward and -

Farore, you IDIOT - how could you trip over the coat rack Goddesses we're gonna die as the floor loomed up to meet him, the dagger and his assailant falling atop him, and he was stabbing blindly, trying to stop the distance between them from closing, frantically warding death as the pocketknife miraculously hit the junction of blade and handle and turned aside one lethal stroke, and remained upright as the man came down atop him. The assailant's dagger had turned to the side, and suddenly Cardsharp was face to face with the man who had tried to strangle him while he slept - he was quite ordinary. Black hair and stubble on his jaw, tan, pouchy face, now all drenched in sweat, with eyes a muddy hazel clouded with a franticness matching his own, or was it… pain?

There was a wetness on his stomach. A hand twitched against him. The man's weight was crushing the breath from Cardsharp's body; his lips moved, but no sound came. Again the hand moved, the hand which clutched the knife, and the younger man could feel a warm, drenching liquid spread across him and trickle down to his sides to pool on the floor.

"C- could you… move a little, please?" Cardsharp whimpered as even more of the man's weight seemed to collapse onto him. The muddy hazel eyes shifted their focus, and something in the man seemed to rally to anger. "Guess that's a … no," Cardsharp whispered, and, drawing as great a breath as possible, pushed against the man with all his might.

Another gush of warm liquid came, but after several long seconds strained agonizingly by, the man's body lifted a fraction of an inch and the gambler was free, rolling out and clutching his ribs. "Holy… Nayru…" He glanced toward the man. "What… the hells… do you eat? …Bricks, or what?" Taking in a few more shuddering breaths, the young man sighed, glanced down at himself and froze in horror. His eyes grew wide as he saw the dark red stain of blood, all over his clothes, his jacket, the hand which clutched his pocketknife, trailing across the floor…

He dropped the knife. "G…g…" How weird, he thought in some strange part of himself, have I ever really been speechless before? The clatter of the weapon on the floor, the shuddering sigh of the other man, all registered but distantly. Deafening silence.

He tried again, and found, to his relief, his voice - cracking like a preteen's, but at least there. "What've I done…?"

At last, after he seemed to sit and stare at his bloodsoaked self for hours (he could not bring himself to follow the trail towards the dead man where he lay), a distant sound drew his attention. At the window was a bird the color of midnight, pecking like mad at the glass. It took him a few more moments to register who it truly was, but then he gladly stood on shaking knees. Numbly, he walked to the window and opened it, distinctly relieved for the company.

As Meryl appeared in front of him, Cardsharp sat down abruptly on the floor, quite literally unable to stand any longer for the trembling in his limbs.

"Now what do we do?" he asked, just as Meryl erupted, "What did you do?"

He sighed, ducking his head. "I have no idea at all. He tried to strangle me, so I punched him, so he pulled out a knife, and then I pulled out my knife… and then…" Shaking his head, he ran a hand through his bangs in sudden frustration. "Oh, what the hells does it matter! Just…" He shook his head, looking up at her hopefully. "Fix it?"

She studied him for a moment, all soaked in blood on the floor like some morbid child, staring at her comically, and allowed herself a small smile. "Oh, get up from there! Pull yourself together. See, you're already joking about it."

As Cardsharp got up, Meryl surveyed the room. The only door into the hallway had been closed and locked, fortunately, by the chemist who had attempted to murder Cardsharp. Other than that, the room was an average hospital room. There were two beds, one of which had been slept in, the other in order except for a missing pillow. Meryl peeked over the side of the bed - yes, the missing pillow was there, apparently flung there after Cardsharp had become aware of his assailant's attempt on his life. An adjoining room hosted a small fountain which emptied into a pool useful for bathing patients or washing one's hands, a removable wall receptacle which smelled disgusting and was obviously used for toilet purposes, and a cabinet which proved to be full of antiseptic ointments and cleaning supplies.

"Bingo," she whispered, and turned back to Cardsharp. "Okay, bring the body in here and take off your bloodstained clothes. I have a plan."

"But -" He looked down at himself with anxiety, then back up at Meryl.

"Just do it! Geez, do you want to get out of here or not? I know what I'm doing and whatever you're worried about, I've seen it before," she snapped.

He grinned meekly and peeled off his damp jacket, handing it to her. "Yessum." After adding his shirt to the pile in Meryl's hands, he went off to the main room to retrieve the doctor's body, throwing his pants after him only once he had disappeared around the corner. She rolled her eyes at his shyness. "I've seen it all before, you know," she yelled to him as a staccato dragging sound began in the next room. "You sure you don't want your boxers-slash-briefs washed?"

"No." He poked his head around the corner and grinned teasingly. "You only wish you could see what you're missing."

She shook her head, biting back a giggle before bending down to retrieve the ammonia and vinegar she needed from the cabinet. Emptying a spray bottle full of tile grout remover into the fountain for disposal, she opened the bottles and added a little of each ingredient. As she added liquid hand soap to the mixture and swilled it with her free hand, the chemist's head and shoulders slid slowly through the doorway. She set the bottle down and went to assist Cardsharp, who had modestly wrapped a pillowcase around his lower body, with dragging the man into the room, raising an eyebrow as she saw the trail of blood leading across the floor from where he had lain. Perhaps she had gotten the virtuous gambler wrong, after all; he had done quite a number on this man, although at first glance how he could have survived the streets of Hyrule had been beyond her.

"His clothes come off, too," she said matter-of-factly, and then, laughing a little at Cardsharp's disgusted look, "Not his underthings, relax… but his uniform, that's what we need."

The gambler blinked and held up his hands. "Wait, hold up. You want me to pass for a chemist?"

Meryl looked at him skeptically. "I know, I know. You think it's the dumbest thing you've ever heard. Let me put it to you this way: do you have any better ideas?"

Cardsharp sighed in answer and knelt next to the corpse, grimacing with distaste. Meryl smiled and began to pretreat the clothing that he had already given her. As she was submerging his shirt, he approached her, bearing a wad of red-stained white clothing. "Whatcha doin'?" he asked idly.

"Removing the stains with some common cleaning solutions," she said softly, placing the bloody portion of the shirt into the fountain's stream, then wringing it out, snapping it sharply through the air to remove the wrinkles and placing it on the door of the cabinet. "It'll take a little while to dry, but I'm sure there'll be something to help with that here, too."

Cardsharp had opened the bottle to scrutinize the contents, and was now standing with it held at arm's length and a horrified expression on his face. "Din, that smells… what'd you put in it?"

"Hand soap, ammonia and vinegar, but what's it to you?" she inquired sharply, taking the bottle back and setting to work on his jacket.

He smiled and walked to the cupboard, rummaging for materials to clean the blood from the floor while she worked. "Lucky me. I off a guy by mistake, and expert housewives save me via the laundry. How did I get those odds?"

Meryl shrugged. "Spot cleaning runs in the business, I suppose."

Cardsharp stared, then laughed. "Now I know you've been hanging around me too long," he remarked, and was rewarded, to his surprise, by an actual chuckle from Meryl.

Amazingly, the escape itself went rather smoothly. After laboriously cleaning up everything, stowing the chemist in the cabinet, dressing himself in the man's still-damp clothes, and completing the disguise by seating Meryl in a wheelchair and draping her with a blanket, the false chemist wheeled his patient out the door, and that was that. Meryl and Cardsharp sprinted to a back alley, where they quickly rid themselves of their props, tossing them haphazardly on a nearby dumpster.

Cardsharp flopped down atop a junk heap, closing his eyes and breathing a heavy sigh that made his shaggy bangs jump a bit in surprise. "Finally. I can't believe that was as easy as it sounded."

Meryl snorted, grabbing him by the arm and unceremoniously hauling him to his feet, despite his protestations. "Yeah, right, buster. Have you forgotten? We've got to get to the brothel, and faster than ever now. If they find even the slightest trace that that doctor's gone, we may well be implicated if they're careful enough record keepers, and we both have enough crimes to our name already - no need to add something as serious as murder," she added, with a sobering flash in her eyes. The gambler shifted uncomfortably, a flush rising to his cheeks. He had almost forgotten…

For a moment, pain and guilt dominated his expression; then, just as easily, he shrugged, all care put away for the moment, and flashed a grin just as cheery as before. "Yep, you're right. Lead the way, Mer'!"

"You should only call me a mare if you're planning to ride me, silly," she said, a poisonous, seductive grin parting her lips, and when she saw the indecision as to whether he should be disturbed or amused by her rebuttal, she laughed aloud. The sound broke the ice, and their laughter echoed through the damp alleyways and into the street as they turned a corner.

"Well, Meryl's a long name," Cardsharp pouted at her playfully.

"What d'you want from me - I didn't pick it!" she said indignantly, still grinning. "And Cardsharp's longer, anyway! Were your parents taking forest mushrooms, or what?"

"Aww! I made that up myself!" he said, feigning offense and covering with his usual smile. "If you really hate it, you can call me Sharp for short or something. I won't mind - I'm not all touchy about these things, like you."

He was laughing and dodging a punch from Meryl when a faint melody in the distance began to grow louder. The grin froze on his face as he stopped, looking after it. A drumbeat was speeding up tempo as a hurdy-gurdy's meandering, gypsy shriek bawled out a howling tapestry of a melody; violin and cello meandered in and out in glorious bursts of noise, and the song finished in two ascending screeches that drew tumultuous applause from the faraway crowd. Songs outside, gypsy songs, ballads and drums and…

Recognition dawned in his eyes. He had heard that song before…

"Come on!" he yelled at Meryl, suddenly elated, and ran towards the noise of the cheering crowd, leaving her behind to stare confusedly at him as he darted through the streets.

"Sharp? Hey, Sharp, wait up!"