<div class="floatleft">(https://i.imgur.com/sTBpBUf.jpg)</div><strong>NAME:</strong>Alexander Greyhallow<br/>(Optional)<strong>WEARING:</strong>Black boots, black trousers, black shirt, black leather trenchcoat<br/><strong>LOCATION:</strong>DARKEST Vancouver Institute Infirmary<br/><strong>TIME:</strong>July 6, mid-morning<br/><strong>CONTENT:</strong>An injured Alexander is brought to the infirmary<del>so that you may all bask in his tales of triumph</del>to be treated for injuries<br/><strong>TAGGING:</strong>Open; Alric, Lydia mentioned<br/><hr/><br/>In the main, it was a good day for Alexander. He had gone out on a sanctioned mission with several other Shadowhunters, all of whom returned in one piece. The mission was an unqualified success: a rogue Warlock that had evaded the authority of the Clave for months had finally been run to ground and apprehended. The team of Shadowhunters had defeated the Warlock and its demon minions, taking the Warlock into custody and seizing evidence that would ensure and open and shut case. Alexander was sure that the orgy of evidence was such that he could successfully prosecute the case.<br/><br/>Of course, there were downsides. Clouds to every silver lining. One of them was Alexander had missed pancake day at the commissary. The second was that he had been stabbed three times, set on fire, and then a scorpion demon had caught him with its stinger, injecting him with demonic venom. The Runes on his body and his robust Nephilim constitution had kept him alive thus far, but they were at their limits. Alexander had his arm over the shoulder of a fellow Shadowhunter, who was honestly basically carrying Alexander entirely by the time they got to the infirmary.<br/><br/>Alexander was basically drug through the door and brought to one of the beds.<br/><br/>"Hey, Alric! My man!" Alexander called out in a slurred voice as he was pulled past Alric and Lydia, showing a lack of decorum at interrupting their hushed conversation with his greeting. As a frequent guest at the infirmary, Alexander was quite familiar with Alric and vice versa. In fact Alric and the other healers were no doubt more intimately familiar with Alexander's body than many people in committed relationships were with their partner's body. It was a good thing for the infirmary they did not have a punch card for frequent visits. Alexander's would look like . . . not Swiss cheese. That was insufficiently porous. Something with a lot of holes in it.<br/><br/>Although Alexander wanted to lift a hand to wave to Alric, the hand connected to an arm not draped over another's shoulder was devoted to holding shut a wound at his side. It was a game attempt to keep his blood inside himself, where it belonged, and honestly he was not succeeding. That was not just his problem, but also the problem of the poor unfortunate responsible for cleaning the floors: Alexander had tracked blood all of the way from the entrance to the infirmary. A weak giggle escaped Alexander's mouth as he imagined Francis finding the blood trail before someone cleaned it up and fretting over getting the crimson liquid out of the floor before a stain set in. Of course that would not be Francis's primary concern: but Alexander's mind was addled by blood loss and the effects of the demonic venom in his system.<br/><br/>Alexander had done a good job in keeping calm, inducing bradycardia in himself through a mixture of willpower and shallow breathing. Still, his skin was pale and clammy, and the blood vessels on the back of his hand and on his neck had turned black instead of blue.<br/><br/>"Thanks, Dima. Truly, I mean it." Alexander said to the Shadowhunter who helped him in. "I just want you to know . . . if I don't make it, you can have my stereo."<br/><br/>"You do not own a stereo." Dima replied matter of factly, the terse words softly spoken and without emotion. Only after the words were spoken did Dima realize the error of his action. But it was too late. Dima had made one of the classic blunders: indulging Alexander's glibness on any level.<br/><br/>"Damn, you're right. Sucks to be you." Alexander quipped, and another weak giggle escaped his lips. Dima's perpetual frown faded from sight at the giant Shadowhunter turned and plodded away, making room for a pair of healers to look over Alexander. "Dima! Wait! It's quesadillas for lunch at the commissary! You gotta bring me some! Dima, buddy!" Alexander called out to Dima's back, which was as impassive as it was massive. Thus: Alexander did not entertain even the faintest sliver of hope that Dima would bring him quesadillas.<br/><br/>The healers were examining him, and Alexander had his jacket removed and his shirt cut off. He lay his head back, passive as they worked to stop the bleeding. One of them injected him with a magical anti-venom, and the feeling of it coursing through his veins was like having ice water shot through him. It was not exactly a bad feeling, relatively.