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Kendar The past few days have been reletively... simple, at least for Kendar. Not a whole lot was going on, and it was a welcome change of pace, well at least compared to the choatic days of the Battle of Alamo. Kendar was still in his Medbay, making sure everything is in it's place. He didn't belong in Alamo, his home was in El Dorado. He just needed to make sure the medbay was set for the Rangers and then he'll be on his way.
Ashur The Prospects are not technically restricted to the Citadel and the area around it; they can visit New Mexico and the El Dorado region if pressing concerns arise. But given part of the recruitment process is to make a show of enduring stressful conditions and deal with the lingering mutants that still flock to the region, well -- it's obviously less impressive if you up and bail.

And so Ashur, despite his injuries, has returned to the Alamo after a brief visit to New Rome. The man's armor has been repaired and his clothes washed, and when he shambles into the medbay, he looks pristine and invincible.. until the power armor's frame opens, and out steps a man who is clearly heavily wounded, bandaged and battered. A hole in his head that didn't pierce the skull (thankfully), various cuts and bruises, acid burns and the like.

"Medicus," he says, noticing Kendar checking out the medbay. "I would have thought you left after the battle.. still, if you are free, I have need of your services. I will pay."
Kendar Kendar slightly raises his eyebrows at Ashur as he walks in his power armor, but after he steps put of it, his pupils open wide. "I'll never understand how you people keep standing after this kind of punishment." He said, slightly shaking his head. "No time to waste then. Get yourself over to that table." He points towards an operating table behind a curtain. "I did plan on leaving sooner." He told Ashur as he was walking towards a first aid station. "But I guess I didn't wanna go... for some reason." He took the entire station off the wall and tucked it under his arm.
Ashur "The alternative is dying," the brute mentions, lumbering his way toward the sheet-covered examination table. He hefts himself up on it; his legs hang off the end, and his shoulders are a little wide for it, but such is the consequence of being a giant. "And I do not have the luxury of dying yet." He'll reach to the knot of his toga behind his shoulder and undo it, letting the heavy wool fall and expose his uncovered upper body, knotted with thick muscle and thicker scar tissue, and all the wounds that body holds. "With the influx of Ranger initiates, and the return of the old guard, I reckon we'll have our own physicians soon. But for now, this medbay remains yours. It saved many lives during the siege; you should be proud."
Kendar "Well without folks like you fighting, there wouldn't be anyone left to save." Kendar said walkig over to Ashur and placing the first aid station nearby. "Now then, let's see what we are dealing with here." He says examining the wounds. "Acid burns, a few nasty cuts here." He eyes the hole that almost pierced Ashur's skull. "That may leave a nasty mark, but I'm sure you got plenty of those already." He takes out some gauze and alcohol. "First thing's first, gotta make sure it's all clean."
Ashur "I have not fully healed from the siege yet," Ashur explains as the doctor examines his myriad injuries. His body is battered; torn skin, fractured bones, burns and bruises and breaks galore. That he's walking is a genuinely impressive feat. But people do say Ashur is a tough cookie. "The blood of the chimeras tends to slip between the joints of my armor and burn in battle, and the aches from the explosion to kill the Abomination linger. I might have broken something, but I'm not sure. It could merely be an ache."

Acid blood, explosions, potential fractures. He recounts his injuries with a forced neutrality, clinical in how dispassionate he is. It wouldn't do to gripe about pain.

"Clean away. The head wound.. I'm not sure where that one comes from."
Kendar Kendar, at Ashur's command, begins cleaning the various and numerous wounds that the Berserker has accumulated. "Honestly, I don't think I can fix you up to 100% here. It's pretty bad, don't think I've seen worse." He stops for a split second, a more focused expression appearing on his face, but he quickly shakes it off and resumes cleaning the wounds. "You know, technically as a medical profesional, I'd have to recommend that you don't do anything physically tasking for quite a bit. But I get the feeling that you'll ignore me either way."
Ashur "Your expertise has been more than proven," Ashur observes, lips pressed into a thin line as he girds himself against the sting of the cleaning. "But I am not allowed the luxury of idleness, either. I know I am hurt; I will be more cautious than usual." The pain of treatment always exceeds the pain of injury, the Legionnaire long ago realized -- in a fight, the adrenaline, the need to protect your life, overrides. Afterwards? There's nothing to distract but your own thoughts and the damage itself. "Time will heal all."
Kendar "It usually does." Kendar said, nodding. "Okay that's as clean as it's going to get." He quickly finished cleaning the last wound. Giving Ashur another quick look over, Kendar moves over to a counter. Opening it reveals a stack of clean rags and a few bottles of water. Grabbing a few rags and a bottle of water, he heads back over to Ashur. He soaks the rags in water and starts placing them onto Ashur's acid wounds. "This should help wash away any remaining acid left, assuming of course there's any left, but best to be safe then sorry."
Ashur "Should you find El Dorado too dull for your tastes, the Rangers would appreciate your assistance, medicus," Ashur points out, as the wet clothes adhere to him like tight bandages. He sits up a bit on the table, an old pillow tucked behind his lower back for support, his toga wrapped around his lower body like a kilt. "While Rome is my home, this Citadel, these Rangers, need aid; it is paramount that the mutants not be allowed another foothold. We must slaughter them all, and bathe Texas in their blod."

His hand squeezes into a fist as he speaks. "These Rangers will learn not to doubt the skill of Ashur."
Kendar Kendar was honestly, not used to Ashur's type of speech... it sounded very old-ish. Like maybe from one of Grognar the Barbarian comics? He personally didn't know, but it was kinda inspiring. Along with downright terrifying at how he treats the mutants of course. "I suppose we'll see." He noted. He started checking out the various bruises that Ashur had. The ones which were negligible were ignored, but the more serious ones would get covered up by a bandage. "I saw what you can do. And honestly you are a terrifying force out on the battlefield. I'm surprised the mutants aren't running away when they first catch sight of you." He releases a small snicker. "I know I would."
Ashur Ashur's speech is indeed old-fashioned; as he was forced to abandon his native tongue young, and learn the Latin-English mix of the Legion, he's acquired a peculiar vocabulary. That there is a comic book influence on it, from his youthful collections, would not be too surprising. "I have slain many of the mutants, and left a trail of broken bodies in my wake; yet, still, they come. Perhaps fear is beyond them. If so, they are dumb things." He shrugs a shoulder as he's wrapped in bandages. The added support will help. "You would be wise to do so, but I will not harm you. People call me berserker, but I have sense enough to know who is my enemy and who isn't."
Kendar "And we are all glad for that." Kendar said with a small grin, bandaging the last bruise. "Well, I think that's all I can do for you for now." He looked Ashur straight in the eye. "But if you got any more health problems do make sure to get them patched up as soon as possible. Would be a shame to lose you for a second time." Then he placed the remaining unused bandaged into the station.
Ashur Ashur meets the man's eyes with a still head; the gaze lingers, and then he nods once, decisively, grunting in the affirmative, and clasping the doc on the arm. "I cannot die," Ashur remarks, sliding off the table and fixing up his toga, knotting it once more behind the shoulder. He waltzes toward that massive, depowered armor frame and rifles through a cloak pocket. "But I can be hurt. Name your price, medicus." He'll withdraw sufficient caps to cover the given costs.
Kendar "The price, my good friend, would be absolutely nothing." Kendar states pretty much instantly. "Just keep on showing those muties that Humans aren't the squishy things that they think we are and I'll consider all your treatments free." He packs up the first aid station and tucks it under his arm. "Trust me, it's the least I could do for people like you."
Ashur The big bull of a man chuffs, and tilts his palm, letting the handful of caps slip back into the small inside pocket of his massive cloak. "Si vis pacem, para bellum," the Legionnaire cites, quoting a common phrase in their territories: If you want peace, prepare for war. "The mutants and their Enclave masters must die," he says, opening that power armor frame again and sliding into it. Sadly, since the powered components were stripped out, it doesn't close and seal automatically -- hidden beneath the cloak, on the side, is a jury-rigged hand-powered winch that he can turn to force it closed, and then keep shut with some bolted-on latches.

It isn't the most elegant way to wear power armor, but it works for when you've taken all the 'power' parts out.

The former Legionnaire will place his helmet upon his head once more, and clap his gold-plated and unusual ballistic fist against his chest. "Salve."

Then he'll turn and depart, no doubt to go kill something. Or just get some food and walk back to his wasteland camp.