oh shit, there's a horse in the hospital

[bloodplay]

WHO: Staff, patients, and visitors at the Import Clinic!
WHERE: Import Clinic, Manhattan
WHEN: The entire month of September! We’re going all out, baby.
WARNINGS: Injuries? Probably not much.
SUMMARY: A general and entirely open mingling log for goings-on and CR-building at the clinic! That's really all there is to this. Maybe you want to RP a character getting or giving medical help after a particularly rough night of vigilante action! Maybe you want to establish some hanging-out with coworkers! Maybe your character just lost half an arm! The clinic open log is here for you.
FORMAT: whateva whateva you do what you want

The Import Clinic is a three-story medical facility in Manhattan founded, staffed, and administered principally but not exclusively by Imports. It provides a wide range of medical services to Imports and native humans alike. Thanks to the special technologies and powers possessed by Imports, in many cases the Clinic can offer a higher level of treatment than conventional human medicine.

The Clinic operates with generous funding from private donors, principally a large trust fund previously set up by the Rossum Corporation. This allows it to provide its services for free. Staff members at the Clinic are generally volunteers, but thanks to the facility’s funding they do receive some benefits. All of the Clinic’s machines and equipment are the top-of-the-line, and it’s fully equipped for scientific research as well as treatment. It’s open 24/7 and always has at least someone available to take patients.

Comments

[failedprotagonist]

Kiritsugu notices that familiar look, and the ghost of a smile plays across his lips.

"Holy." He doesn't look particularly impressed by the idea. Is anything really holy? He's hardly a believer. He knows the Church does have its miracles, but he's not particularly well disposed toward the Church at the moment.

"I don't know if there's anything like that around here." Part of the problem is that the Grail is powerful. It won't be so easy to undo its curse. He had thought that maybe a force that was strong but completely other would have a chance of working, if he could find something like that.

He probably can't.

[swordedpast]

"If there isn't anything like that in the world--"

Archer hesitates for a split-second. He's about to say something idealistic and foolish. But he has to, in order to help this man--and live up to the dream he left. Stupid; he thought he'd abandoned that dream. He thought it was broken. But he's here in the City at Rin's side and this man is in front of him, so...

"--I will imagine it in my head and create it."

He lifts his fingers to his temple.

[failedprotagonist]

Kiritsugu wasn't expecting that, but his expression doesn't reveal his surprise. He glances down at his hands. He was never able to make anything (excepting his daughter); his abilities had allowed him only to kill. When he returns his gaze to Archer, his expression is curious, maybe even faintly hopeful.

"Is that what you do, Archer?" There are still things he doesn't know about the man Shirou became. He does want to know more about him. This is still his son, after all.

[swordedpast]

"Don't you remember?" Archer's expression is oddly innocent, and so is his voice. "When you started teaching me magecraft. I--" And here his voice catches. It's painful for him to talk of that time. It's painful for him to acknowledge the boy he once was as a part of him.

But he continues, because this is his father, and his happiness is at stake. "I could only use projection, but you told me to use reinforcement instead, because it was a waste. Something like that...do you remember?"

[failedprotagonist]

"I do remember." It wasn't so long ago, for him. He'd never wanted to teach Shirou magecraft in the first place. What kind of a teacher was he, anyway? What did he know?

He's quiet for a moment, not wanting to risk doing something that might cause the openness in Archer's voice to shut off again. He'd meant to ask whether that was Archer's special skill as a Heroic Spirit, if that was how he fought, but he hasn't forgotten Shirou's magecraft.

"Maybe I was mistaken." It wouldn't be the first time. "Usually it is useless."

[swordedpast]

A weary and cynical smile graces Archer's face. "In the long run, it was useless, of course. Nothing I did ever achieved anything of worth except that pointless, stupid ideal." His voice is soft, more resigned than angry now. Something of late has dimmed the rage.

"But in the short run, I am a master of projection. Especially of swords. If it can be imagined, I can create the blade with these hands."

[failedprotagonist]

"Hm." Kiritsugu makes a noncommittal noise. Everything he'd done had been useless, so he can relate. Like father, like son?

The question of the ideal is one he can't make up his mind on. Is it stupid, or not? Is it just that they'd made mistakes, or is it inherently flawed? But Kiritsugu doesn't comment on it.

"Impressive." Usually the cost of projection is so high, it's not worth the energy it takes. He supposes he can do something similiar now with guns, as odd as that seems. Not that he particularly wants to create limitless arms. He'd been hoping to get away from so much violence. "A holy blade?" He glances down at his hands. "I don't know if anything holy can touch it." Would it summon a Servant capable of purifying it? "But I'm willing to try."

[swordedpast]

Archer just nods, quickly casting his gaze away for a moment. Still, he can't quite hide the faint flush that comes to his cheeks at Kiritsugu's praise.

(Was that really all he ever wanted? To know he made this man happy. For a moment, it feels like it.)

"It's a curse, isn't it? So perhaps something holy can soothe it. One moment." Without further warning, Archer rises back to his feet and strides over to the receptionist, with whom he exchanges a few soft words--mostly reassurances that the sword about to appear isn't actually going to be used to harm anyone.

Then he walks back to Kiritsugu. He stands there in silence for a second, and then he says simply, "Durandal." A shining blade appears in his hands without any fuss. "Take it."