Points of Authority

[Grace Van-Derveld]

A pair of white leather gloves hit the counter of the receptionist's desk at the hospital, waking the fool behind it up who was sleeping on her desk. The human woman was rather thin and attractive, the usual species of trollop to be found working these positions, all though her beauty was mired by smeared lipstick and a large lock of hair that fell out of place Grace had ran into these kind of people her entire life. Minimum pay always produced minimum work...

"You'd think greeting people at the front door who are upset about their loved ones in the hospital might be a concern for you, hmm?" Her unforgiving tone was incredulous towards the flabbergasted woman; who looked as if she was going to cry for being caught in such an act.

The woman gulped and tried to speak, but the blonde towering over her cut her off immediately, "I want no excuses, just tell me where my brother Balthasar is and you can be rid of me, because we already know how I feel towards you."

Frantically the receptionist stumbled through the paperwork, "Last name, Ma'am?!"

She rolled her eyes, "None. It would be under Balthasar. Simple as that."

There were many individuals that came through the hospitals with only one name. First or last, it was never certain, just that they were filed differently. "Floor 23, room 15-B." Quickly she filled out a visitor's badge and shakily handed it to Grace, who snatched it out of her hand and grabbed her gloves. "Thank you..." she said, sneering at her incompetence and walked off towards the lifts.

Thankfully the rest of the staff had brains and her trip to the 23rd floor was uneventful. She had to produce her badge one last time to the nursing staff present on the floor before they allowed her entrance into the patient rooms. The room assigned to her 'Brother' was easily found, and she pressed the keypad to open the door to his room and entered.

Balthasar was sleeping, and she made sure he stayed that way by quietly closing the door. She walked to the front of his bed and read the chart. Multiple abrasions, contusions and a deep stab wound. Diagnosis, full recovery. The blonde smirked, thinking how special that was.

She dropped the chart, letting it hit the end of the metal frame. "Wakey, wakey. Time to get up."

[Balthasar]

Balthasar's silver eyes flashed open and immediately found their way to the woman making such disturbing noises. His brows knit downward in curiosity at her words and slowly, he managed to sit up. He had so many hospital blankets piled on top of his chest that was an effort to even breathe. His stupid nurse, though buxom and fair of face, had the intelligence of a doornob. The whole time he had been in the hospital, she had insisted that he was never warm enough and he could never get her to understand that his race was naturally cold of body.

Finally, he composed his position, tossing the heavy coverings to the tiled floor. The clip board containing his health status rattled against the metal bed frame, causing Balthasar to grit his teeth in frustration. Who the heck was the woman and why was she in his room? Crossing his muscled, tattooed arms over his chest, he tilted his head and waited for an explaination.

In the meanwhile, he inspected himself. He hadn't been able to do so in a while, having been in a grave amount of pain or a blissful drugged state. Of course, he prefered the latter. He was garbed in one of those ridiculous hospital gowns and his hair was more of a knot than he had ever seen it. He sighed and then focused his attention back on her, his hand lingering ever close to the nurse call button.

[Grace Van-Derveld]

His movement did not go unnoticed by the blonde. In fact, she did not care at all and moved around to the otherwise of the bed that was away from the door. "Tsk tsk, Balthasar," her voice was husky and smooth, "You mean you don't remember who I am? To think I made such an impression upon you six months ago when someone I trusted gave me your name."

She pulled out the chair from the corner and situated it at the side of the bed, sitting down and crossing her legs, "If you don't remember me, perhaps you remembered the money I threw at you to get your little gang started, hmm?" His stupid blank expression answered her question and she sighed. Another approach was required.

Grace leaned forward, exposing more cleavage intentionally, "The Battered Rose Bar in the lower levels. We had a long conversation about your future over a few drinks. Ringing any bells yet?"