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[h3][color=662d91][i][b]Alexander Polawski[/b][/i][/color][/h3][i][b][color=662d91]Location:[/color][/b][/i] Moving through the streets of CMB with Freedman -> General Housing/Apartment 1C(M7)
[i][b][color=662d91]Skills:[/color][/b][/i] N/A
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	What what with this man, this man who was so free of judgement towards a stranger as Freedman was? Alexander did not know how to take it, the feeling that there was a man who, if not knowing what the old veteran felt, at least could imagine knowing it. There didn't seem to be a single harsh or judging word in the man's vocabulary, only understanding and words of wisdom. Help, encouraging words and suggestions. If Alexander did not know better, he'd thought he as the old father back in is family's Catholic church home in Chicago. 

	Alexander looked back at Freedman at his suggestion of a group session, though with a very special group. He nodded, wondering, hoping that it could be something. [color=662d91]"Yes, yes that sounds like an idea. Haven't had my own shoulder for…God, years…"[/color] Was all Alexander said of the matter, refusing to tear up at the thought of the last person he carried him through their troubles times. He missed her, every day and night. 

	The rain showed no signs of letting up its campaign of bombarding Camp Mexico Beach with carpet raining, though Alexander paid it no head anymore. The damp feeling of his feet soaking wet didn't bother him, nor his wet hair messy and sticking to his forehead. His conversation, confession, session or whatever it was he had with Freedman, was all that mattered to him. Hands washed of blood, but the image never leaving your sight. He knew it all too well, much better than Freedman's following advice. 

	[color=662d91]"I'll…"[/color] Alexander stopped himself from saying it, the same line he'd thought to himself perhaps has a defense mechanism. "I'll try." No, he tried but failed. He had to take a stand against his most fiercesome enemy to date. Himself. Alexander breathed in deeply, exhailing and repeat a few cycles, until he looked Freedman straight into his eyes, forcing himself to look into the abyss. [color=662d91]"I will. I will find the next moment, remember it, and stick to it."[/color] A soldierly discipline was perhaps needed in this struggle, the same discipline which he was both haunted and supported by. Follow your orders, don't think. [color=662d91]"Yes Sir."[/color] 

	The apartments were fast approaching, much to Alexander surprise at the slow pace he though they had. Everything looked the same in the rain, the streets and buildings. Alexander nodded to Freedman as he opened the door, feeling the pat on his shoulder. A warm pat, sending its warmth through his weary body only felt a few times the past weeks. Alexander looked at Freedman again, one last time before entering and leaving him behind. [color=662d91]"Thanks…thanks a lot. God bless you."[/color] 

	Manny was standing in the common area, now noticing Alexander entering after his talk with Freedman. Alexander smiled a tired smile at his fellow Baby Boomer, his judgement not recalling the little incident between him and Freedman. Only partial images of the exchange appeared before him, as he'd stormed off out into the rain like the broken shell of a man he was. To his surprise Manny apologized, only half of Alexander actually understood the context for. A part of him wanted to tell Manny it was nothing, to live and let live, like he used to. No words were able to be formulated in his mouth, however, only a feeling of sadness of a friendship on rocky ground. Alexander approached Manny, not knowing what to say or to, but following an instict he had surpressed for years. 

	Alexander embraced Manny and gave him a hard hug, one long overdue. Only after a moment or two did Alexander actually say anything.

	[color=662d91]"You don't know when to shut up, Manny, but you're good…Thanks."[/color] 

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[h3][color=B8860B][i][b]Nigel Cooper[/b][/i][/color][/h3][i][b][color=B8860B]Location:[/color][/b][/i] Gymnasium (K7) -> Towards the Mess Hall
[i][b][color=B8860B]Skills:[/color][/b][/i] N/A
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	The world was slowly but surely coming back to its correct balance as Nigel kept lying on the Gymnasium floor, with the stars disappearing from sight and his senses turning normal again. While defeated, Nigel didn't feel the shame of being bested in combat which he thought he had the moment he yielded. On the contrary, helped by what little he could hear and see from the others in the room, this had been a good fight. Most of that came from Thalia herself, looking down at him and giving him a fist bump while telling him it was a good round, but one thing tingled him. 

	Hadrian. She called him Hadrian. He could get used to that.

	A smile cracked over Nigel's face, giving him the strength to return the fist bump to the one-armed Amazon while the others continued to comment on the fight. A hand reached out to help him back on his feet, though only after actually standing up did he realize it was not Thalia who helped him. Thalia was gone, and in his stead stood Medic with his hand. Perplexed at her sudden disappearence, Nigel wiped the sweat and few drops of blood of his face while listening to the talk of lunch. [color=#B8860B]"Lunch? Yes, that would be good…"[/color] Nigel half-way mumbled, shaking his head to get the ringing out of his ears as he made his way to the lockers to change. 

	Soon Nigel was back into his regular clothes, looking fairly all right after getting a good beating as he probably made his way over to the Mess Hall alongside Volts in the pouring rain. [color=#B8860B]"I have to give it to her, was not anticipating that last move of hers. I guess playing dirty is allowed in war, sometimes, though it was good fun. Any suggestions?"[/color]