447/Imprint

Imprint
Date of Scene:	13 October 2015
Location:	Mitakihara - Mitakihara General
Synopsis:	Tuxedo Kamen knows that Hannah Sharpe has the Nationals coming up. He also heard about why she's in the hospital. But-- Kyouko Sakura is missing, so a lot of priorities get rearranged briefly.
Cast of Characters:	Hannah Sharpe, Mamoru Chiba

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Mamoru Chiba has posed:
Nighttime, and even though the window's locked from the inside, Mamoru Chiba didn't used to be an expert gentleman jewel thief for nothing. Number of floors up is also not a factor.

The window slides open and a breeze drifts in, cool fingers of air lighting on Hannah and her burns, ruffling her hair and the leaves and petals of flowers brought earlier in the day.

A familiar black-clad figure slips inside, taking his gloves off.

"Hannah-chan," he whispers, "are you awake?"

Hannah Sharpe has posed:
Tuxedo Kamen would quickly learn three things as he slips into the hospital room with a ruffle of hair and touch to her wounds. First, even as that familiar energy washes over her, she's one heck of a heavy sleeper. Second, she snores when she sleeps.

Third, she cuddles poor Boris like some kind of plushie when she sleeps. Hannah remains steadfastly snoring away, but a pair of deep blue eyes open and peer at the man.

"Ah! Hat Man. White Kitten sleeps like old Romanian legends. One moment." Comes the Familiar, before he rolls over, and starts licking Hannah in the face.

That snoring stops immediately, she protests and laughs grogily!

"B...Boris!? Do you have any idea what time it is, I mean I love your licks but..."

There's a familiar presence looming.

"...Hat-kun? That you?" Hannah /blushes/ at being caught cuddling Boris that way. It helps that Mamoru's giving off his 'mysterious masked man aura'. Hence the name she uses.

Mamoru Chiba has posed:
Boris PROBABLY misses the look of amused surprise on Tuxedo Mask's face in shadow and quickness, but while the surprise is fleeting, the amusement remains. He takes a half step back, watching as Boris wakes Hannah up but -- to his credit -- not smirking.

Thus, there's no smirk in his voice, either. "Yo," he says quietly. "So I heard you have a match coming up. Very soon. Too soon for this nonsense."

There's a brief pause, and Mamoru exhales through his teeth. "I'm not going to lecture you, I'm just going to tell you you need to stop, which you already know and have rationalized six ways to Sunday."

His feet against the floor, then, light as a cat's, and she can feel the shift in the air as his hand comes down to rest against her forehead as he takes stock of where her burns are, how much damage there is to tissue and nerve, how much energy he'll need to use.

"It was a text I got from Kyouko, this afternoon. It was cut-off mid-word, and the timestamp was a day old. I haven't got any leads yet."

Hannah Sharpe has posed:
Hannah can't help but 'look' away. Her gaze is somewhere between 'caught with hand in cookie jar' and actually remorseful. With a side of that rationalization and general hard-headedness that always characterizes her.

She opens her mouth, closes, it, and then huffs.

"...Something like that. Heh. Nationals, yeah." There's an excited smile on her face suddenly. Indeed, for all that she's gotten up to, the sport is her first and original dream. And yet, it seems all so small and distant these days.

The damage is light...at least for someone who blew up a tanker truck full of magical chems right under her feet. The teleportation spell shielded much of her body, but her right arm is severely burned, and lesser burns all across her right side and left leg. She's lucky it didn't end up worse.

All of that growing excitement fades into pure worry. It's strange, but that last sparring session brought her closer to Kyouko, and she's never lost the desire to recruit her, or her respect. Nevermind she's still technically a research subject.

"Did you try at her Conbenie? Seems like the old woman there has been relying on Kyouko a lot. We had a sparr a few days ago. She seemed fine." A frown.

"Hey, R.T.!" A coin on the side table suddenly lights up in a feminine british voice.

"Yes, Mistress?"

"Search your records. I know we took battle data of Kyouko, but that'll be pretty useless with her soul gem cracked. Any kind of magical signature from her at all since that thing overloaded."

Hannah tilts her head thoughtfully.

"this is going to be a weird question, but do you have anything she's been holding onto lately? Doesn't matter what. I might be able to get a signature off of her that's recent enough to try to track her down if you do." Her tone suggests an 'If we're lucky' end to it.

Mamoru Chiba has posed:
"The owner hasn't seen her. Neither's her landlord," Mamoru says quietly, beginning to let more than a ghost of his own energy flow into Hannah, remembering the way she should be, reminding her body of its proper configuration, knitting and re-growing and repairing and replacing. It's the same peace and stillness it always is, the same golden warmth.

And just like before, it's taking so much of his own reserve to do it. He feels like an enabler, sometimes.

"She's been in my car. I have the bag left from doughnuts that she brought me the day before she disappeared, I've been really busy and haven't had a chance to take out the trash. I know where she lives, I could steal something from her flat you could use, that's probably a better plan-- any of that sound like it might work?"

Hannah Sharpe has posed:
Hannah is silent for some time. She soaks in that delicious, powerful earth-energy. The ravenous part of her wants to reach out, suck it all in, just as she wanted to with Madoka. But she grits her teeth, and just as all that muscle and flesh reknits, repairs, she reaches up.

Right for the man's throat. It's an overt gesture of threat, though not backed up by magic. She's still a strong young woman, and the point should be clear.

"Stop!" A huff, and her grip loosens.

"Right there. I met a new friend, someone I owe a debt to, with the same kind of power I lust for in their bones. Don't tempt me right now, Mamoru. I don't want to do that kind of thing to you, or her." Comes Hannah, voice a bit harsh here. She then pats his cheek, and smiles, features softening.

"You did more than enough. Thank you. Any more and I'll probably lose control of myself, the way I am now."

An eye closes, and everything seems bleak.

"Keep all of them. Her magic's so weak right now that even Raging Tempest might not be able to do it. Gather them up, and once I'm at full strength, I'll try it out. But keep investigating, I can't promise results. Tracking a Puella is hard enough on its own. One who has had her magic torn up like that?" She shrugs.

"There's a saying back home about needles and haystacks."

Mamoru Chiba has posed:
Mamoru freezes when that hand comes for his throat, and he stares, meeting her blank eyes in the darkness as her fingers grip his neck.

He listens, and his hand slips off of Hannah, and she pats his face, and everything is strange and heavy and

the bleakness in Hannah's soul

in the room

is reflected briefly in Mamoru's pale, dimly lit features.

Briefly.

"Hang in there," he tells her, voice soft and warm and amused, but there's strength behind it, conviction to fill in the spaces where Hannah might feel she's faltering. "We'll do our best, and we'll definitely find her. Don't give up hope. Magic use isn't the only way to track someone, and the touch of someone's magic isn't the only imprint they leave."

There's a rustle in the endless night the girl lives in, and then the press of a kiss to the top of her fluffy white head. "Rest up. You have a match. Goodnight, Hannah-chan. Goodnight, Boris-kun."

And then he's gone, curtains fluttering in his wake.