[i]With her clothing off and her wounds visible, it was clear that much more was wrong with her. Her entire back was laced with lashes from a whip, the skin nearly flayed from her back. The gash across her torso, the one on her face, and those on her arms and legs were covered in mud and dried blood. Dried blood from her nose made a pattern on her upper lip. Her feet were nearly raw from the distance she had ran, and her hands sported many small cuts, from what looked like barbed wire. She was not in good shape, and how she ever made it to the Dojo was a miracle. The entire time, the shepherd had followed, sticking close to its owner, looking concerned as dogs do when their masters are not well.[/i]

[i]The man rubbed the back of his head, then sighed. He left the room, and soon returned with a bucket of water, towel, disinfectant, the long, white, wrap-around kind of bandages, stitching materials... where he got the stuff was an entirely different story. He proceeded to fold the towel, then soak it in the bucket of water. Afterwards, the man carefully began cleaning the mud and dried blood off of the woman, shifting the towel every so often. Eventually he managed to have the woman mostly cleaned up, and grabbed up the spray bottle of disinfectant, shaking it. He uncapped it, and quickly sprayed down the woman's wounds, before grabbing the stitches. As he wasn't very skilled with them, he stitched closed only the largest wounds, not making the stitches very intricate like a surgeon might be able to. Finally, as it looked as though the woman would not be in danger of blacking out, he used the bandages he had to wrap the woman's wounds up; in the end there would be a lot of bandages on her, to the point where she could have paced for a mummy if her face were more covered. He sighed, sat on the table, worn out. Now, he simply waited for her to wake up.[/i]

[i]She laid there for some time, murmuring indiscernibly in her unconscious state. However, after a few hours, she came to, waking up slowly, and leaning herself up, despite her wounds. It appeared that she had quite the pain tolerance.[/i] "Where- where am I?" [i]She asked weakly.[/i]

[i]The voice woke the man up; he had taken a nap, evidently. He slowly sat up, rubbed his green eyes.[/i] "... dojo. Brought you in to take care of your injuries. You alright?" [i]He asked, stretching and waking himself up fully. His voice was naturally quiet, so much so that it was barely audible to the woman.[/i]

"W-what? Whe-where are we?" [i]She asked, generally confused, wanting confirmation on the man's first answer.[/i]

"The Dojo? Some place for fighters? If I'm to be honest, I don't know very much about this place," [i]The man admitted.[/i] "Anyhow... what were you doing collapsed outside of the gates with those wounds?"

"Running from... them..." [i]She said, sounding tired.[/i] "They're coming for the Dojo... they're coming for the Courier..."

"I think it's obvious that I don't know who 'they' are, or the 'Courier', miss," [i]The man responded. He sounded equally as tired, maybe for different reasons but still the same feeling.[/i]

"I'm sorry... I though he knew the people here... I guess that's changed... He's a big guy, wears power armor, has a machine gun on his shoulder, an American flag as a cloak, really sarcastic and scummy." [i]She sighed.[/i] "The men coming for him, I don't know a lot about, but I know that they're well-armed and trained. They know the Courier, they must've been doing deals with him or something... he probably screwed them."

"Ah." [i]He seemed to understand it, somewhat. But the more pressing issue was....[/i] "And... how exactly did you receive those wounds?"