A groan escapes Mail's lips as he opens his eyes, trying to sit up at the same time. A shaky, weary hand touches his head, and he lets out a loud swear as a jolt of pain registers throughout him, waking him up. His blue eyes catch notice of the red walls surrounding him, and his body registers the texture of the soft mattress he lies on. Trying to comprehend what had happened just before and where he was, he closes his eyes and tries to recall at least anything that happened.
...nothing.
Mail made a face and opened his eyes. He couldn't remember anything - except, for Matsumoto back in Tokyo. Aside from that, he remembers nothing else. Nothing aside from his Japanese friend. Nothing aside from strange people with horns and tails. Nothing aside from some fighting, stumbling, and an accident. Nothing aside from the voice of someone so far away. Nothing aside from...aside from...
"Ari," he remembers quickly, and stumbles out of bed. Instead of the cotton white shirt, faded jeans, and leather jacket he wore, he was merely wearing a silky top and dark red pants. He was barefoot. Swinging open the thick red curtain that blocked his way, he almost fell on his feet if it weren't for a rough hand that jerked him up and stopped him from humiliating himself.
"Sweetie, are you alright?" Mail looked up. Green eyes. Wavy brown hair. "You shouldn't stand up or even move, your injuries are terrible," she tsked. Mail was instantly reminded of a mother. She gently propped him on a chair and checked on him, the man still registering who she was. He couldn't remember her. Not at all. "You should go back to your compartment and rest up-"
"Where is she?"
His voice was weaker. The lady blinked once, then twice, and her mouth formed a surprised 'o'. Her green eyes darted around, and he noticed that they fell on another curtain, where a man with dark hair was rushing in, supposedly gloved.
"Do you know her?"
Instead of answering the question, he got off the chair and sped off to that exact curtain, aware that the woman was probably going to force him back. Mail pushed the curtain aside, and his blue eyes widened with shock.
There she was.
She lay on a bed, still knocked out. Her wounds were being tended to by this man with dark brown hair, spectacles on his face. Slowly, he dabbed a cotton ball on a wound on her arm, cleansing and disinfecting it off the dirt, twigs, and whatever else she and he had fell. Noticing a presence behind him, the man turned. How strange - his eyes and this man's eyes seemed to be the same hue of blue.
A scowl appeared on the man's lips.
"You should be at rest!" he scolded. "Elizabeta! Get him back to his bed and let him rest! Ludwig gave us strict orders about them," he started, but Mail interrupted him.
"How is she?"
The man seemed to stop, blinking.
"I..." he turned to look at her. "She's alright. Minor scrapes and wounds here and there. Nothing too major." he cleared his throat, and a woman gently clasped her hand on Mail's shoulder. He flinched. That must be Elizabeta. "I don't know about her head, though," he added, frowning this time as he observed the unconscious woman. "Elizabeta, you need to take care of this."
"I will," she replied breezily, and Mail turned to her. "Dear, go back to your bed and rest up." she gave him a small smile. "She'll be alright. What's your name?"
"Matt," he answered. A little uneasily.
"Matt." she nodded, thoughtful. "What about her?"
"Ari. She's my girlfriend." This made Elizabeta smile for whatever reason, and Roderich sighed from behind them.
"I understand, now. Alright. Roderich, stay here with me and assist me with bandaging and disinfecting her wounds. Matt, be a good man for me and rest up. She'll be as good as new when I'm done treating her." Although hesitant, this seemed to cheer him up. Mail merely nodded and walked away, going back to where he originally was.
Elizabeta watched as he went back and turned to Roderich, carefully cutting some bandage.
"How odd," she mused. "Did you notice?"
"His stubbornness? Quite so." he snorted. She gave him a look, and started tending to the young woman, who remained still.
"Not that, Roderich. It's odd that she looks just like her." she ended softly.
"...true."
"He seems to love her a whole lot. I could see it in his eyes."
Roderich said nothing else.
