Village Idiots....
Feb 3, 2009 18:22:43 GMT -5
Post by Darastrix on Feb 3, 2009 18:22:43 GMT -5
Schuldig strode through the streets of Khelek's capitol, heading back toward the palace. Since he had accepted the position offered him, and he had that book, and especially since his feelings were such that he didn't want to disappoint Efil (Damn, it must be love), he'd actually taken the initiative to go around and purchase some healing herbs and the like.
On his way back, he was stopped by an older man, probably in his sixties from the look of him.
"Young man, are you a healer?"
'No, I'm a delivery boy,' Schuldig thought irritably. Well, he still didn't like people sometimes. Against his better judgment, he nodded slowly. "In a sense," he said carefully.
"Well, I have a problem. Any time I touch myself, it hurts."
Schuldig had to bite his lip to stop himself from suggesting the man use more lotion for his...extracurricular activities. "Does it now?"
The man nodded and demonstrated, poking his own arm, his forehead, his leg, wincing each time.
Well, it was a good thing he was immortal, because if the guy had some sort of odd illness, Schuldig certainly didn't want it himself. Sighing resignedly, he set down his pack and took a seat, glad the man had accosted him in the square where there were some stone benches. ...COLD stone benches. "I don't know what it'd be off the top of my head," he muttered, touching his signs and teleporting the large, heavy book into his lap to begin flipping through it.
"It's the damnedest thing," the man said. "Ever since I got my hand smashed in a bar fight, this has started. You know any injuries that can spread like that?"
Schuldig stopped and glanced up from the book, staring at the man in growing irritation. "No, but I dearly wish stupidity was fatal. Take off your damn glove."
The man blinked in confusion but did so, revealing a swollen, purple index finger.
Schuldig smacked his forehead with the palm of one hand. "Your finger is broken," he said flatly. "And I don't have any splints on me." Well, he did, but his sense of charity had fled quickly in the wake of his annoyance. "Do you know any other healers around here?"
The man nodded. "Yeah, but they didn't know what was wrong with me."
Several colourful phrases sprang to Schuldig's mind that aptly described the problem. "Well, nobody in all of Naruta can cure idiocy," he snapped, "but if you show them that finger, I dare say they can manage to take care of it. Now go bother one of them before I make you hurt everywhere, whether you touch yourself or not."
Startled, the man started to wander off, muttering about how young people didn't respect their elders anymore.
Schuldig picked up the book and thumped it against his own head a few times. "Holy fuck, what a moron."
On his way back, he was stopped by an older man, probably in his sixties from the look of him.
"Young man, are you a healer?"
'No, I'm a delivery boy,' Schuldig thought irritably. Well, he still didn't like people sometimes. Against his better judgment, he nodded slowly. "In a sense," he said carefully.
"Well, I have a problem. Any time I touch myself, it hurts."
Schuldig had to bite his lip to stop himself from suggesting the man use more lotion for his...extracurricular activities. "Does it now?"
The man nodded and demonstrated, poking his own arm, his forehead, his leg, wincing each time.
Well, it was a good thing he was immortal, because if the guy had some sort of odd illness, Schuldig certainly didn't want it himself. Sighing resignedly, he set down his pack and took a seat, glad the man had accosted him in the square where there were some stone benches. ...COLD stone benches. "I don't know what it'd be off the top of my head," he muttered, touching his signs and teleporting the large, heavy book into his lap to begin flipping through it.
"It's the damnedest thing," the man said. "Ever since I got my hand smashed in a bar fight, this has started. You know any injuries that can spread like that?"
Schuldig stopped and glanced up from the book, staring at the man in growing irritation. "No, but I dearly wish stupidity was fatal. Take off your damn glove."
The man blinked in confusion but did so, revealing a swollen, purple index finger.
Schuldig smacked his forehead with the palm of one hand. "Your finger is broken," he said flatly. "And I don't have any splints on me." Well, he did, but his sense of charity had fled quickly in the wake of his annoyance. "Do you know any other healers around here?"
The man nodded. "Yeah, but they didn't know what was wrong with me."
Several colourful phrases sprang to Schuldig's mind that aptly described the problem. "Well, nobody in all of Naruta can cure idiocy," he snapped, "but if you show them that finger, I dare say they can manage to take care of it. Now go bother one of them before I make you hurt everywhere, whether you touch yourself or not."
Startled, the man started to wander off, muttering about how young people didn't respect their elders anymore.
Schuldig picked up the book and thumped it against his own head a few times. "Holy fuck, what a moron."