Quest Bureau Donogan: 50 rupees Sigmund: 50 rupees ----------------- Donogan felt himself drifting up, up and away from the darkness that had surrounded his being. He would soon break the surface and come into the light, back to the world of the living. Bah. Should he be thankful for this? Leaving the comfortable nothingness and bursting back to a shattered knee, a disgusting job, a broken dream? His eyes fluttered open, and he winced. Yep. There was that blasted leg, shooting needles of discomfort up his leg and stabbing his spine with malicious glee. Even his own body protested against him and caused him pain, bah! There was nothing left in this world worth his spit. His eyes opened and took in the room around him. Not much to see, really. Nothing special, just drab. Drab drab drab who designed this place? Idiots, that's who! "Hello?" He called out, his voice cracked with age and the droopiness of sleep gone by. Sleep- he'd been sleeping, hadn't he? There'd been a dream, though he couldn't remember it. Must've been a pretty bad dream, if he hadn't bothered to retain it. Or it had been a utopian paradise, and the cruelty that was life had snatched it from him like it had everything else.
"Sigmund, could you get the bandages for me?" "Sigmund, did you walk Rufus yet?" "Sigmund, what's taking you with those herbs?" "Sigmuuuuund!" His head was spinning, and he was quite certain that Helena and Marci's continuous demands had as much of a hand in that as the running out of his painkiller did. The clinic was unusually busy today- apparently something in the Eastern Sea had grabbed an incoming ship and made a mess of the men. The sisters had been busy all day patching up who they could, sending their live-in patient on the smallest errands while they were busy. Normally he enjoyed this, but he had learnt something new today. He didn't care about physical strain, but stress made his head scream in pain and demand rest. It wasn't until he had experienced a passing faintness that Helena had sent him off to his own quarters for rest and medication. By now he could apply at least half the salves and dose almost all his medicinal herbs himself, so neither of the Hylians would have to leave their own patients. As he walked into his room, he promptly remembered that the clinic was so damn full that an old man with... he didn't really remember nor care. It was something with his leg. All that was immediately relevant was that the man had had to be moved to his room while they waited for him to wake up. The Hylian was restless, so Sigmund assumed he was conscious. "You woke up?" he asked, although he was clearly more interested in digging through his cabinet for the herbs that would calm his head. "I'll get one of the healers in a bit. They can do more for your leg than I can."
Donogan grunted, the sound low and scratchy in his throat. His head was very stiff, so he couldn't look round at the voice, but he didn't really need to. "In a bit?" He asked. "I'm seventy-three years old, boy; I don't have time for waiting." Honestly, he was in a clinic. What was this idiot doing here if he couldn't heal him? He paused, the rest of what the unskilled man said sinking in. "My leg?" He said. "What's wrong with it? Speak up, boy!"
Oh dear. He was THAT kind of old person. Sigmund normally enjoyed having elderly people in the clinic because they tended to get the patient, sweet people who would still smile and say it's alright if you hammered a nail into their hand. This guy was evidently on the other end of the spectrum, demanding full attention. Honestly, there were worse injuries that required more immediate treatment than what he had if he could make demands. The Zora rolled his eyes. "I'm not a healer, so I don't have the details. Just don't move around too much for now." Ah, here. About bloody time. He pulled out a thick-stemmed herb and jerked a couple of its leaves off, figuring that would be enough for now. Turning to leave, he stuck them into his mouth and started chewing. "Wike I said," he muttered with his mouth full, "Iw get wan as soon as wan fwees up."
Don't have the details? What in the sam heck was that supposed to mean? That made Donogan angrier than a rustled octorok; he lifted his head, wincing at the shooting pain and the dizzying heat flashes, and glared at the boy who'd snubbed him. He sneered. "Oh, just my luck," he said, "I get a fish for a nurse!" He looked down at his leg, trying to see what was wrong with it, but he couldn't tell. He wasn't a healer, for Din's sake, he was a secretary! The fish grabbed some leaves and stuffed them into its mouth, chewing happily. "And a chewer, too- don't do that in here! Where are your manners?"
Sigmund suppressed a groan. Really? An old coot demanding everyone's immediate attention AND a racist? "Wisten-" He used his tongue to put the painkiller leaves into a cheek so his words would actually sound Hylian, "Listen, like I said, I'm not a healer. I'm a live-in patient and makeshift housekeeper." He turned around to the grumpy old man. No reason to lose his patience... "The leaves I'm chewing are my medication. Trust me, without them I wouldn't be this pleasant company." "Sigmund?" The door was opened behind him and a young woman with long, brown hair pinned up against the back of her head entered. Sigmund made sure to get out of the doorway. "Did you walk Rufus yet?" "Not yet," Sigmund replied. "I wanted to get my meds in first." "Good idea. Bring some with you if you feel it's necessary- he really needs the walk." Marci turned to the man on the bed. "Oh, you're awake!" she beamed. "I'll be with you in just a second, sir, I need to restore my magic power before I can fix the fractures in your leg."
[[Assuming the healers are Hylians. If not, lemme know c: ]] "Take your time, sweetcheeks," Donogan said, smiling up at the healer. He glared after the fish. Useless amphibian. Of course it wouldn't be able to help him; what use could any fish be? They were good for only one thing: eating. And even then, he would never consider munching on this breed of fish. They were probably comprised totally of stringy muscle, and he didn't like the idea of one giving him sustenance. "Listen, lady," he said, his gruff voice scratching painfully, "what happened to my leg, anyway?"
"Dear gods," Sigmund uttered, frustrated at the total one-hundred-and-eighty the old-timer made. "Marci, I have a Green Potion in the cupboard if you need it. Please see to the old man and send him home." It wasn't HIS damn fault he was born a Zora, was it? Nor was it HIS fault he'd washed up in Mido of all places, now was it? And it was most certainly not HIS fault the old-timer busted his leg. "Hush, Sigmund," the young woman said, turning to Donogan. "We got a call saying you had fallen down a series of steps and lost consciousness, sir. My sister has taken a look and while we're gonna have to prescribe you something for the bump on your head and resulting concussion, the fracture in your leg should be easily healed if I can get a spell or two off." "Fallen down the stairs?" Sigmund repeated to himself, although loudly enough for the old man to hear, "That's what you get for not training. I didn't know Hylian bones broke if you poked them." "Sigmund," Marci said, turning around and flashing a devilish smile that sent shivers down the Zora's spine. That smile meant he'd crossed a line, and punishment was imminent. "Rufus. Walkies. NOW." "...yes ma'am." With that, he made about face, grabbing the leash that lay next to the door, and started looking for the black dog while chewing his painkiller. Maybe fighting racism with racism wasn't the best thing ever, but it had been a spur of the moment thing and truthfully, the Zora warrior didn't regret it.
Donogan cackled, a harsh spurt of laughter that sent him into a short caughing fit. The guppy had stomped out with a right old thundercloud brewing underneath his gills, and the old man felt the thrill of victory rush through his body. "Good on you, lady," he rasped, cackling once before descending into a short caughing fit. When he was finished spluttering, he nodded and leaned his head back. "Gotta teach the youngins manners," he said, his voice scratching on every word, "especially rude ones like that!"
