24.Jan.12, 06:28 AM
So, how to deal with that idiot back at the hall?
A dislocation wasn't to big of a deal, but apparently this man had managed it twice now. It meant something was wrong. Perhaps he needed to change his diet or do some special exercises. More likely, Talian figured, the patient needed to change jobs. He must have had a joint problem that his work was aggravating. How would one get an official word on that, though? Was there a form he could sign, a 'doctor's note' sort of thing? If it happened again, the poor bastard would be lucky if-
...Oh.
Talian snapped out of his thoughtful trance and instantly narrowed his eyes at the man who'd appeared before him, the greenrider he viewed as his nemesis. The greenrider had come bearing food and chattering on like nothing was wrong, which Talian took grave offense to. So now B'jin was bragging about his thievery, all while trying to look friendly?
Ever mistrustful, the youth recoiled like a snake and daintily slid the cup back with one thin finger. "No," he said, a simple answer in response to B'jin's simple question. No, Talian did not like being off the isle. At least on the isle he could pretend he was having a nightmare. Here, there was too much real-life going on.
What to do? He winced, wrinkling his nose with distaste as he looked between B'jin and his plate. He was going to have to choose between his stomach and his sanity, it looked like. He was awfully hungry, but he had no desire to spend any time with B'jin. He reached for a roll and shoved it in his mouth before rising to his feet and throwing both hands up in surrender, as if begging B'jin to leave him alone. Then, without any further comment, he turned and made a break for it; not quite running, but trotting at an uncomfortably fast pace.
A dislocation wasn't to big of a deal, but apparently this man had managed it twice now. It meant something was wrong. Perhaps he needed to change his diet or do some special exercises. More likely, Talian figured, the patient needed to change jobs. He must have had a joint problem that his work was aggravating. How would one get an official word on that, though? Was there a form he could sign, a 'doctor's note' sort of thing? If it happened again, the poor bastard would be lucky if-
...Oh.
Talian snapped out of his thoughtful trance and instantly narrowed his eyes at the man who'd appeared before him, the greenrider he viewed as his nemesis. The greenrider had come bearing food and chattering on like nothing was wrong, which Talian took grave offense to. So now B'jin was bragging about his thievery, all while trying to look friendly?
Ever mistrustful, the youth recoiled like a snake and daintily slid the cup back with one thin finger. "No," he said, a simple answer in response to B'jin's simple question. No, Talian did not like being off the isle. At least on the isle he could pretend he was having a nightmare. Here, there was too much real-life going on.
What to do? He winced, wrinkling his nose with distaste as he looked between B'jin and his plate. He was going to have to choose between his stomach and his sanity, it looked like. He was awfully hungry, but he had no desire to spend any time with B'jin. He reached for a roll and shoved it in his mouth before rising to his feet and throwing both hands up in surrender, as if begging B'jin to leave him alone. Then, without any further comment, he turned and made a break for it; not quite running, but trotting at an uncomfortably fast pace.