LOREN
Phoebe might be irritated, but Loren wasn’t going to be deterred. If he left every time he annoyed someone, there’d be no for him to be around before too long. Besides, being the stubborn sort himself he recognized it in others. So he stayed near the entrance of the infirmary, making no move quite yet. ”I’ve got two hands and can help you carry those supplies to your clinic.” Of course, that was assuming the healer didn’t declare Loren to have wrong hands too.At the correction that this wasn’t some common illness, Loren rubbed his right arm, a nervous and guilty gesture. She was right, but the Launceleyn didn’t think he should say anything. Still, even if it was unwise, he wasn’t going to remain silent. ”You’re right. I’m sorry.” He should’ve been more conscious of his word choice. As she went on about her research and her accusations against the Ascended, he stayed quiet, letting her finish before responding. ”Again, feel free to tell me to piss off, but I’d be willing to assist you with your studies. Worst case, again, I have two hands to hold tools and take notes.” His skills in research didn’t extend to medicine and biology, but an assistant was always better to have.
Pausing for a long while, he considered whether bringing up the Ascended was likely to do any good, or just send her into a deeper rage. However, he decided it was worth the risk. ”I agree, it looks bad, and it certainly sounds like the Voice has a lot to answer for but...have you spoken to the Ascended about this?” Phoebe sounded like she had a lot of theories, but by her own admission her research and the wisdom of the gods had turned up nothing concrete. And the one Ascended Loren had encountered recently, Rexanna, hadn't seemed like the sort to consciously spread something like the blight.
He blinked at her question and comment about the sandwich: most people were a little more taken aback, even healers who saw wounds routinely. ”Uh...no.” Considering her total lack of reaction, Loren didn’t really know how to proceed, so he just ran a hand through his hair and went to put his shirt back on, a sheepish expression on his face.
A beggar's book
outworths
a noble's blood
