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[tongueamok]

Hello, this is Carlisle. I mean, it's not Carlisle as in I'm actually answering you right now, so if you're trying to reply to me at the second, you should probably save your breath because I'm not really here. This is some kind of a recording of my voice, but this is my communicator. I'm going to assume these devices are as common here as they are in other places — not my world, but others, ones more technologically advanced than where I come from— so if you'd like to leave me a message, then you may do so here, or er... Right. Here is fine. So just leave yo— [beep]

Comments

April 26 [text]

[mismanagement]

Hello.

I'm told you have some healing abilities. Would you be able to look at my shoulder?

[texty texting]

[tongueamok]

[Oh dear, no one has ever called his phone directly before. Ever. Ever ever. Congratulations on being the first, Maketh.]

Yes, of course. That's me, the one with the healing abilities. I'm not sure if anyone else in town has them, but I am certainly able to help.

[Even in text, he's prone to ramble. There's a gap of about thirty seconds before he sends an additional text.]

Are you able to walk, or shall I come to you?

[Please be the former. Please be the former. Please be the former.]

[Video]

[mismanagement]

[Maketh is wondering if she's going to regret this.]

I'm afraid you'll have to come to me.

Spire 1. Room 101. At your convenience.

[Video]

[tongueamok]

[He turns on his video as well; he's gathering a few things on the other side of the camera.]

Right. I'll be over in a short while. Need to get a few things, first.

To save me some time when I get there, what's the nature of the injury in question?

[Video]

[mismanagement]

Thank you.

[Maketh shrug off her coat. The worst of her injury is covered in bandages, but it's clear that she's taken a bad hit to the shoulder.]

I took a blow from a blast of -- magic, I suppose you'd call it. There may be some nerve damage. I'm having trouble holding things with this hand.

[tongueamok]

[Carlisle picks up the phone and holds it close to his face, clearly scrutinizing the screen as she exposes the bandages.]

Magical? There are other spellcasters here, then?

[mismanagement]

Several. And at least one other healer.

[She could have gone to Thom, but this gives Maketh an opportunity to take measure of Carlisle.]

[tongueamok]

So there is another healer here? I'd heard there might be, as well as a doctor, but I have yet to see them.

[No surprise, given he barely leaves that apartment of his.]

[mismanagement]

That would be Thom, and Doctor Banner.

[tongueamok]

Good to know. I'll see if I can't get a hold of them at some point.

[Because it's nice to know who he can turn to should he need healing again. Fixing his own arm while in excruciating pain had been a nightmare he hopes to never relive.]

Are you familiar with magic yourself? Or the type of magic used to cause the injury?

[mismanagement]

A little. It existed in my world, though we called it something else and knowledge of such things was not permitted to laypeople. [Maketh frowns.] It felt like being shot and then -- burned.

[tongueamok]

Hm. I suppose I will have to inspect the wound to see if I can identify the properties of the spell. It hopefully will not interfere with my work.

[Hopefully. Boy, does he not want to end up as the inferior healer of the two in town.]

Right. I'm on my way, then.

[mismanagement]

I -- could put you in contact with the woman who caused it. If that would help.

[It's just going to be an awkward as hell conversation.]

[tongueamok]

Oh. Oh, I suppose this happened due to, ah. Gods and whatnot.

[If the embarrassment creeping into his tone is an indicator, he probably assumed they were not friends or anything. At least whomever wounded her is a woman and not a shirtless heathen.]

[mismanagement]

[Maketh nods, suddenly tired.] As far as we can tell, it was Rage. The damage was significant.

[tongueamok]

[Out the door of his apartment he goes -- the number 802 is visible on the door as he closes it, marking his position high in one of the towers. The fact he lives on the top floor is about to become immediately apparent the moment he starts the long, long trek down the stairs.]

I see. I've already had to heal two others due to this incident. I expect there may be more in the coming days, should people need me.

[mismanagement]

[Maketh settles back.] There may be. Does it...drain you?

[tongueamok]

[Stairs time.]

A bit. Nothing but minor fatigue and whatnot, but all perfectly normal for healers from my world.

[Yep. P e r f e c t l y   n o r m a l.]

[mismanagement]

I see. Please don't injure yourself on my account. We may need your -- abilities, soon.

[tongueamok]

[Still stairsing.]

Are you expecting more injuries, miss?

[mismanagement]

In a general sense. But I have a feeling we will be due for more new arrivals soon, and after that -- something. Perhaps it won't be violent.

[It usually is.]

[tongueamok]

[Goodness, stairs.]

Do more people arrive on a schedule?

[mismanagement]

[There are certainly stairs.]

Roughly at the beginning of every month.

[tongueamok]

[Regretting his life choices of stairs.]

Every month? Cisth, do the false gods not think they have enough people for their machinations?

[mismanagement]

[He's also now comitted to the stairs. Sorry, dude. On the bright side, Maketh lives on the first floor.]

Apparently not. And it seems their need will only increase as they resurrect more of their brethren.