[He's almost too tired to balk against the command. Almost. Maybe Rufus stands just a moment too long, a hair too delayed, before the pain shooting through his nerve-endings informs him to play the part of nice, congenial patient. He finds himself seated on a rickety old stool with unbalanced legs, and he begins the slow process of removing shirt by pulling it up over his head.
Hard to do, really, when you're sporting a still-oozing wound. Give him a slow, methodical moment.]
You should work on your bedside- [wince] -manner, "doctor.
dusts this off...no obligation to continue if you don't wanna!
Hard to do, really, when you're sporting a still-oozing wound. Give him a slow, methodical moment.]
You should work on your bedside- [wince] -manner, "doctor.