He couldn't completely give himself a clean bill of health: the burns still need to be dressed twice a day, but they're healing better than he expected, given their severity. The stab wound has finally healed over, though he's likely to have a scar on his back for the rest of his life, however long that ends up being. He credits this to Belize's
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I know we aren't through with the other tag, but hey, it's been nearly two weeks.
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She may hear footsteps approaching and his long, lean shadow sliding up a wall moments before he steps into view around the corner of a winding passageway leading to the chamber. He pauses in the doorway, a smile playing about his thin but sensuous mouth. "I see you've improved since our first meeting," he says. "I somehow had a feeling I'd find you down here: rather a hermetic chamber you've come upon. Would you mind if I joined you, or are you deep in meditation?"
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"A little bit, thanks to your help. I'm just here to relax. For some strange reason this house reminds of where I used to call home, and this basement I usually spent a lot of "good times" there. I'm just attracted to places that make me feel at home."
She says this without looking at him, if she did, she'd blush like crazy all over again.
"But there is a matter about my ankle, Good Doctor. I honestly believe it wasn't sprained."
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He cocks his head, puzzled. "I was sure that it was sprained, but perhaps I was mistaken. Would you mind if I took another look, or would you be more at ease if you described what happened?" He knows this realm has odd properties, but he wasn't aware that this included spontaneous healing, unless it's something random.
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Instead, he pauses a respectful distance away, slightly beyond arms reach. "We didn't get off on the right foot, did we, Mr. Steerpike?" he says, calmly, even apologetically. "I have to confess... I'm easily aroused by certain types and as you unfortunately discovered, you're one of those types. But perhaps, if you're so inclined, we can try again with as clean a slate as possible?"
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"I'd sooner not," he replies, a bit too quickly. "I'm not interested in that sort of thing, sir."
He's going to bolt any minute now. That sort of -- whatever this is -- he can't deal with it.
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He pauses, taking a moment to weigh his words and deal with the strident dialog in his head: The fire that burns us... our callow temptation... keep on feeding us your fear, boy, it only makes us stronger -- Silence, he's of more use to me unbroken on your fangs..."Remember I said I needed a sound pair of eyes to assist me? There's someone in this place whom I need to pay a debt to, but he's in my blind spot, probably on purpose to taunt me," he says. "Consider it an assignment as well as a sop for the wolf at your heels, if you're so inclined." The ( ... )
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He of course has no idea that the man he thinks of as a fellow scholar is responsible for the eery red moon. It's probably for the best.
"Good afternoon," he offers politely when they cross each other in the hallway.
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