(no subject)

[and-far-away.livejournal.com]

The door swings open, and two figures stumble through, one almost carrying the other into the bar.

Sharpe's clothes and sword are covered in blood, and Behrooz is barely conscious, leaning on him. The younger man is bleeding heavily, from a rather nasty bullet wound to the gut.

They could probably use some help.

[ooc: healer OOCly pre-arranged, but otherwise entirely un-plotlocked. Have at!]

Comments

[http://users.livejournal.com/_mother_dearest/]

A gracious nod to Sharpe.

"Very well."

Turning away for a moment, she turned back.

"If you should have further need of me, then simply inquire. I am called Lyrae Addam should you need a name."

[and-far-away.livejournal.com]

He blinks at the unfamiliar name, but nods.

"I'll remember. And I'll tell the lad, when he wakes up."

[http://users.livejournal.com/_mother_dearest/]

A light laugh.

"Oh, Lord Behrooz and I have met before, Child. He will not wake for several days."

[and-far-away.livejournal.com]

He eyes her at the 'Child', but... who knows how old she might really be, in this place? Even if it isn't just some odd custom. Priests call everybody 'child', after all.

"I'll tell him it were you anyway. With all the blood he lost, he might not remember. Name's Sharpe, by the way."

[http://users.livejournal.com/_mother_dearest/]

A firm nod to him as she wandered off to post a notice on the board. His family and friends, if he had any, would want to know. Her voice was slightly indulgent.

"As you like, Lord Sharpe."