For Cort (Dated Late July)

[kingshit_lloyd]

Things had quieted down since the party, and even though Lloyd had run into Flagg a couple of times since, life seemed to be getting back on track. Who knew, maybe the Walkin' Dude had forgotten to bring the apocalypse with him like some sinister Santa Claus this time around. And maybe that was just Lloyd being stupidly hopeful, but he was sticking

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[bondsman_of_ka]

It was the crutch that really pissed him off. Healing after a test was nothing new - hell, he took some pride in it; if it didn't take him a while to get back on his feet after passing a new gunslinger, it meant that he hadn't made him work hard enough for it. The worst of his flesh wounds had been sewn up after the test, and the stitches were due to be removed soon. They didn't bother him. But that damned sword that had skewered his foot - that was taking longer to heal, and though he tried every day to leave the crutch behind as long as he could, inevitably by midday he was reduced to reaching for it again.

Now he leaned it against the bar as he settled onto a stool. A stiff drink would go a long way towards lifting his mood. "Aye, whiskey," he said, nodding at Henreid. "I'll be better once I've got a shot or three under my belt."

[kingshit_lloyd]

"Well, I don't know if it's doctor-certified, but here you go," Lloyd said, sliding the drink forward and keeping the bottle close. He spent about twenty seconds in relative silence, wiping a couple of glasses, before he felt compelled to speak again.

"Bitch, ain't it?" he asked, nodding at the crutch with a wince of sympathy. "I had to use 'em couple months back; was tryin' to grab a cask of wine for a girl, and it messed up my foot pretty bad," he relayed mournfully. "Guess it's not the same as having a fucking sword rammed through it, though." He recalled offering to cut back on the small talk, but this was manly injury talk, wasn't it? Nothing small about it.

[bondsman_of_ka]

"Not the same, no," Cort answered, giving him a skeptical look. Not that he hadn't, in the course of things, had a broken foot or two; hell, after a few generations of gunslingers had tested with him, he would have been surprised to locate a bone that hadn't been broken somewhere along the way. But having a sword thrust through it had been a somewhat singular experience, and one he hoped not to repeat. "Allgood still in his splint?" That, to be fair, had made it a little easier to bear, seeing that the boy had not escaped without a few bruises of his own.

[kingshit_lloyd]

"Yeah, he is," Lloyd said, the image of Cort crashing Bert's hand with that big stick of his resurfacing in his mind. Jesus Christ, he could still hear that crack. "Gettin' better, though; probably screwing some feisty redhead as we speak." He grinned, hoping there was some truth to his estimation.

He put one hand on the bar and leaned forward, looking a lot more somber. "Hey, I been meaning to say -- thanks. For testing him. I know it's your job and all, but still... he needed it, I guess." It probably sounded ridiculous coming from him, considering what his stance on the whole thing had been, and in a way, still was. But he meant it, as much as he could. Still didn't understand it, not all the way, but Lloyd had a while to go before he became an expert on life and all its mysteries, anyway.