[It’s a late night post, a video display of Zack from his chin on down, facing a clear glass bowl with a golden fish idly swimming in lackadaisical circles. He really needs to put more stuff in there, you know. Fake plastic trees. Treasure chests. Something. Gil has to get bored with just those precious rocks given to him from small, kind hands…]
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A swordsman with one hand is not much of one.
[do you want gangrene or something? god.]
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...You're not going to let me not do this, are you?
[Will the puppy pout work? He's sure trying...]
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I came this far, didn't I?
[no. she is immune. :|]
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How did you get this far, anyway?
[HA! Subject change!]
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[no, it's not; she is just not having any of this because seriously. SERIOUSLY. stop being dumb.]
Now?
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Here.
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shirley removes the bandages, gentle, and if they fall to the floor, they...fall to the floor. she holds his hand by the digits and places the other over the injury. then, there's another bright light, golder than the one before, and warmth; and in an instance, the injury is gone.]
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[He watches with a worried, paranoid stare, eyes wide, arm tense; he's ready to pull back at any second, at the hint that something's going wrong. Damn doctors have done him wrong in the past and it shows. But she's different, and he can feel that comforting heat, the sensation of skin knitting together and the start of the infection zipping away before, poof, healed. Experimentally, he open/closes his hand, then looks over at her, weakly smiling.]
Thanks. I mean that, really. I don't know how to thank you...
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It was nothing.
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[ Yes, that's a challenge. ]
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Is that so?
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[she is just being difficult. rose uses only one hand, after all!]
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I simply feel that an inaccurate statement such as the one you made should be proven wrong, and I'm not feeling objectionable to demonstrating myself.
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