Separate names with a comma.
Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by MrBriWolf, Feb 24, 2014.
The tale of two merchants travelling the world.
Markad grimaced as he held his bleeding side. Jeffrey sat beside him in the low-ceiling hut they had managed to occupy in the midst of the city's inner turmoil. The room was entirely bare but for a cot - which Markad now occupied - and a small end table beside it. There were no windows, no carpets, rugs, or any other furnishings of any sort but for the stool Nataline now occupied as she looked over the extent of the damage.
"You'll live." She stated dryly in Russian, taking one last look over the newly-applied bandage. Jeffrey merely eyed her quizzically and shrugged when he turned back to Markad.
A long pause went on, the only noises being Markad's occasional grunts of pain and discomfort as he writhed on the cot to find a way to not lay across his wound. It hurt like hell, and he did not enjoy it one bit. Nataline coughed, clearing her throat, before asking the obvious question.
"How did it happen?"
Jeffrey, pretending ignorance to the event, strode towards the doorway to leave a blustering Markad staring blankly at Nataline with a look that could be best described as fear. His already pale face went white at the harsh look she returned, and he managed to squeak out an explanation.
"I was trying to get some food down at the market. Nothing too bad." He began, grimacing as he tried to position the bandage in a less-constrictive location much to the ire of Nataline. "When I tried bargaining down a price for a loaf of bread, the man threatened to shoot me if I didn't stop." Nataline's eyebrow raised. "Then I tried to pull out my own gun and he must have known what I was doing, so before I could even raise my arm he had shot my through and left me out in the streets, not even bothering to toss me my hat." Markad's hand rose to the mass of black hair atop his head before scratching his stubble-adorned chin.
Her lips pursed in a grin that spoke 'That wouldn't have happened to me'. Indignant, Markad rolled over with another grimace and Jeffrey came waddling back inside the bare hit and tugged at Nataline's sleeve.
"He won't die, you said so." The ten-year old boy stated.
"I don't know. He's a bit of a weak little idiot." Nataline replied, ruffling the boy's hair. She liked Jeffrey certainly more than Markad, who she only helped because no one else would. Today was proof of that...