The bell above the door rings when the dragon pulls it open. The room's interior is hung with drying herbs, the scent alternately dusty and green by turns. For a moment, Wrathion wants to sneeze, but staves it off by rubbing his nose. On the shop's counter, a mortar and pestle are left unattended, and Wrathion goes to lean against it, getting the majority of his weight off his bad leg.
He does pause to peer at the mortar's contents, but a three-fingered hand swipes beneath his nose, and he jerks back to look at the shop's proprietor. She glares at him, red eyes boring into his, even as she shakes back the mane of white hair falling into her face with a toss of her horns.
"Wrathion," she offers coolly, and the dragon breaks into what he hopes is his most charming smile. The cervine woman narrows her eyes and folds her arms over her chest, but pauses. There's something in his mien that differs from his usual attitude. Like he'd sussed out Anduin's injuries, her nose wrinkles, and she hauls one of the stools for her usual customers around the counter, patting it even as she glares at him.
"Sit. What happened to you?" At that, he rolls his eyes and finds a finger beneath his nose again.
"Madame Duzhaya--"
"Don't you give me that lip, I saw you limp in here, and you're not that stupid about doing work. It's simple, but you're honest enough for all that."
Wrathion sighs, but relents. "I got into a fight. Actually, I'm not the only one. My friend did, too, and I think he's hurt worse than I am." Fairly sure Anduin is hurt worse than he is, but that seems to show on his face, too. Duzhaya tuts at him, pulling up a small crate from beneath the counter and starts to place items within it, and the dragon's brows fly up.
"I can't pay for all of that--" She stops, then, and drops her chin, which points the tip of her horns straight at his chin, and Wrathion stops.
"We'll work something out. Later. And before you argue with me again, it's not charity. Don't worry about it for now, I'll get recompense out of you." He grimaces, but nods. Neither he nor Anduin want charity, after all.
"If you can't get the tools back to me soon, don't worry overmuch. They're my spares." She glances up at the dragon again, brows furrowed, and goes into the back of the shop, returning with some covered pot and a cloth wrapped bundle. Both of these go into the crate along with the entirety of Anduin's list and a few more bottles, which she directs Wrathion's attention to with a gesture.
"Disinfectant. This one is an external painkiller. This one is internal. One spoonful. Don't overdo it. Now get out of here. The sooner you're off that leg of yours, the better. Let me know how you two do. If you're careful, the food will last you more than a day." Then again, she's seen how he eats.
Even as grateful as he now is, Wrathion doesn't mince words, though he does blurt out a "thank you!" as he departs. Duzhaya simply waves him off.
So, perhaps sooner than Anduin might have expected, the dragon is barging through their door, balancing that precious crate carefully in both hands, and gives the priest a triumphant smile. He carefully lays the chest down (because he's worried he's going to drop it), and then follows it to get off his leg as he'd promised he would.
no subject
He does pause to peer at the mortar's contents, but a three-fingered hand swipes beneath his nose, and he jerks back to look at the shop's proprietor. She glares at him, red eyes boring into his, even as she shakes back the mane of white hair falling into her face with a toss of her horns.
"Wrathion," she offers coolly, and the dragon breaks into what he hopes is his most charming smile. The cervine woman narrows her eyes and folds her arms over her chest, but pauses. There's something in his mien that differs from his usual attitude. Like he'd sussed out Anduin's injuries, her nose wrinkles, and she hauls one of the stools for her usual customers around the counter, patting it even as she glares at him.
"Sit. What happened to you?" At that, he rolls his eyes and finds a finger beneath his nose again.
"Madame Duzhaya--"
"Don't you give me that lip, I saw you limp in here, and you're not that stupid about doing work. It's simple, but you're honest enough for all that."
Wrathion sighs, but relents. "I got into a fight. Actually, I'm not the only one. My friend did, too, and I think he's hurt worse than I am." Fairly sure Anduin is hurt worse than he is, but that seems to show on his face, too. Duzhaya tuts at him, pulling up a small crate from beneath the counter and starts to place items within it, and the dragon's brows fly up.
"I can't pay for all of that--" She stops, then, and drops her chin, which points the tip of her horns straight at his chin, and Wrathion stops.
"We'll work something out. Later. And before you argue with me again, it's not charity. Don't worry about it for now, I'll get recompense out of you." He grimaces, but nods. Neither he nor Anduin want charity, after all.
"If you can't get the tools back to me soon, don't worry overmuch. They're my spares." She glances up at the dragon again, brows furrowed, and goes into the back of the shop, returning with some covered pot and a cloth wrapped bundle. Both of these go into the crate along with the entirety of Anduin's list and a few more bottles, which she directs Wrathion's attention to with a gesture.
"Disinfectant. This one is an external painkiller. This one is internal. One spoonful. Don't overdo it. Now get out of here. The sooner you're off that leg of yours, the better. Let me know how you two do. If you're careful, the food will last you more than a day." Then again, she's seen how he eats.
Even as grateful as he now is, Wrathion doesn't mince words, though he does blurt out a "thank you!" as he departs. Duzhaya simply waves him off.
So, perhaps sooner than Anduin might have expected, the dragon is barging through their door, balancing that precious crate carefully in both hands, and gives the priest a triumphant smile. He carefully lays the chest down (because he's worried he's going to drop it), and then follows it to get off his leg as he'd promised he would.