Tapping sounds echoed through a bright, luminescent room as a finger struck continuously on a pristine glass table.
Alistair's finger had no aim nor rhythm in question, reveling in the distorted tempo and unnatural beats of those actions—much to the chagrin of Lorenzo.
However, the doctor kept silent as he mended the other hand—those broken digits. Damaged from a compressive spiraling force, he assumed. There was also something odd about the wound upon closer looks. It seemed recent, not even an hour old.
"Strange," said Lorenzo while adjusting his glasses. "When did you get this?"
"An hour... or was it two? Well, it's one of those at least," Alistair answered carelessly.
"Does that mean you fought recently, close to this location?"
"Yes and no. This came from a recent ambush, some stupid druggie caught me unaware."
"Must be one brave fellow to act upon Aroth Valent members, especially one as high as you."
