A Study in Blue ((Vicky, OPEN))

[Stryker]

"Newt? You okay? Newt? Newt?"

Panic as heavy and hard as a rock sank into Braythe's stomach as he looked into the salamander's glazed over eyes, the blue-crested amphibian looking a lot less blue, the crest along his back drooping to one side. Braythe's eyes widened in desperation, reaching out to comfortingly pet the little newt with one giant paw -- newt didn't respond, just continued to look sickly, his eyes out of focus. "J-Just sit there, okay Newt? I-I'll go get...someone." Whirling around, the Badger Lord was out the door, down the steps and sprinting towards the infirmary like his legs were on fire. Halfway before he got there, however, he spotted the unlucky Doctor Azryel Black crossing the hall on his way to the library, perhaps to do some research.
"YOU. COME. UPSTAIRS. NOW." panted the badger, the underweight hare stared at him as if he'd grown a second head, and apparently didn't get the chance to use his legs -- because Braythe had grabbed him by the back of the uniform and was dashing upstairs again like a mad beast.

Someone had better be DYING. Thought the doctor foully, knowing that trying to break the Badger Lord's grip would only end in trauma. It was much to his surprise and disgust to find out that Braythe had, breathing like a wounded bear, carried him up several flights of stairs only to have him look after a salamander.

"Well? Is he okay?" Fretted the badger, looming over Azryel like a worried mother hen. The doctor's eyebrows arched, and he didn't bother to look at the newt too closely; it was obviously quite ill -- ill enough that it had changed colors again to a mucus green. Perhaps it was cruelty on Azryel's part, or perhaps he just had a nasty, twisted black piece of metal where his heart used to be, but for some reason, the doctor opted for unnecessary meanness as an answer.
"I'd consider okay, for an amphibian on it's death bed."
Braythe looked as though he'd been slapped in the face with a hammer.
"FIX. HIM." He growled, a low, dangerous voice that echoed throughout the badger lord's chambers -- giving off the impression that there were 5 badgers instead of one.
Azryel wasn't impressed.

"No."
He said simply.

Braythe stared at him. "NO?"

Azryel almost smiled.
"Are you deaf as well as dumb, your lordship? I. Said. NO. I'm not wasting my time, talent and medicine on some pet of yours." Without so much as a glance towards the badger lord's expression, the haughty, arrogant doctor strode towards the door. "Let me know when it dies, I'll fetch you an old shoebox so you can bury it in the backyar--"

THUNK!

The smile faded from Azryel's face as he stared down the head of a double-bladed axe, the weapon having been thrown straight at the door he'd just been about to open. The doctor swallowed, closing his eyes as he felt the presence of Braythe the Savage just behind him, casting a dark shadow that seemed to engulf all signs of life.
"You aren't leaving this room until Newt's better, DOCTOR, or else the only one needing the shoebox will be you."
Knowing the badger meant every word of it, Azryel fought the numbness from his body and moved mechanically towards the badger's writing desk, ashen-faced. Big sentimental idiot. As if I have time to waste on this thing. Braythe didn't even bother removing his axe from the door -- not even when a knock sounded just on the other side of it.
"COME IN!" he snarled, Braythe's nerves frayed a thousand times over.

[Cross]

Victiore Fawn was having a splendid day. She had performed all her duties as probational infirmary worker to the letter this morning. Now all she needed to do was check up on Lord Braythe, to make sure his back wound was healing up. Her chipper mood had been improved upon meeting a few of the other hare soldiers around the fortress.

Southpaw Varilde, for instance, was a hare whose entire demeanor radiated a feeling of jollity. Cordin Dorchester, or Fuzzy Lizard, as he'd been nicknamed, was also a nice fellow. Something was wrong with him, though, and it had to do with his right side. Victiore couldn't put her paw on it, but she was pretty sure it was an old wound. She could figure it out later.

Practically skipping up the stairs to see Braythe, the mouse had a bright, sunshiney smile on her features. She did like going to see Braythe. Even though he was utterly gigantic, he obviously knew his strength, and he didn't fly off the handle if she made a mistake (which had only happened once; never mixing medicine in with his soup again). Sure, he got angry, but he was forgiving. As long as she had muffins nearby. Those were his weakness.

Giggling to herself, the mouse realized she hadn't felt this happy to visit somebeast in awhile. With her bag full of healing supplies and another sack filled with blueberry muffins, it was with a delighted cheerfulness that she knocked on the door to the forge room.

"COME IN!"

Oh, dear . . . Victiore's ears dropped back in fear as she gently, ever so gently, pushed the door open. "Lord Braythe?" she called, slipping inside and closing the door. She bit back a yelp of terror at the axe sticking out of the door. "I, uh, oh! Excuse me!" The mouse saw the gaunt hare, the still salamander, and the edgy Badgerlord. "Is, um, this a bad time?"

[Stryker]

"I, uh, oh! Excuse me!" The mouse saw the gaunt hare, the still salamander, and the edgy Badgerlord. "Is, um, this a bad time?"

The badger's big striped face lit up as though Victiore was suddenly his saving grace. Crossing the room in two strides, Braythe hurried her over to Newt, who didn't even look up, just blinked slowly, as if he didn't even have the energy to move much more than that. "Fix Newt! He's not looking good -- and because that skinny little stuck-up wretch in the corner won't treat him, I order you to make Newt better!" The badger was clearly desperate, his face set in a mix of anxiety the likes of which was quite unbecoming of a mountain ruler, and Azryel snorted in disgust, turning away from a scene the likes of which offended him to the very core. The insults didn't bother him. It was the fact that Braythe was getting so emotional over a sickly lizard that rubbed him the wrong way.
Oh well.
It was time to stop giving this situation an ounce of his attention.
What did get his attention, however, was the sight of the small white mouse with more tattoos covering her arms than he'd seen on a corsair. She must be some kind of witch-doctor, he presumed, noticing her unusual appearance in comparison to, oh, say a qualified doctor such as himself. Azryel, a paw rubbing one of his gaunt cheeks thoughtfully, smiled beneath the shadow it cast over his mouth, gray eyes flashing for just a moment.
A witch doctor.
Their badger lord was going to have his pet newt healed by a witch doctor.
Oh this should be good.

((XD sorry for the shortness!))

[Cross]

"Fix Newt! He's not looking good -- and because that skinny little stuck-up wretch in the corner won't treat him, I order you to make Newt better!"

Newt? Who was Newt? Victiore stood there, hopelessly confused, before she was rushed over to to where the sickly lizard lay. "Oh, my!" she exclaimed as she was basically carried across the forge room. What was that about Braythe being gentle with her? Well, she shouldn't really expect any special treatment, now could she? "But, s-sir! I came to replace your bandages, and I--" He didn't really give her the opportunity to explain why she was here.

"Autumn's ghost," she whispered as she got a good look at Newt, setting her supplies down. "You poor little thing." Gently running a paw down the length of the creature's body, she examined him carefully, rolling up the oversized sleeves of her infirmary uniform. She leaned in close, listening to Newt's ragged breathing and pretty much treating him as she would any patient. Finally, she turned to Braythe with a kind smile.

"You don't have to worry, Lord Braythe," she assured him. "Newt just has a bit of fever. I'm sure he'll be just fine after some rest and a bath in some cool water." She gave a small laugh. "He only looks bad because fever hits little creatures like him harder than somebeast like you, sir. I can bathe him later, if you'd like, but your bandages need to be replaced again."

It was then she finally turned to the gaunt hare watching form the other end of the table. She offered a warm smile but didn't speak to him just yet. He didn't look very happy to be here, so she wouldn't make things worse.

[Stryker]

"You don't have to worry, Lord Braythe," she assured him. "Newt just has a bit of fever. I'm sure he'll be just fine after some rest and a bath in some cool water." She gave a small laugh. "He only looks bad because fever hits little creatures like him harder than somebeast like you, sir. I can bathe him later, if you'd like, but your bandages need to be replaced again."

Lord Braythe breathed a sigh of relief, but he was certain Newt wasn't out of danger just yet. "No, fix him first, then my bandages..." His eyes darting to the hare on the opposite side of the room, a low rumbling growl of a threat was issued to Azryel, realizing both he and Vicky had spilled the secret of his injuries. Damn it. Azryel smiled, his empty eyes flickering like black glass in the light.
Oh yes, you dithering fool, I know you've gone and cut yourself, probably with that big obnoxious axe you carry. It made sense that literally the only thing in this mountain that could possibly injure the hulking beast that was Braythe, would be one of his own weapons. There was nothing a hare carried that could do enough damage to Braythe that he'd actually need bandages. Absolutely nothing... And besides, Azryel had his suspicions that it had occurred to their simple-minded Badger Lord that his double-headed axe might make a good back scratcher if he was careful with it.
Look at how that turned out, eh?

"Lord Braythe?"

One of the cadets glanced nervously from the gaunt doctor, to the tattooed mouse, and finally to the emotionally distraught Badger Lord, Braythe fixing the young hare with a piercing stare. "What?"

"Er...the Brigadier needs you in the Mess Hall."

"It can wait."

"Erm...he said you'd say that, sir, so he's told the cook not to make any more muffins from now on--"

Braythe's growl drowned out the cadet's words, and casting one last meaingful glance at Vicky, and one to Azryel laden with hatred, Braythe stormed out of his private chambers, off down the stairs with the frazzled cadet right after him.
"FIX HIM!" shouted Braythe from the stairs, and Azryel resisted the urge to roll his eyes, opting to close them as if he needed to find a quiet place where stupid badgers and tattooed mice didn't exist.
"Are you sure that's all that's wrong with him, mouse? Don't you need to sprinkle some fairy dust on him, say a few chants and ask the spirits for guidance?" mocked the dark-eyed doctor, his gaunt features utterly still as he spoke those words almost mechanically, the adding injury to insult by just how dry his tone was.

[Cross]

"FIX HIM!"

"But, sir, you've--" Victiore didn't get to finish as the door to the forge room was slammed shut. Letting out a small sigh, the mouse turned back to the lizard lying in an awkward position on the writing desk. She rolled up her loose sleeves again and began situating him more comfortably, her dainty paws gentle as could be.

"Are you sure that's all that's wrong with him, mouse? Don't you need to sprinkle some fairy dust on him, say a few chants and ask the spirits for guidance?" mocked the dark-eyed doctor, his gaunt features utterly still as he spoke those words almost mechanically, the adding injury to insult by just how dry his tone was.

Victiore whirled to face the hare. Her ears shot back, and she felt a hot blush creep across her face, a stark red in contrast to her white fur. "E-excuse me?" she stammered, clearly caught off-guard. She wasn't a stupid witch! Sure, she sometimes used incantations, but she certainly did not believe in fairy dust! And the part about the spirits was a bit uncalled for, as well. She didn't ask them for help, she really just knew their names.

"I-I--y-yes, of course I'm sure," she responded quietly, returning her gaze to the ill creature. Winter's ice, how did this hare know?! Well, it might be all those tattoos, despite how many of them were covered by her new uniform. The dragonfly and pansies on her neck were still quite visible. Even the rose on her ankle and the Indian paintbrush on her shin were not covered, since her new breeches only reached down to her knees.

Good thing she had thought to bring a bowl and her canteen of water. She tried her hardest to focus on Newt, but she could practically feel the hare's hard gaze boring holes into her as she worked. Once the little creature was comfortably in the makeshift bath, she made sure to keep his head above the water (he looked far too weary to do it himself).

[Stryker]

"I-I--y-yes, of course I'm sure," she responded quietly, returning her gaze to the ill creature.

"Stammered the mouse."
Said Azryel. The doctor watched with dead eyes as the newt attempted to hold it's head above the water, instinctively feeling a bit better now that he was back in water, however, the poor thing had started shedding it's skin in an attempt to better fight the infection. It seemed to sigh dejectedly, growing tired again.
"....how many creatures have you nursed back to health, mouse?" Asked the doctor cuttingly, "Because I'm under the impression that the amphibian is your first one."
Salt-water makes for a better healing agent when dealing with creatures like this one. He's clearly suffering from some kind of cold, and he'll need to eat something soon. If I recall correctly, newts eat water snails, fly larvae, water lice, and worms. Pity. It seems we're all out of those -- unless nature girl here can summon them out of thin air. Or pray to the great spirits to deliver them to her.
Glancing out of the window, Azryel turned and moved back to the nearest wall, leaning his shoulder against it, his weight shifting to one side in a bored sort of lean, his arms folded across his chest.
"...it must be fear that makes you work for his lordship. Yes, it must be fear. The spinelessness you exhibited moments before was proof enough of that." The doctor tilted his head. "Doesn't it bother you, that he cares more for this newt than he does for the lives of his hares? My loyalties are with the Long Patrol and the Long Patrol only. I can never support a badger who does not care if his soldiers live or die."
The point of striking up this conversation was simply to pass the time. Normally Azryel wasn't much of a talker, but the timid nature of the satin mouse in front of him had stirred up some kind of foul fire within his soul, the urge to...verbally attack suddenly presenting itself.

[Cross]

"....how many creatures have you nursed back to health, mouse?" Asked the doctor cuttingly, "Because I'm under the impression that the amphibian is your first one."

The blush refused to leave Vicky's face as she tended to Newt. She debated answering the hare at all. He was obviously more interested in insulting her than her actual replies. She'd met scathing creatures like him before. It was best not to provoke them, but she honestly couldn't help but try to prove herself. "Seventy-four," she said clearly, forcing herself to keep her green eyes trained on Newt.

"...it must be fear that makes you work for his lordship. Yes, it must be fear. The spinelessness you exhibited moments before was proof enough of that."

Closing her eyes, she tried to get ahold of herself. Half of her wanted to run from the room bawling, while the other half (strangely) wanted to spit in the hare's eye. Vicky got an extra cloth from her bag and took Newt out of the bowl, rubbing him down gently and helping his shed skin fall off his body. She knew she wasn't the bravest creature around, so the spineless comment didn't sting as much as he probably wanted it to. But still, it hurt her more than she let on.

The doctor tilted his head. "Doesn't it bother you, that he cares more for this newt than he does for the lives of his hares? My loyalties are with the Long Patrol and the Long Patrol only. I can never support a badger who does not care if his soldiers live or die."

That did it. She set Newt down and slapped the writing desk loudly with the cloth, her gaze growing hard as she turned to face the hare. "I do not work for him out of fear," she said angrily. She didn't care if he insulted her, but insulting Braythe was a completely different matter. "I needed a job, and when I asked if I could work here, he let me. That's . . . all there is to it." She turned back to Newt, her ears flattening against her skull as she added, "It is not my place to say whether Lord Braythe's affections for his pet bother me or not. Especially since I would like to keep working here."

[Stryker]

"Seventy-four," she said clearly, forcing herself to keep her green eyes trained on Newt.

"Then why don't you know that saltwater would work better for a great crested salamander? I guess your skills do not extend to amphibians."

"I do not work for him out of fear," she said angrily. She didn't care if he insulted her, but insulting Braythe was a completely different matter. "I needed a job, and when I asked if I could work here, he let me. That's . . . all there is to it." She turned back to Newt, her ears flattening against her skull as she added, "It is not my place to say whether Lord Braythe's affections for his pet bother me or not. Especially since I would like to keep working here."

"Oh no, of course not." Said Azryel, mockery shining in his eyes as a sarcastic comment filled the air between them. So Salamandastron takes in strays now? What are we, Redwall Abbey? "Oh no, it surely isn't fear. It's because you've developed such a strong bond of friendship between one another - clearly, that's why he trusted you to look after his beloved pet newt, not because any other doctor would've told him it's a waste of time and energy." Why were creatures so easy to rile up? Why did they have such thin skin? Why did they care what anyone else thought? Why did the world stop turning when someone felt insulted and humiliated, and they had to lash out or get angry to make it start turning again?
Azryel didn't understand it and never would.
There was no creature in this gods-forsaken mountain that could anger him so much that he'd fly off the handle. He was not a 'fly off the handle' kind of creature. Stomping and slamming around was for creatures who couldn't control their own emotions. When one was devoid of emotion entirely, no such reaction even existed. He did not take out his anger on nearby objects. If he wanted someone to know just how angry he was at them, he'd make them feel it.

Mark my words, Badger. If I suddenly desire the life of an outlaw and a murderer, you'll be the first to go.

[Cross]

"Oh no, of course not." Said Azryel, mockery shining in his eyes as a sarcastic comment filled the air between them. So Salamandastron takes in strays now? What are we, Redwall Abbey? "Oh no, it surely isn't fear. It's because you've developed such a strong bond of friendship between one another - clearly, that's why he trusted you to look after his beloved pet newt, not because any other doctor would've told him it's a waste of time and energy."

"I thought we went through that," Vicky said scathingly. Obviously, she wasn't going to get any kind of response from him that wasn't a rude comment, so why not play the game. "I work here, which makes Braythe my boss. If he says take care of the newt-" She paused. The creature wasn't a newt. "-salamander, then I'm going to take care of the salamander. I don't question my boss, since I want to keep my job."

She was glad her back was to him, otherwise he might have seen the haggard look that suddenly crossed her features. The mouse hated arguments, and she knew she was no good at them. She was more the type to submit to the other party than to keep the battle going. But the comments about Braythe had rubbed her the wrong way. And it may have been her stress of two long years by herself in Mossflower woodland finally being released in her sudden outbursts.

Here at the mountain, she felt safe. She felt like she could walk about freely without the fear of getting mugged. So maybe the Vicky who'd once been a feisty little gypsy's daughter was resurfacing for the first time in almost two years.

[Stryker]

"I work here, which makes Braythe my boss. If he says take care of the newt-" She paused. The creature wasn't a newt. "-salamander, then I'm going to take care of the salamander. I don't question my boss, since I want to keep my job."

Azryel's eyes darkened, the gaunt, tall hare processing the new information his brain had suddenly figured out. If Braythe had hired her as a member of the infirmary, that meant that not only was Azryel her superior in every way, but that they would be working together. In times of both war and peace, they'd have to work side by side, and they'd have to be able to trust each other's diognosis. Well, they'd have to trust Azryel's diagnosis. He would make no assumptions based on the work of another doctor, he'd simply reevaluate the patient.
She must not have any war training at all. Let's gather a little more pieces to this tiny, tattooed little puzzle.

She was a puzzle in the sense that he did not have all the information, the pieces, not that she was an enigma or anyone difficult to read. Crossing the room again in a few lengthy strides, Azryel leaned with his paws against the desk, watching her work with his unnervingly gray eyes. Because he was now right next to her, the doctor felt no reason to raise his voice above a low, even murmur. "What makes you qualified to work here, mouse? This is a mountain of which death, war and suffering are not strangers. Having you work as a member of the infirmary makes you required to be on the battlefield, you're are of this?"
Glancing from the newt to the mouse, Azryel's words filled the Badger Lord's chamber like the eerie voice of truth, a conscience of sorts, for the white-furred healer attending to the sickly amphibian.

"You have to be quick but not sloppy, precise and unwavering. Even as your comrades are fighting and dying around you. You cannot allow your emotions to rule you in times of warfare. If the hare you are attempting to heal has literally no chance of survival, you can only ease their suffering long enough for them to pass away peacefully, and then move on to the next hare." It was a cold truth, but a truth nonetheless. All of that dramatic nonsense about bringing hares back from the brink of death was a load of fermented toadstools, and any beast who had seen and done what he had done would know this.
"Secondly, mouse, there is no crying. Even if a friend of yours, a childhood friend, someone you admired -- whomever -- has just passed away, you suck it up and move on to your next patient. There's time for grieving later, the unfortunate creatures injured will not have a later if you allow a few moments of unnecessary emotion."

There was something about Victiore Fawn that Azryel did not like. He felt like he was looking at a mousebabe playing doctor, as if she were in way over her head and had no real grasp for what she was doing -- especially not in times of distress and war. It was insulting. Salamandastron was no place for a mouse like this one -- and he would see to it personally that she either buckled down and learned what it truly meant to be a member of the medical team here, or that she never dare show herself on Salamandastron's doorstep again.

[Cross]

Because he was now right next to her, the doctor felt no reason to raise his voice above a low, even murmur. "What makes you qualified to work here, mouse? This is a mountain of which death, war and suffering are not strangers. Having you work as a member of the infirmary makes you required to be on the battlefield, you're aware of this?"

Vicky nodded stiffly, getting Newt comfortable on the table to allow him to sweat out the fever. She offered him a little more of the water left in her canteen and got a few pieces of muffin for him, as well. She did not want to answer the hare anymore. Answering him would only make things worse for her.

"You have to be quick but not sloppy, precise and unwavering. Even as your comrades are fighting and dying around you. You cannot allow your emotions to rule you in times of warfare. If the hare you are attempting to heal has literally no chance of survival, you can only ease their suffering long enough for them to pass away peacefully, and then move on to the next hare."

Vicky's paws faltered a moment, and she almost lost her hold on the canteen, but she simply nodded again. Don't answer him. Don't answer him. You can do this. Don't answer him. She took a deep breath and forced herself to remain focused on Newt.

"Secondly, mouse, there is no crying. Even if a friend of yours, a childhood friend, someone you admired -- whomever -- has just passed away, you suck it up and move on to your next patient. There's time for grieving later, the unfortunate creatures injured will not have a later if you allow a few moments of unnecessary emotion."

She barely knew any of the hares here, anyway. It sounded terrible when the thought was formed, but she wouldn't be crying over somebeast she didn't know. Of course she would grieve later that she wasn't able to help them, but crying would not be an issue. Right now, however, was a different matter. The gaunt hare was literally wearing her down.

"You obviously don't like me," she murmured back. "I get that. But your words . . . are not going to drive me away. If I leave, if I ever leave, it will be because I realize, for myself, that I . . . do not belong here." D*mnit, she'd answered him.

[.:Fawn:.]

"You obviously don't like me," she murmured back. "I get that. But your words . . . are not going to drive me away. If I leave, if I ever leave, it will be because I realize, for myself, that I . . . do not belong here." D*mnit, she'd answered him.

A dark ghost of a smile passed across Azryel's features. "Don't consider yourself special, there isn't a creature alive who I can honestly say that I like. Toleration is a different story." That was entirely true; the one person he had honestly and truly liked, had died a long time ago. The last words she uttered to him were too good to pass up, not replying was simply out of the question, the gaunt, cynical hare giving the mouse the full brunt of his stare. "No, it won't be my words that force you to leave this mountain. It's going to be the doubt you already have -- add that to the truths you are going to learn within this mountain -- that has you packing before the year is out. I can hear it in your voice."
It was so easy it was almost cruel.

"You did not insist that you belong here. You did nothing to make me believe that you have any reason to stay, other than the fact that you have a job opportunity here. You said 'if' you stay, which means you have a glimmer of doubt as to how well you fit in here." The hare's eyes turned as hard as flint, but with a dark gleam closer to steel. "Things are different at this mountain. Understand that if mistakes are made, you do not get the chance to correct them -- and even if you do, there will always be that small fear in the back of your mind that you very well might make that same mistake again. Or worse. Take right now for instance -- suppose you were incorrectly diagnosing the salamander? Suppose, in spite of your best efforts, he died in that little container of water? What will you do then? Apologize to his lordship? Pack your things? Run away? Declare it a fluke and continue on here as though nothing ever happened?"

[Cross]

"No, it won't be my words that force you to leave this mountain. It's going to be the doubt you already have -- add that to the truths you are going to learn within this mountain -- that has you packing before the year is out. I can hear it in your voice."

"I'm sure you hear a lot of things in my voice," she snapped. "Doubt, fear, anger, disgust, and perhaps even some hatred, if you're really looking. Most of them directed at you, sir." Great seasons, her emotions were riding the rapids today!

"You did not insist that you belong here. You did nothing to make me believe that you have any reason to stay, other than the fact that you have a job opportunity here. You said 'if' you stay, which means you have a glimmer of doubt as to how well you fit in here." The hare's eyes turned as hard as flint, but with a dark gleam closer to steel. "Things are different at this mountain. Understand that if mistakes are made, you do not get the chance to correct them -- and even if you do, there will always be that small fear in the back of your mind that you very well might make that same mistake again. Or worse. Take right now for instance -- suppose you were incorrectly diagnosing the salamander? Suppose, in spite of your best efforts, he died in that little container of water? What will you do then? Apologize to his lordship? Pack your things? Run away? Declare it a fluke and continue on here as though nothing ever happened?"

"Why do you care," she shot back, her voice rising in volume, "what I do? You don't, do you? So why are you even bothering to speak with me? Because you are trying to scare me away? Or because my presence insults you? Is that it?" She was a full head and shoulders shorter than the hare, but her green eyes suddenly matched his in her hardness of gaze. "Just because I have less experience than you doesn't mean I won't learn."

She turned back to Newt, her paws trembling. Why wouldn't this hare just leave? He wasn't helping anything, nor did he need to stay. If he hated her so much, why was he still here?

[.:Fawn:.]

"Why do you care," she shot back, her voice rising in volume, "what I do? You don't, do you? So why are you even bothering to speak with me? Because you are trying to scare me away? Or because my presence insults you? Is that it?" She was a full head and shoulders shorter than the hare, but her green eyes suddenly matched his in her hardness of gaze. "Just because I have less experience than you doesn't mean I won't learn."

"There is one thing and one thing only that I can say that I love in this wretched world, and that is my job." Azryel's eyes narrowed, and he leaned down and forward to look the little mouse right in her bright green eyes. "So yes, I feel insulted. Its as if you spat all over everything that I stand for -- the idea that YOU, a tattooed vagabond from the Gods' know where can just show up at this mountain, heal that oaf we call a Badger Lord, and immediately get herself placed as a member of the infirmary. It's ridiculous." The doctor's terse, cold words sounded so dead, so hollow, the gaunt hare filled with so much hate for her and yet nothing at all. Empty, but not. "To think that you can show up and instantly be considered my equal, HA," he spat. "You have not seen even HALF the things I have, you have done enough, learned enough, spent enough time with both the living and the dead to realize what it means to be a doctor. The very idea of you agitates me. If you came here to learn, then fine, you should've been accepted as an apprentice, not a temporary member, you should've been made to prove that you have what it takes, that you have every ounce of the intelligence and the skill that is required to hold this position. To be completely honest, I'm surprised Roseleaf hasn't chewed you up and spit you out by now, like she should've done earlier. This isn't Redwall Abbey, little mouse. The standards are supposed to be higher. The quality, the credentials are supposed to be much, much higher."

Azryel pulled back, as if he could not bear to be in her presence any longer, a mechanical kind of behavior immediately taking over. The doctor straightened his uniform, his voice quiet and low, as though he need not shout to make his point across.
"If you wish to shut me up, then give me a good reason to trust in you and your abilities. You can flaunt the years you've spent learning this craft, but so help me, mouse, if you falter, if you waver for even a moment when you've been called to act, then I will make certain it's the last thing you ever do at Salamandastron."
Done, he'd had enough.
He was tired of this mouse, tired of talking, tired of that newt, and certainly tired of thinking about this. He needed to go dissect something, examine some skulls, anything to lighten his mood to a better one. Maybe he could find some dead seagull, he didn't have one of those back home. Not bothering to look at the mouse, Lieutenant Black left the badger lord's quarters, slamming the door behind him, the light reflecting off the silver buttons of his uniform as he descended the long staircase.


Well....at least, in spite of everything, Newt was starting to feel better, and had perked up enough to walk around a little.

((I can have Braythe come back in a couple minutes, to see how it's going. ))

[Cross]

"You don't have to shut up," Vicky called before the door was slammed shut. "I can . . . learn from correction." This last part was quietly murmured right after the hare had left the room. Gods, what had she gotten herself into? She wasn't necessarily a member of the infirmary team just yet. She was technically Roseleaf's apprentice. On probation until she could prove herself, or she would leave in disgrace.

Letting out a ragged sigh, the mouse slumped against the desk, her arms covering her head as Newt paced quietly in his little corner. Maybe the gaunt hare was right. Maybe she should just leave. But if she did, she would be proving him right. That she wasn't cut out for this, and that a better place for her would be somewhere like Redwall abbey.

But then she would be letting Braythe down, after all he'd done for her to get her this job. And she would be letting Roseleaf down, after promising not to be a disappointment. And she would be letting herself down, after coming all this way and praying for a new chapter in life. So, okay, maybe she hadn't thought everything through before arriving, but she would just have to deal with that. This place was a war zone, and, for many of the hares, it would be their deathbed someday. But that didn't mean staying here wouldn't teach her some important skills.

"Newt, do you think I should stay?" she murmured quietly, resting her chin on one arm and stroking the pretty salamander with the other. The creature gave a lazy blink of its eyes and scuttled away to have a few more bites of his muffin crumbs. The mouse sighed again, hoping, praying, that she wouldn't let anybeast down during her time here.

((Sure, go ahead.))