Doctor Oak lived in his own little world most of the time, it was a world full of reading. Sometimes, in his brief free moments, he considered just how much a curse it was to be literate.Â
The stalwart physician in his white and red robe, Red Wings patches on the shoulders, traipsed along the exchange with a stack of parchments that could have been a book if they'd been bound together. His reading glasses, yellow framed, sat on his nose and contrasted brilliantly with his dark complexion and darker, verdant hair. Occasionally, he was greeted by commonfolk in passing and generally smiled their way, but was otherwise distracted.
As he walked, peripherally aware of his surroundings, his eyes scanned document after document until one wide, booted foot tripped over another. Amidst the hustle and bustle of the streets of Ul'dah, Oak stood still and stared down at the casualty list in his thick fingered hand. Wasn't that....John's regiment?
Great big lungs blew a great big sigh, he hadn't realized how hard they'd been hit and John had tried to hide it from him just like he tried to play off the wound he'd suffered. Doc was no stranger to death and loss, like anyone else who'd dedicated themselves to a cause, military or personally or companywide. He quietly resolved to have a conversation with the Private one day, feeling grief for what he knew the young miqo'te felt.
What happened was kismet though, a strange coincidence that the big Roe would only attribute to the mysterious workings of the Twelve when he realized it. While he wandered his way into the lift to the airship landing, reading through more and more field reports of injuries and casualties in the ever growing conflicts; Oak noticed discrepancies and his brows furrowed. Flamesmen stationed in Ul'dah with recent war wounds? How odd.
All this was lost though when he stepped out of the lift and glanced up from the pile to see an unfamiliar man, the back of Warren Castille (For who wouldn't recognize him?), and a robed individual, all heading for the portside eatery. Warren was exactly whom the Doctor could ally with in regards to seeking out John and checking on him, so he followed the three quietly in hopes of having a moment to spare with the Arbiter.
The stalwart physician in his white and red robe, Red Wings patches on the shoulders, traipsed along the exchange with a stack of parchments that could have been a book if they'd been bound together. His reading glasses, yellow framed, sat on his nose and contrasted brilliantly with his dark complexion and darker, verdant hair. Occasionally, he was greeted by commonfolk in passing and generally smiled their way, but was otherwise distracted.
As he walked, peripherally aware of his surroundings, his eyes scanned document after document until one wide, booted foot tripped over another. Amidst the hustle and bustle of the streets of Ul'dah, Oak stood still and stared down at the casualty list in his thick fingered hand. Wasn't that....John's regiment?
Great big lungs blew a great big sigh, he hadn't realized how hard they'd been hit and John had tried to hide it from him just like he tried to play off the wound he'd suffered. Doc was no stranger to death and loss, like anyone else who'd dedicated themselves to a cause, military or personally or companywide. He quietly resolved to have a conversation with the Private one day, feeling grief for what he knew the young miqo'te felt.
What happened was kismet though, a strange coincidence that the big Roe would only attribute to the mysterious workings of the Twelve when he realized it. While he wandered his way into the lift to the airship landing, reading through more and more field reports of injuries and casualties in the ever growing conflicts; Oak noticed discrepancies and his brows furrowed. Flamesmen stationed in Ul'dah with recent war wounds? How odd.
All this was lost though when he stepped out of the lift and glanced up from the pile to see an unfamiliar man, the back of Warren Castille (For who wouldn't recognize him?), and a robed individual, all heading for the portside eatery. Warren was exactly whom the Doctor could ally with in regards to seeking out John and checking on him, so he followed the three quietly in hopes of having a moment to spare with the Arbiter.
What a colossal waste of time and energy.
