"Sergeant Zealous Oak, 88th Regiment. Chief Medical Officer of the Red Wings." He said to Sam as he pulled up a chair and sat down. The stack of reports was placed down lightly so he could drink John's ale. It was improper to deny a gift, after all.
"You know, if John's right then we could fix the leg properly. If you have time, I would be glad to use my medical equipment to determine its possible success." Oak said to Sam, head tilted slightly. "Unless you prefer your current physiological state."
While Sam sorted out his feelings on the subject of his limb, Doc turned his attention back toward John who seemed truly distraught. "Is aught alright, John? You seem melancholy." With the question hanging in the air, Oak took a long swig from the tankard of ale.
"You know, if John's right then we could fix the leg properly. If you have time, I would be glad to use my medical equipment to determine its possible success." Oak said to Sam, head tilted slightly. "Unless you prefer your current physiological state."
While Sam sorted out his feelings on the subject of his limb, Doc turned his attention back toward John who seemed truly distraught. "Is aught alright, John? You seem melancholy." With the question hanging in the air, Oak took a long swig from the tankard of ale.
What a colossal waste of time and energy.
