[Video] [Location: Birdhouse]

[smecker]

Paul's cleaned up the infirmary from wounded elf-boy. He's been to the plaza to see the damage, and he has, via a few questions, gotten a general idea of what the hell went down. Very general, but it's enough to give him a good old-fashioned Earth-style migraine.

He's had his eight cigarette of the morning by the time he decides to broadcast. It's not an impulse decision, despite the fact that many of Paul's decisions may seem such.

Visual floods. Paul's in the infirmary, which he has restored to order; and he looks very chipper.

"So, Taxon! In wake of the recent nasssstiness, it occurs to me I may have never properly introduced myself and my Chateau du Merde D'oiseau."

He waves a hand around. "This is our infirmary. We spent time here patching up Blondie when he got his arm ripped off the other day. It is a happy place full of morphine and other such goodies. It is the closest thing we in the city have to a functioning hospital, and you should know it's here. I am, arguably, your chief surgeon. Consign your souls to whatever you worship, regarding that.

"My home also has weapons, foodstuffs, and other emergency supplies. In case of crisis, it is rendezvous point numero uno. I apologize for the fact that this does not seem to have been information disseminated at large-- it's been a couple... months?" (more than that, Paul) "--since our last big Briefing meeting."

Deep breath. Paul considers his 9th cigarette, but he doesn't let himself smoke in the infirmary.

"With all of that said, does anyone here want to discuss the utter bug-nut clusterfuck of the last few days? Because God knows I really don't like trying to stabilize amputees if it can be fucking avoided, and it seems there is some bullshit that needs discussing in this city."

[location] Jason's house

[personaldemon]

There is work to be done.

There always is, especially after Etrigan gets out.

He's spent time cataloging the damage done inside his house, and outside; internal wards have been fixed in slow, painstaking fashion. The fence is going to require a little more work.

These are the easy fixes: the damage to property, to stone and metal, wood and paper.

The other fixes-- the intangible ones, the ones of trust and consequence-- are harder, and despite many years' experience with them, he has never gotten very good at them.

Jason Blood crouches in his front yard, thinking hard about nothing but what he is doing as he scratches lines in the sod with a knife, as he dots markings in chalk along the brick pillars that support the wrought-iron fence.



[ooc] for Johannes, but open to anyone who wants to walk by and see Jason there and scold/chastise/talk/whatever! [/ooc]