Edison Attwater
Member
- Messages
- 2
- Character Biography
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Not a single person saw Edison slip into the cracked foundation that was Elliot's clinic, which was honestly probably one of the more solid buildings in the subterranean ruins. Staggering, unsteady, and with his face set grim and sullen, he likely should have caught a few eyes. Hardly being much of a mage, the man himself wasn't entirely certain how his ability to go unnoticed worked, but it seemed as if he could just will a metaphorical sheet over himself and suddenly he was the least interesting thing for the eye to be drawn to. He didn't want to to be seen in this sort of state.
Staggering through the curtain that served as a front door, the lanky man grunted irritably as he got caught on the fabric and had to jerk and twist to free himself. Not three fucks were given as he dripped blood on the relatively nice carpets Elliot had laid out and hauled himself to the front counter, where he slapped his hand down hard on it.
"Grantham!" He shouted, leaning more of his weight onto the counter because godsdamnit he was tired. "Are you in? You really need to be in. Need your... uh... assistance."
The brothers were largely respected in their region, and especially within the depths of the Showroom, itself. They provided a valuable service, and they had the sort of money and connections that made them people not to be carelessly trifled with. Still, every now and then someone would get a very stupid, very reckless, very bad idea. And such was how Edison was ending his day with a gaping stab wound in the back of his shoulder.
Though he had lost a fair amount of blood, it was actually not the sole cause of his staggering. No, Edison had emptied the entirety of both his flasks on the way there and even then, as he stood in the front lobby of a medical clinic barely keeping himself upright, he was fumbling at his own person for something to smoke. Anything to take his mind off the barbed and gnawing pain of his shoulder.
"Grantham! Where the fuck're you at, Elliot?"
Elliot Grantham
Staggering through the curtain that served as a front door, the lanky man grunted irritably as he got caught on the fabric and had to jerk and twist to free himself. Not three fucks were given as he dripped blood on the relatively nice carpets Elliot had laid out and hauled himself to the front counter, where he slapped his hand down hard on it.
"Grantham!" He shouted, leaning more of his weight onto the counter because godsdamnit he was tired. "Are you in? You really need to be in. Need your... uh... assistance."
The brothers were largely respected in their region, and especially within the depths of the Showroom, itself. They provided a valuable service, and they had the sort of money and connections that made them people not to be carelessly trifled with. Still, every now and then someone would get a very stupid, very reckless, very bad idea. And such was how Edison was ending his day with a gaping stab wound in the back of his shoulder.
Though he had lost a fair amount of blood, it was actually not the sole cause of his staggering. No, Edison had emptied the entirety of both his flasks on the way there and even then, as he stood in the front lobby of a medical clinic barely keeping himself upright, he was fumbling at his own person for something to smoke. Anything to take his mind off the barbed and gnawing pain of his shoulder.
"Grantham! Where the fuck're you at, Elliot?"
Elliot Grantham