23rd of Ashan, Arc 716Peter the Prancing Pony Prodded Prickly Petals Prodigiously and Patiently Procured Promised Payments.
"This shit is so stupid," he remarked. "Camile the Carpenter Came Curiously Close to Culminating Coppers when Calamity Compromised her."
Stupid. "What is this drab peasantry?" He asked himself. Alistair could never keep his mouth shut in public spaces - library or no - and he could also rarely keep his verbal offspring clean. He was far more likely to find himself cussing at some arbitrary thing he found absolute distaste for.
"Is' called a tongue twisty, mate. Now shut ye flapper, I'm tryna' read." The Highborn scoffed. Some shit eating old peasant man had just told him to 'shut his flapper'? He didn't even possess a flapper. It wasn't like he was a bird or something. "I'm trying to read too, just aloud. 'What is this shit?' was a part of the narrative of the story, dimwit. It's called a satirical novel. You would know that if your milk maid mother taught you proper Rynmere tongue." The man just laughed and kept his eyes trained on his book. His very small book. Looked the size of a children's novella.
"I'll just keep me words to me self, lest I get more squawkin' from this goose lickin' ponce." Ponce?! The man's thoughts resounded. No. He calmed himself. No words of vengeance weren't worth getting forcibly removed from the library over. He actually had uses for this place, like, erm, books on . . . uh . . . well, history at least. He doubted they had many on magic since in Rynmere they seemed to treat magic like the bloody devil. "I'll lick your goose, dear," the Venora said with a shit-eating grin and moved tables far, far away. Well, to the second floor really. Not to Viden or something actually far.
"Jouster Native Nelson Notoriously Nipped Niel Nashvelt Nigh Nameless after Numerous Knockouts. I swear I'm like reading the sodding public paper or something. Jousting news? I thought this tongue twisty bullshit book was more high maintenance than that." He continued to read through the lines, each of the alleged tongue twisters not really managing to screw him up at all. This is bullshit.
"Penelope Peregrine Pounced Predators Preying Precariously on her Precious Pines . . ."
The man sighed, and set the book down. Certainly wasn't going to be borrowing this book. As he stood up to grab another from the bookshelf, though, a yelling duet of men practically smashed through the front door of the library, screaming.
"Someone help this man!" they exclaimed. Alistair climbed partially down the stairs, looking at the entrance. Blood. A dangerous amount of it, flowing from his body. The surgeon immediately grabbed his medical tools from the table and rushed towards the gentleman who had been hauled in through the library. Alistair loathed being forced to work in most situations, so a part of him was tempted to say nothing and allow the scene to unfold. However, this was a public library. He couldn't let a man die in here; it would be a major setback to the scholarly pursuits of the men of Andaris. He stepped forward and spoke to the individuals who had hauled him in.
"I am Alistair Venora, a surgeon," he said resoundingly enough to speak over all of the other booming, arguing voices. "What has happened to this gentleman?" The man grabbed a piece of leather equipment, almost like a large belt. He gestured everyone aside, the patrons of the library gathering in a mass of people to stare interested at the series of events.
"He was stabbed, my Lord! By a man he'd held a debt for or something of the like. I didn't hear the entire conversation." The two men that brought him here evidently pulled him as an act of random kindness. He didn't sense that they were somehow friends or even acquaintances, especially considering this man's state of attire compared to their farmer's suspenders and manure-infused hats. Alistair gestured them away too, the smell - even if residual - bothering him. He applied pressure to the wound to stop the flow of blood, and investigated the rest of his body. Interestingly enough, however, there was more to it all than a stab wound. A very dangerous addition that would be the greatest test to his life. The man was young and of a strong build; he could likely survive the stabbing, especially as it wasn't in the area of any organs as far as Alistair knew. The dangerous part was the evident bruising on his head, one that implied a blunt attack to his skull.