"Oh, ain't'y'just sweet." Serigan said giving the old healer a flirtatious grin as she stared to unwrap his wound. The pain was bad,  ut, he was used to it."Now, Ol'Cuttah ain't 'bout t'just scream his-" he was cut off by the sudden presence of the balm that she had used to clean the wounds. She had warned him that it would hurt. He had honestly just thought nothing of it. Getting healed up always hurt some. It was like fighting, you often had to suffer a bit to get what you wanted. She really did underplay the pain though. Serigan flew into a sting of curses so profane that if there was a concord of rival priest within earshot every single one of them would have been offended in turn. The words that came from Serigan's mouth would become the new standard for exactly what children should never say in the presence of polite company. Many curses that most folk considered foul were written off as just something silly and their slots were taken by the Virtuoso-like cursing incantations uttered by the former gang leader. "...Gods wit a face-full of centaur splash! Doncha know yer supposed t'give a man a drink 'fore you give'em a pain they'll have scream yer name for?" as he finished the woman handed him a flask of whiskey and he gave her a smile with eyes shining with pain, "Thas'more like it." he drained the flask in a few quick gulps, hoping to speed up the painkilling process the fine drink would give him soon. 

Serigan returned to grinning while the older healer stitched him up. "Y'got s'm'kinna skill th'r, Ol'Killie. Qui'k'cher 'ands 'yare. E'r thou'cha b'out turnin' th's'fin'ers t'evil?" he asked slurring his words even more from the strong drink. Also, finding the older woman quite the fetching lady in general. Of course, Serigan found most people rather fetching but right now she was sewing him up and has his full attention. He pet the poor injured dog by his chair as he was worked on, muttering a few condolences to the dog. They were impossible to understand by people let alone an animal. He wished the dog well as it was carried away from him, his words the kind of thing a cryptologist would have drooled over to decode. 

Soon enough, Serigan found himself in the main hall of the Guild with a crutch in one hand and his cane in the other. He now at least had a chair to sit in and it was close to the pretty lady who paid him. Ah, he did like it when the people who gave you money were nice to look at. He tapped his cane on the ground in a poor imitation of a beat he had heard in a song some time ago. His buzzed mind was trying desperately to understand why exactly people were so sad. He thought it had something to do with the hurt dog and the man who was with him. He thought he remembered that man being blind. Wait, had that group died? Yes, they had. That was what the people who came in earlier had said. Then Athena had ran off to go see Ares, the the spooky looking man had come down the steps. It was the first time Serigan had seen him. He had saluted to the man with his cane and bid him his condolences but the man was gone as quickly as he arrived. Serigan leaned his head back in the chair and sighed. This was going to be very boring. He probably shouldn't be thinking about how boring things might be when there seemed to be an aura of mourning around the whole place and all the people in it, but, he couldn't help himself. He hated being being bored. Being bored was just about as bad as death really. He had plenty of people around him die, hell, just about all of them so far. He had gotten used to death long ago. 

When Athena returned he gave her a salute with his cane and smile, "Sorry'bout all'thus bissus, m'love. Is'a sad day i'tiss. M'eart goes t'ya dear. Tel'oo what. Ol'Cuttah knows y'sad, an'ee thinks y'might need a'ug?" Serigan opened his arms to her for an embrace. "Y'll 'ave t'c'm t'me though. Ol'Cuttah can't walk. Doc's orders."