[right][h3][b][i][color=B100de]Master Plum[/color][/i][/b][/h3][color=B100de]≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎[/color]
[color=B100de][i][b]Location: [/b][/i][/color]Shadowell Manor: Music Room (Couch Left)
[color=B100de][i][b]Skills:[/b][/i][/color] Intelligence
[color=B100de][i][b]Hit Points:[/b][/i][/color] 5
[color=B100de]≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎[/color][/right]

He just stood there deaf and dumb. In his place he stays, vacant in his gaze, as if caught in a daze, lasting for weeks and days, obliviously unchanged and unfazed. Much to Plum's dismay, his efforts were wasted on this imbecile. This untactful man just stood there, doing nothing but taking up space, did he not see Plum was in distress? Or was it all part of the man's sinister plan? Choosing the action of inaction? Either way Plum's one bit of respite was to think to himself that this man's lifespan was dwindling faster than his. Either the man was ignorant to the situations around him, and would not last long this evening as Mauve lurked around, or he was hoping to earn himself the enmity of Plum which was a dangerous investment.

Fortunately, Rave was able to help, and help they did. Convincing someone else to fetch aid. Albeit Plum could swear they went the wrong way, but his eye was hardly able to keep track of who is going where from which exit and make sure Rave was not also trying to kill him accidental or otherwise. Good intentions have bad outcomes at times. And if he had some ingredients at hand he could make a remedy but that would require an open pantry perhaps? No, his best hope was the doctor, who as last Plum knew, was somewhere down the corridor. He would tend to himself and apply the pressure, allowing Rave to go find the doctor, who per his last statement to the idiot man, was somewhere down the corridor, and not the room of refreshment.

[color=b100de]
"Yes, well versed and well versed,
Thus let us have the roles reverse,
for your efforts and words coerced,
Thank you Rave, my dearest nurse."
[/color]


Taking matters into his own hand, pressing down on the wound, the warm trickle of blood in his hands still. There dubiously he questioned the sanctity of this cloth, wicking away the crimson tide. Yet twas all he had at a measure of worth, a deep wound bled and bled. It would certainly be a thorn in his heel for awhile to walk. More blood, alas, the bleeding had not yet stopped. A bit here and there, still bleeding as Plum was aware, pressing as best he could. Where is that doctor for a more thoroughly skilled assessment?