[right][h3][b][i][color=7d6c00]Dr. Swamp[/color][/i][/b][/h3][color=7d6c00]≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎[/color]
[color=7d6c00][i][b]Location:[/b][/i][/color] Shadowell Manor: Sewing Room (2F)
[color=7d6c00][i][b]Skills:[/b][/i][/color] N/A
[color=7d6c00][i][b]Hit Points:[/b][/i][/color] 2
[color=7d6c00]≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎[/color][/right]

	Dr. Swamp gave a surprised expression, hearing that Amaranthine was the type willing to get her hands bloody, even if was just in the name of the Healers' Arts. Perhaps his mind shouldn't have really taken that sort of turn, even to the point of assuming anything remotely dark about the Chanteuse. Maybe it was true and maybe it was not, but so far she had been nothing but cordial to him. Even defensive as the occasion called for it. She was, in his opinion, worth extending similar courtesy. Hopefully not to the extent of having to ply his trade upon her; it would be a fair shame if she also got shot during their stay. Anyway, if she was good with putting a suture to skin in addition to her obvious musical qualities, then she was most definitely worth keeping alive and sound for more than just her unparalleled contributions to culture - the thing without which we were all mere animals. 

	[color=7d6c00]"Thank you, but no. I am still capable,"[/color] he said in as stately a manner as possible, considering his still seeping side wound. Was the bullet still in there? Did it fall out somehow over the course of the last few minutes? No, he couldn't be that lucky. Through his own cursory self-examinations, Swamp could tell the basic nature of his injury. Dealing with it was another matter. Moreover, looking at the wound was so much different than knowing its severity. If Amaranthine was okay dealing with the blood and inflammation that was already forming, then great. But he was not going to request more assistance from the woman than was necessary. 

	With a grunt, Swamp pulled his vest from one shoulder and let gravity take care of most of the rest. He carefully placed it down next to him and began to work the buttons of his now absolutely ruined, formerly fine, black shirt. The Doctor's build was slender, even stork-like, depending upon how favorably one saw him. Lithe features spattered with blood, the ragged hole open to view. [color=7d6c00]"That is quite the shame. I fear that I shall have nothing to wear to the Lord's excellent supper party. Pity."[/color] His side (and injury) now exposed to the Chanteuse, he suggested, [color=7d6c00]"A semicircle needle is best, if they have it. Otherwise a fishhook needle for suturing. But I suppose beggars can't be choosers. Let us get this over with, madame. I am in your hands."[/color]