Thin spindly fingers drenched in a river of crimson reached forth from beneath folds of white stained in the same gory hue. The unexpected chime of a metallic collision radiated around the empty room, bouncing gleefully from wall to wall, as the concave hunk of sheet metal *clinked* with the silver buckle hanging loosely from the wrist of the madman's Jacket.
?No...? chirped the creature of pinstripe flesh, it's blood-flecked eye's jumping rapidly between the shadowed bag of steel and salve, the stranger with hands jutting out in disturbing and alien angle, and the rusted iron bowel now laying tenderly in the monsters grasp.
?You'd probably make a mistake...? The abomination's voice filled with the harmonic tune of a shall child, its scar sworn face contorted as innocently as it could, and for the first time in quite some time actually looking toward the companion that had delivered it's foul belongings. All a clever mask and an insulting juxtaposition to the venomous words slipping from Mortis' lips.
***
Wasting no more time on pleasantries, the doctor turned his full attention to the hunk of meat seated casually before him. Dressed in a midnight coat roughly twice his size with a face painted in the colours of crusty maroon, sickly yellow and painful purple, was the patient by duress that the fool had brought into his 'make-shift-morgue'. From face value, nothing the man bore appeared to by anything challenging, least of all fatal. Of course... in the wastes infection was a commonality and, more often than not, a fairly deciding factor as to whether people like ?Humpty Dumpty? would live another day or die a slow and painful death; the latter thought bringing the every persistent smile on the 'ragdoll's' face to it's bloom.
?3 Dislodged metacarpals on the left, 2 on the right... fractured intermediate phalanx's on the little and forefinger of the left... ring, little, centre and forefinger proximals on the right... Right thumb distal broken.? Mortis tuned out almost mechanically as he tenderly turned the foreigners hands over in his own, occasional contortions of pain racing across their face.
With his inspection satisfied, Mortis delved deep into his worn bag of tricks and pulled out two concoctions. One was a fairly large bottle of a clear liquid that was unmarked, the other was a vial in a test-tube with a swab of cotton floating in a fluid baring a tinge of yellow. With a steady hand he uncorked the test-tube and clasped the cotton swab with a pair of tweezers he had grasped entirely by memory from a fold stitched into his medical cache.
?This will hurt, If you scream I'll poison you, and leave you for the carrion birdies.? The doctor stated, his addressal unsettlingly chipper as always. Like an artist to a paintbrush, Mortis gracefully swabbed a thin layer of aqueous yellow over the unknown man's hands and the occasional cut on his brow or cheek, the alcohol burning clean with each open wound.
Satisfied by the bolts of pain that arched up the man's spine, Mortis put his antiseptic preparations on hold, figuring that the trash that their court jester had brought in wasn't worth the price of the medical supplies he had already spent.
?Humpty, what is the meaning of life??
?Wha-ARRRRGGGHHHHH? Screamed the meatbag as he threw the doctor from the counter of the table onto the cold, hard floor. It appeared Mortis' feeble attempt at distracting him as he pushed the dislodged bones back into place was less effective than he had hoped...
