[ Vasiliy holds his own unlit cigarette in his mouth as he leaves the stove to bring a second to his patient, holding it out for him to take before he carefully retrieves his lighter from the jacket pocket atop the man's thigh. He lights the end of his and then extends the flame to Little, pocketing it once the cherry begins to glow and taking a long, slow drag—he needs it.
He pulls the cigarette from his mouth and exhales smoke before answering, the omnipresent stiffness to his shoulders relaxing ever-so-slightly into the embrace of the familiar rush of nicotine. ] Of course.
Your lead poisoning is not good. But you will not die. Some of your damage can be reversed.
[ If we can find the drugs. He glances at the clock on the wall—that's their ten minutes—and gets up, walking around the back of the couch and moving the two pots of boiling water to the mantle to cool. ] Are there others like you?
no subject
He pulls the cigarette from his mouth and exhales smoke before answering, the omnipresent stiffness to his shoulders relaxing ever-so-slightly into the embrace of the familiar rush of nicotine. ] Of course.
Your lead poisoning is not good. But you will not die. Some of your damage can be reversed.
[ If we can find the drugs. He glances at the clock on the wall—that's their ten minutes—and gets up, walking around the back of the couch and moving the two pots of boiling water to the mantle to cool. ] Are there others like you?