no subject

[Examining the wound, as much as he can see it, with a critical eye, Saralegui lets himself more slump back than properly sit. He's lived the sort of life where he rarely had to physically exert himself -- mental fatigue was much more common, given all the long meetings spent with idiots -- so it's an odd feeling, that weariness in his limbs. A nap would be nice. Or a hot bath.

But he adopts a smile, careful to leave just a hint of that exhaustion visible in it because hey, it can't hurt to let this guy feel just a bit more guilty and indebted, right? Even if he has no specific plans right now, that sort of thing could always be useful in the future.]

Please, I wouldn't have offered if I minded. I've experimented enough by now to have known it would happen.