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“I wish the demolitionist would be more careful. I'm getting tired of having to see his limbs back on every day,” the nurse vented.
Does she not see the giant gay faerie in the sky? Hand over a potion, please.
Off to the skies riddled with atom-aligning wooden planks again. Meanwhile, other wounded shenanigans are occurring.
“Nurse! Oh nurse, I've burnt my hand,” interrupts the nurse's inner monologue about growing wings and flying to one of those islands she sees in the sky with the arms dealer. The merchant again? How many times would she need to tell him to be more careful—
That's not the merchant.
“Oh, woe is me, if only a pretty lady, such as yourself, could kiss it better!” the arms dealer continued.
“Goodness, how did this happen?” the nurse asked, ignoring the feeling of flush on her face at the arms dealer’s obvious flirtation.
“Well, I tried to help the builder with this rainbow issue flying around, but I accidentally grabbed a modified gun instead of a normal one and burnt my finger on the metal,” he said, looking down in fake, pathetic, shame. That entire story was fake. He went to buy gunpowder from the demolitionist and was met with whatever that guy does in his free time instead.
“Oh, poor thing. Here,” she said, grabbing a bowl and filling it with cool water from her sink, “dip the burn in here, it should stop the pain a little.”
The arms dealer did as told, admittedly less reluctantly than if she were any other nurse. Though, after a few minutes of sitting beside the nurse, he got tired of the silence.
“It still hurts,” he said, almost whining, “is there anything else you could do to stop the pain?”
The nurse almost snapped at him for his impatience, but he continued before she could do so.
“Anything we could do?”
Another one of those flirts that should've earned a slap, and probably would've and more had he been any other man.
It was as if even the yells of the Empress outside were silenced by her pounding heart.
“I hate your stupid flirts,” she said, taking off her sterile gloves (for once) and grabbing the sides of his face. She took no hesitation in kissing him, and didn't stop until she was more than breathless, because she hadn't wanted to stop until it became painful how little oxygen she had.
It wasn't long until she kissed him again. Though that time was interrupted. How many times will she be interrupted this evening?
“Nurse,” a bleeding demolitionist rasped, barely climbing through the trapdoor in the floor; the entrance to the raised home, “I need help.”
Oh yeah, the arms dealer forgot he left him like that.
The nurse broke away from the arms dealer the moment she heard the demolitionist’s voice, actually snapping this time, no cut off.
“No! Get out! Learn some discipline for once! Get out!”
The outburst surprised the demolitionist into stumbling down the steps. It wasn't that many, he'd be fine.
After several more minutes of kissing between the nurse and arms dealer, they finally broke apart long enough to speak.
“You know,” the arms dealer began, “my finger still hurts. I think I might need some… personal assistance.”
The nurse’s whole face flushed in almost an instant. She promptly stood up, grabbed the man, and threw him out with flustered adrenaline.
“You get out too! Go back to helping the builder!”
The arms dealer stumbled over a collapsed demolitionist as the nurse slammed the trapdoor shut.
“Worth it,” he muttered.