"You are an idiot!" Alastair is standing in the waiting room, leaning heavily on one leg. The subject of his tirade is a skinny, unhealthy looking man cringing in a plastic chair. "I am not a Nall agent in disguise and there is no conspiracy to poison you." Alastair throws a plastic bottle at the man's chest. "Take the pills, or don't, I could care less if you die." He turns his back on the man and limps as quickly as he can towards the door.
Plumpaw, ever the discreet one, is standing irritably in the waiting room and, having grown tired of being ignored has taken to sniffing the nearest reachable part (usually the head) of any medical staff unfortunate enough to walk by. One or two of them get a poke in the shoulder and a harsh question, for which they obviously have the wrong answer.
With an uneven, halting gait caused by the stiffness of his prosthetic leg, Alastair still manages to walk fairly quickly. He scowls at Plumpaw as he aims to head around her to the exit. "Out of my way."
Plum doesn't move to be in his way necessarily, but she doesn't move out of it either. "I'll move if you'll give me a straight answer," she answers.
You say, "No!" Alastair says clearly, and perhaps a bit more loudly than necessary. He comes to an abrupt stop and looks Plumpaw over with a clear expression of irritation on his face."
Plumpaw inclines her head, whiskers bristled indignantly. "Straight 'nuff." She growls. "But I tink you-er lyin'. Where's Sabrina?" She bothers to ask the question with an irritable twitch of her long tail.
Alastair mutters something under his breath and sizes her up for a moment. "Oh." He says, as he hears her question, and puts on an expression of sincerity. "I'm so sorry..." He reaches up and lays his hand gently on the Demarian's shoulder. "I wish I didn't have to be the one to tell you..." He gives her a look of exaggerated sympathy. "She died."
Plumpaw narrows her eyes at Alastair for a long moment, ears perfectly still. Fianlly, she clicks her pearly teeth together with an audible snap. "Heeh. That's norra a joke worth playing, gimpy. Anya wouldna forgot to tell me that, not even high. If she's not here jus' say so."
Alastair only has a cruel smirk at her response. "No idea." He says in an excessively cheery tone. "I guess you'll just have to ask someone else."
Plumpaw quirks an eyebrow ridge at him, quivering the stark white whiskers atop it. She lends an exaggerated sniff towards the hand on her shoulder and sneezes. "Liar." She snipes as she shrugs his hand off and takes a step back. "Ye've seen her recently, and ya need to wash yer hands. 'At's nasty. Tell her Plums sez hi, then."
Alastair takes his hand away, and stares suspiciously at his palm. "Sure...?" He says after a long pause, raising his eyebrows. "Right. Of course." He smiles unconvincingly. "Just slipped my mind, I'll tell just as soon as I see her."
Plumpaw snickers, tucking a hand in one hip pocket. "Yea, I'll jus' go trust ya with that." She says with intensely false sincerity as she turns on her toes and heads for the door, tail a-swish.
Alastair sighs with relief as the Demarian walks off. He retrieves a small bottle from his jacket pocket, screws off the cap, and shakes a few pills into his hand. "What was that about?" He wonders aloud before tossing the pills into his mouth.