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As soon as Lisa opened the door to the Weir household, a foul stench hit her, prompting her to quickly cover her nose with a handkerchief.
One could imagine the miserable state of a paralyzed person left without care.
Hobert waved his hand in front of his nose to disperse the sll and stepped inside. The room was devoid of any valuable items, clearly looted.
A man in his forties lay on the bed, his face covered in stubble, looking disheveled. This was Weir, injured and bedridden.
Moldy food and empty wine bottles were strewn across the floor. Weir clutched a bottle of wine, his bloodshot eyes glaring at Hobert. "Who are you? What do you want?"
"Who I am is not important," Hobert said as he opened a window to let in so fresh air. "Where are your parents?"
Weir sneered, "Dead long ago."
"And your wife?"
"That bitch ran off!" She had taken his savings with her.
Hobert speculated, "Given your current state, you probably won't last more than half a month."
Weir stared at Hobert. "What do you want? I don't rember offending you."
"Or I could give you so money to hire a maid to take care of you until you get used to being paralyzed," Hobert suggested.
Weir was initially incredulous, then seed to understand. "What do you need to do?"
Hobert got straight to the point. "Drop the charges against Xio."
Weir spat out, "That's impossible. She made lose my legs. Let her rot in prison!"
"You didn't die on the spot," Hobert said. "This is just intentional injury. With defending her, she'll be out in three or four years."
"Oh, goddess, look at the state of the world!" Weir drunkenly shouted. "The person who paralyzed isn't getting the punishnt they deserve!"
Hobert waved dismissively. "Alright, the fact that you're still alive is the greatest rcy from the Goddess.
"Let's get down to business. I'll give you 300 pounds if you drop the charges.
"Or in half a month, I'll co to collect your corpse."
Hobert was trying to use his "twisting" ability to influence Weir's thoughts.
But Weir, breathing heavily, stared at Hobert for a long ti before saying, "I want 3000 pounds."
Hobert was disappointed; his "twisting" ability hadn't been very effective.
The young man who had brought Hobert here had been watching from outside. Hearing Weir's demand, he was shocked.
"I'll agree to your terms," Hobert smiled. "Then, after you drop the charges, I'll spend 100 pounds to have you killed."
Weir was terrified by Hobert's cheerful smile.
"Your asking price is too high," Hobert said.
"Then 2000 pounds, no less," Weir countered.
Hobert shook his head.
Weir sneered, "I'm a dead man anyway. Young lawyer, co collect my corpse in half a month, but make sure that bitch is ready for prison."
Hobert thought for a mont. "Let's change the terms. I'll find a doctor to help you walk again, and you drop the charges."
Weir was initially excited, then shook his head dejectedly. "I've seen many doctors. They all said I can't walk again."
Hobert continued to use his "distortion" ability to influence Weir's thoughts. "With all due respect, what good doctors can you afford?"
Weir was stunned, as if a light bulb had gone off: right, what good doctor could a thug from the East Borough find? The best doctor he had seen was at the hospital in the Cherwood Borough.
Hope rekindled in him. "If you cure and give 300 pounds..."
Hobert interrupted, "You can only choose one: money or treatnt. My patience is limited. If you keep playing gas, you'll get nothing."
He was a bit excited internally, as his influence seed to be working.
"Alright, alright, I'll choose treatnt!" Weir said. "But I'll only drop the charges once I see significant improvent."
Hobert nodded and called to the young man peeking in from outside. "What's your na?"
"Peter, sir. My na is Peter."
Hobert took out a one-pound note. "Alright, Peter, would you like to run an errand for today? If you do, you'll earn another pound."
Peter imdiately stepped inside, reaching for the note. "Of course!"
Hobert put the money away. "You'll get it after the job is done. Now, go find four holess n and tell them I'll hire them for a day, paying each six soli."
"Happy to help." Peter turned and left.
He soon returned with four holess n. Hobert had Peter rent a carriage, then had the holess n carry Weir to a nearby bathhouse for a wash, and arranged for a shave and haircut.
When they erged from the bathhouse, Weir, carried by the holess n, looked at least ten years younger.
By now it was noon. Hobert found a nearby café for lunch and invited the four holess n to join them.
The holess n were grateful, with two of them even shedding tears, as they hadn't had a proper al in a long ti.
Hobert kept reminding them to eat slowly to avoid choking. The food was greasy, but Hobert finished it all. After wandering the East Borough, he felt that wasting food was shaful.
Lisa, however, seed to have no appetite and barely touched her lunch. With her permission, Hobert shared her al with the holess n.
After lunch, Hobert told the coachman, "To Riverbay Avenue, South of the Bridge."
The coachman asked, "Sir, which number specifically?"
"I forgot. I'll ask for directions when we get there." Hobert was honest; he had only seen the vampire White family's address a few tis and was lucky to rember it was on Riverbay Avenue.
As the carriage moved, Lisa, in the leading two-wheeled carriage, asked worriedly, "Mr. Hobert, I'm not a doctor, but I can tell Weir is seriously injured. Are you confident you can cure him?"
Hobert smiled. "Whether I'm confident doesn't matter. The doctor will decide."
He added, "But the doctor I know is very special and highly skilled. If he says it can't be done, then Weir is truly beyond help."
Lisa didn't pursue the topic further, and the carriage fell silent.
When they reached Riverbay Avenue, where most residents were middle-class, walking down the street felt like returning to civilization.
Hobert asked a passerby and quickly got the address of Dr. White, who specialized in "bloodletting treatnt": 48 Riverbay Avenue.
When they knocked on the door of 48, a young vampire—no, a young man—answered. "Who are you looking for?"
"We're here to see Dr. White. Are you Dr. White?" Hobert asked.
"No, I'm his son, Emlyn White."
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