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Legundo is a man who deals in the things lying underneath the surface. He knows how to sew wounds that bleed and how to set bones that break and how to turn the slice of a knife through living flesh into something that heals instead of harms.
But, sure as an injury can lie unseen, so can an injury be more than a suffering of the body.
It can be one of the mind.
If Legundo were a man of faith, perhaps he'd call it an injury of spirit.
But he is no such thing, and to him, it is simply the scar left behind by some old, vicious thing of the past, or one that nipped at their heels to this day.
Everyone has their secrets and their burdens.
And it is his job to help.
More than a job, really, it's a tugging at his hands and swiftness in his step, the promise of one more soul eased a voice screaming keep going.
He came to Oakhurst to help people, and no matter the situation, help he will.
Yet, despite his purpose, Legs didn't notice it, not at first.
In the chaos of Oakhurst, he'd let someone slip into the noise and disappear from his attention.
Abolish was quiet, of even manner and even tone, dressed in a suit just to the left of butler wear.
At first, Legs had met those doe-brown eyes, exposed by crow's wing black locks combed back in a way that he would have once called elegant, and seen nothing more.
He was another townsperson, part of a crowd Legs was rapidly realizing he may have to wrangle.
Abolish was a welcome presence on that front—he handled his own affairs and had little interest in anyone else's.
That should have been the first sign that something was wrong.
Even Apo, one of the handful of people seemingly in possession of all of her wits, had her…interesting moments.
Abolish, in contrast, seldom contributed to the town's general aura of poor impulse control.
Yet, when he did choose to make his opinions known…Abolish hadn't been entirely without concerning behavior, had he?
Even before Legs had begun to notice the hints, Abolish had left blazing signs.
Not many, but enough.
It was the way those eyes lingered on doors and windows, on the press of a hand against a hip, monitoring exits and the risk of a weapon being drawn.
And, the more Legs looked, the more he saw.
Abolish was the only other person in town without a roommate. He had been fully geared in silver armor before some of them had any.
Abolish spent much of his time apart from the others. Strangely enough, it seemed Legundo himself was the one who saw the most of him, and even then, it was barely a fraction.
Abolish held a sword with the kind of grace only practice could bring, gloved fingers left loose enough to imply confidence and steady enough to imply skill.
He'd found the second of the cure books, (Or, first, if you didn't want to go in chronological order.) because he seemed to spend a fair amount of his time combing through the tombs and crypts.
And then there was the…shoulder barge incident.
It was just supposed to be a test, a gauge of exactly what the strange book would do, and, of course, things had gone quite wrong. Abolish had hissed between his teeth, a sharp, pained exhale, and Legs should have read it like a tolling bell.
Abolish was not one to show his hand. For him, a whisper may as well be a shout. Legs had hurt him, and he'd barely even realized it. Too lost in trying to wrap scientific curiosity around a force near-incompatible with it.
Legundo kept messing up, when it came to Abolish. He saw too many ghosts in that soft marble face.
And above all, Legs couldn't stop realizing how much Abolish saw. And when he followed that ochre gaze, Legs saw more, too.
A pause, a glance, a twitch, a start, a hesitation, Abolish caught it all.
The more Legs noticed, the more he knew he wasn't. Abolish was mystery upon mystery, and Legs—
Legs feared what he'd find in the center of it all.
(And he—
He feared why—)
He was simply concerned.
What taught a young man to observe so much, prepare so much, and yet speak so little?
He was anxious, those first few days, Legundo thought. He seemed…less so, now, almost bold yet not at all, an ease to him there hadn't been before.
Which was the mask? Or, perhaps, what had changed?
"Doc," the measured voice bouncing around in his mind was the one to break him from his thoughts, "you good?"
"Ah, yes, but—I was wondering if I could speak to you for a moment."
(Who are you?)
If the question had been posed some scant few…weeks? Months? Time blurred, here—Legundo would not have noticed the way dark eyes widened just a fraction.
But much had happened since the ragtag group had stumbled into this acursed town, and Legs saw it, as clear as only the crimson moon shone here.
"Sure."
Legundo has made far too many mistakes in his life.
He prays this will not be another one.