Botanist Lvl. 1

As if he has time to play games with fancy-ass 'holier-than-thou' strangers. "Fantastic, then leave me the fuck alone or do something besides taking up my personal space." In truth, he wouldn't have cared who she was. If she had introduced herself as the goddess of the firmament, he would have told her to move out of his light because she was ruining his tan. He didn't, for lack of a better term, give a shit. "Do I look like I pay anybody anything? No. You get nothing but a 'hey great job' and perhaps you can pat yourself on the back. I don't have time to sit here and piss around with stilt-walking figureheads. So either work, or keep moving." The satchel slung about his neck and shoulders smells strongly of antiseptic and the caustic smell of fermented plants. Probably filled with various items of healing-- and if this is indeed a medic, then he lacks a bedside manner. Still, there is something about the fervor with which he works that lends to the way with how seriously he takes his job, even if it is a thankless job.

"You got some fucking nerve hobbling your ass around here like I couldn't grab a stick and whack that leg out from under you before you could wobble your way back to whatever hole you crawled out of.  Who the fuck do you think I am, some two-bit asswipe of a doctor who pretends to look at a wound and says 'hm yes, thats a hole in the skin'. No. I'm fucking Cyrill godsdamned Embla." Not that his name meant much in this new land, but his prowess in both healing long-term and working quick on the field had been well-known in his homeland and a few other places in which he'd traveled. Sure, if you happened to be in the middle of a war and you needed a limb amputated--and you needed to live-- Cyrill was the one you'd want around. Bedside manner be damned, he was a hell of a healer. ....But she wouldn't know that, and at this point, his annoyance was at having to make a name for himself all over again. " 'What do I have to offer for my time' my ass." he muttered,"No, don't rush, I'll do it myself." Petulant and annoyed, scouring past her like an adult trying to fathom the audacity of an out-spoken child, sarcasm lacing each and every syllable.