What sucked about this whole thing was that he actually really liked this waistcoat. It was - or had been - a lovely shade of mossy green with silver embroidery. He fancied that it made his eyes pop. But he was pretty sure that even the lovely woman he used as his talior (and had made the waistcoat in the first place) wouldn't be able to fix the multiple singed and frayed tears. Maybe his priorities were in the wrong place but if you asked Locklyn MacCoinnich it really was a tragedy. After all, he could heal. That was what the healer was for after all. Annoyingly it wasn't an artifacty thing so he couldn't any Sina. This meant despite his trainee's nagging, his motivation to actually go to a healer was low. Which was how they'd ended up here with a mediwitch knocking on his door.

"It really isn't that big of a de-" Lock started, looking up from the papers on his desk as he spoke. (Not actually an incident report as he'd told Sandow but a collection of doodles.) The woman before him was surprisingly tall, blonde, and a little bit scattered. A stark difference from what Cecilia had been he thought with a pang but somehow that made her all the more attractive. Grinning he shifted his weight back in his chair, deciding to play up the injury a bit more than what was warranted. After all, it would be a waste to have her come all the way out here just for her to turn around and leave. "Just a little one... miss?"

Maybe the tragedy of the waistcoat wouldn't actually be such a tragedy.