The Universe's Mixer

For a blessed week Wash had his voice back from when he had lost it. Yes, his voice was gravely but he liked to think it sounded sexy. He especially liked to think this when he walked into a place and someone greeted him and he said, "Well hello, there," back with a sultry, breathy tone.

This was only awkward once at a bar when a bald middle aged man nodded at him. He decided to reign it in a little after the look he'd gotten.

But not all good things last. His throat was stubborn to keep him from his third favorite pastime, talking. It had become inflamed again a couple of days ago despite the over-the-counter meds he'd been feeding himself regularly. Now his voice was once again absent and he hunkered over to the pharmacist.

It wasn't a long conversation with the doctor behind the counter but it did end up with Wash's discontent at being told to see an actual doctor and get prescribed helpful medication instead of the concoction of allergy/cold meds he was making himself down every morning and night. This discontent lead to Wash ipso facto pelting the doctor with pills every time the doctor would open his mouth to insist more strongly.

Eventually the pharmacist doctor thought smart of it and closed his mouth, crossing his arms over his chest. Wash gave him one more pill to the forehead before skulking out of the pharmacy in hunched annoyance.

Wash generally didn't have any problem with doctors but he wasn't keen on visiting The City's version of a hospital or doctor's office. He also wasn't keen on shots. Nor was he keen on physicals. Okay, maybe he did have a problem with doctors.

Nevertheless, he leaned against the wall of the pharmacy thinking what to do next, his mouth in a line of frustration.