"Septicemic, you say…?" Larysz raised an eyebrow.

    Zybwoj nodded. "Y-yeah. I-I t-think so," he stammered.

     "You know… I'm quite surprised." Larysz sounded amused.

     Zybwoj pulled a confused face. "What…? What do you mean 'you're surprised'?"

       Larysz laughed. "I just didn't think a peasant like you would know a term like that… Considering…" He trailed off.

      "Considering what?" Zybwoj began, already sounding offended. "...that peasants are dumber than a box of rocks?"

      "Well, yeah…" Larysz responded. "It's exactly what I mean."

      Zybwoj scoffed, looking somewhat disgusted.

    "I mean… Peasants don't do schooling… So…" Larysz said.

       "Look," Zybwoj began. "I know a thing or two about health and taking care of people…" He swallowed. "Considering my own upbringing…" He inhaled. "This doesn't well bubonic… it feels septicemic… Don't ask me how I know… I just do. I feel weak… Way too weak."

     "Septicemic plague happens when-" Larysz was cut off.

     "When the Black Death is left untreated… I know," Zybwoj finished.

       Larysz crossed his arms before grumbling something under his breath that Zybwoj couldn't decipher.

      "So?" Zybwoj began, sounding a little impatient. He coughed.

      Larysz rolled his eyes before leaning in and sniffing Zybwoj. He pulled back. "Yeah… Septicemic. You were right."

      Zybwoj eyed him. "And you could tell all of that by smelling me?"

     "Your blood, actually," Larysz corrected. "I could sense the bacterial infection in your blood."

     "What?" Zybwoj looked shocked and appalled.

     "I'm just magical, I guess," Larysz began, wryly. "I have certain specific methods I use to obtain the results I want."

      Zybwoj blinked his eyes closed for a second, whilst inhaling. Then, Zybwoj blinked his eyes open once again. "Y-you-" He stopped.

     "I, what?" Larysz questioned.

     "Y-you're Larysz Voit Seoboek Straga, aren't you? A prince in Zaeriatis? Son of King Bartusz? Brother of Princess Berawolijizja?" Zybwoj questioned.

     "Yes. I am," Larysz grumbled in response.

     "Shouldn't you be in Zaeriatis's capital city? Don't you have royal duties to attend to?" Zybwoj asked.

       "If you must know," Larysz began, exhaling. "I was banished from the palace… My father said he'd have my head if he ever saw me again."

     "What did you do?" Zybwoj asked.

      Larysz grumbled under his breath once again, not answering Zybwoj's question. He looked him up and down. "How have you not died yet? Most people with septicemic plague are six feet under at this stage in their sickness."

      Zybwoj remained silent for a moment. "How do you-" He trailed off.

      "How do I what?" Larysz questioned Zybwoj. His voice was still hostile.

       Zybwoj bit his lip a little. "How do you treat the plague? No current medicine, poultices, or remedies can cure it."

     "Simple," Larysz began. "I made a incision in someone's hand… After I sanitize it of course. And I suck the plague right out of their blood." He paused. "It's as simple as that."

     "You suck it out of their blood?" Zybwoj was beyond confused. "What do you mean?"

      Larysz shrugged, as he adjusted the way he stood—-shifting his weight onto the other leg. "I mean exactly what I said, peasant." He put extra emphasis on the word 'peasant'--it sounded extremely cold. "I suck it out of their blood. That's all there is to it. I don't understand what's so hard for you to understand… so hard for you to comprehend about that…" He swallowed before adding, hostilely, "Peasant."

      "Oh my-" Zybwoj began.

      "What?" Larysz sounded irritated.

       "Everyone in the kingdom says you and your family are…vampires…" Zybwoj started to explain. "Everyone… Except me of course."

       Larysz slowly clapped. "Oh? Congratulations. You didn't believe the same thing as everyone else in the kingdom. Big whoop."

        Zybwoj ignored Larysz's asinine comment and continued on with what he wanted to say. "...But, that's the thing. People say it… People say that so much… Everyone says it so much so…that you've started to believe it too-"

      Yeah, that's because it's true, you dolt, Larysz thought to himself. I am a vampire. My family are vampires. My father is over a hundred years old.

       "Sure… If that's your theory… And that's what you wanna believe, peasant… Then go right ahead," Larysz said.

     "Can you please stop calling me peasant?" Zybwoj began, annoyed. "I have a name. I told you it already."

      Larysz laughed a little under his breath. "Well, too bad I didn't care enough to pay attention to it and memorize it. Oops. Sorry."

       Zybwoj inhaled, deeply. "It's Zybwoj."

      "What was that?" Larysz started, which annoyed Zybwoj even more than he already was. "Silly me… I must've already forgotten that unimportant thing you just told me."

      "Are you gonna help me or not?" Zybwoj asked, sounding distressed before getting into a coughing fit.

      Once Zybwoj's coughing fit ceased, Larysz said, deadpan, "Not."

      "What? Why not?" Zybwoj questioned.

      "Because you think you know more than me…" Larysz answered. "And frankly, that's really pisses me off…"

     Zybwoj responded, "And you think you're a vampire…" He swallowed. "But you don't see me complaining."

      Larysz pulled a face. "Isn't that all you've been doing? Bitching?"

      Zybwoj huffed. "Forget it. You obviously don't want to treat me." He turned away, heading toward the door.

      Larysz called after the peasant, "Have fun dying!"

       Zybwoj ignored him, continuing to leave, almost fainting on his way out. He didn't once look back.