Once again, the runaway prisoner finds himself on a planet much like his own mountainous beginning. Quickly he finds easy cause to keep his own inflictions as covered as possible... as much as it pains and irritates him so. Also falls prey to his own ulterior motives...

"Fear not pathetic wench, I'm here to...-" slamming his cane authoritatively as a distraction, while quickly working out sound reasoning "help! Now, rid thyself of clothing. The contamination will require them burned, while the body..." indeed the body. Behind the mask, the woman wouldn't see the wandering eyes and salacious grin coiling high and moving in closer "requires physical cleansing" spoken fluidly as if there wasn't any doubt, basking in the glory and thankfulness she offered.

He is -NOT- the kind of doctor she thinks he is...

A conversation with lead to this being drawn up.
Jaxxie, forever drawing in the wayward to alleyways and hidden places...