Doctor Archibald, Ph.D.

The whole castle shook as one of the doors burst open, forced by a dark green substance with the consistency of gelatin removed from the refridgerator two hours too early. The liquidy goo spread across the red carpet. walls, and ceiling in the study detailing how the door had failed to serve its purposed. A very short man, nearly half the size of a normal adult, emerged from the room, covered from head to toe in the green sludge. He wore large orange glasses that seemed to serve as a sort of compensation for the size of his actual eyes. His cheeks were large, his chin was doubled, and his body as a whole seemed much too large for small stature. He removed his glasses his his pudgy hand and wiped some of the sludge off of his forehead to keep it from sliding down into his beady blue eyes.

"Well that seemed like a success," Zachary groaned lazily from his chair.

"I doubt you could do much better, brainless oaf," the short man snapped.

The door to the study opened suddenly and Woodrow and Marcus ran in. "What happened?" Woodrow asked, nearly out of breath. His eyes revealed however, that the question was answered almost before it was finished being asked. "What was this, Archibald?" His tone changed from concerned to irritated.

"A cure... for Patrick," Archibald said, sounding frustrated. “Though I wish you would call me by my proper title. You make me feel so low, Woodrow.”

“When you gain the work etiquette of a doctor, I’ll consider it. As for Patrick, I was under the impression that Patrick was uninterested in a cure.”

“I sure as Hell wouldn’t be interested in a cure if he was the one making it,” Zachary tossed his head in Archibald’s direction.

“Shut up, you rotting corpse,” Archibald spat.

“Clean this up now, doctor,” Woodrow shouted over Zachary’s response as he turned on his heel and left the room.