Right before lunch, clean and - yup - still pretty much bald, he walks onto the bridge and gets a piece of paper shoved into his face.
"Here," Stork says. "I took the precaution of cataloguing your potential symptoms."
Aerrow takes the paper. "What symptoms?"
"Oh, you know. From whatever disgusting diseases you were exposed to by that so-called 'barber'," Stork says, shuddering. "Did they nick you? Scrape your scalp at any point with an improperly sterilized blade? That's a perfect vector for infection. And I can't imagine a less hygienic environment than a Talon school run by Snipe."
"That's a good point," Aerrow mutters. He looks at the list and starts reading aloud: " 'Headache, dizziness, swollen glands, swollen feet, abdominal swelling, dry skin, dry mouth, redness' - Stork, what diseases does this list cover, exactly?"
Stork shrugs. "All of them."
Aerrow's eyebrows go up involuntarily. "Uh... very thorough."
"Keep reading."
He flips the paper over and skips down to the bottom of the list. " 'Nausea, night blindness, hives, fever, cough, racking cough, loss of appetite, anemia, death.' Wait, death? Death is a symptom?"
"The final symptom," Stork says, dark and bleak.
Aerrow looks at the list, then at Stork, who is totally serious and, unnervingly, frequently correct. "Thanks. I'll, um, keep an eye out for these." He waves the list vaguely and starts edging towards the door.
"The night blindness, in particular," Stork says with a smile that's still a liiiiittle creepy even though Aerrow knows they're friends and teammates. "Makes flying in the dark... challenging."
