Something new..

The bedraggled man stumbled down the dimly lit street. He was an average-looking street thug, about 20 years of age. He had dark brown hair, drenched in the deluge of pouring rain. He was about five feet and ten inches, but at the moment our brute was doubled over, clutching a bleeding side. His brown eyes were bloodshot and hazy with fever, his breathing haggard. The thug collapsed against the nearest wall on the shop lined street.
I'm such a fool," he whispered with his last breath. With that, his tired bloodshot eyes closed in a semblance of terrorized sleep.

The eyes opened slowly to a dark silhouette, framed by bright, blurry lights. The injured brute started to rise, but the silhouette solidified into a dark haired woman with blue eyes and rosy cheeks. "No, no, Mister. We can't have you trying to be up and about just yet." She smiled happily as she pushed the patient back onto the bed.
"Where am I?" he asked, wearily raising his hand tp to feel his bandaged crown.
The nurse-lady gently seized his wrist and easily forced his arm back to his side before drawing the covers up to the patient's chin. "You took quite a nasty blow to your head," she replied, obviously ignoring the man's question. "You'll have to remain here for a few days, I'm afraid. Where are you from?" She smiled so brightly her eyes crinkled up and almost disappeared. "Can you remember anything?"
The man simply stared at her, then closed his eyes as if in pain. "Blustovia. I'm from Blustovia. Where am I now?"
"Well that can't be true! You have the look of a Lystrian about you. Now how can you claim to be Blustovian? Everyone knows that Blustovian men all have beards and brown weathered skin from the harsh weather conditions. No, surely not," she chattered on. "You must be Lystrian. Your skin is so fair and soft. And your face shows no signs of a beard! Now how can anyone claim to be Blustovian if they don't have a beard?"
That was it. He'd had enough. The injured -- and now more than slightly frustrated -- man sat up so quickly that he started the nattering nurse off her stool. "Don't you ever shut up, you blabbering fool? I'm an injured man who just survived a near death experience and all you can think to do is tell me why I can't be Blustovian? By the gods, woman! What kind of an idiot are you? You won't even tell me where I am! Is there anything in that thick skull of yours other than nonsense!"
The nurse was on the floor cowering now, tears leaking from her eyes and her hand brought up as if to shield herself from her patient's cruel words. The patient was also feeling light-headed after his outburst. Perhaps he should have listened to the fool woman's nattering and staying lying down?
The man sighed and looked at his empty hands now lying in his lap. He looked over at the still cowering nurse. "Look," he begam more gently than before. "I'm sorry I frightened you, but could you please tell me where I am and what day it is?"
"It's the 24th of March. And you're in Cratanya's House of Healing," a new, stronger and sterner voice answered from the doorway. It belonged to a middle-aged woman in white healer's robes. She was very formidable-looking, and not one to be trifled with. "If you ever frighten one of my staff again I will take it out of your hide after healing you and then send you out into the streets with nothing but the clothes on your back. Maybe not even that much. You should be grateful Talia has been caring for you. She found you almost dead and dragged you here herself in the dead of night. She's even using her own pay to take care of you!"
The man was stunned. He looked at the nurse on the floor, not cowering anymore, but looking more than a little embarrassed. Then he looked back at the woman standing in the doorway. His gaze shifted between them a few times before lowering his eyes down to his hands. "I'm sorry," he mumbled in a quiet voice. "I owe you women my life, and I have not treated you kindly. You have taken very good care of me, but I have returned your kindness with cruelty and impatience. Please forgive me."
Silence.
"It's -- it's alright," Talia began. "You've had a terrible accident, or lost in a fight. Of course you'd be disoriented. I can't help talking so much. Does your head hurt -- from hearing my babble?"
Talia looked at the man with such pure eyes that he could not refuse to smile and please her.
"No, I feel fine. Thank you."
"Well!" harrumphed the white-robed woman. "At least you havesome manners. I am Tinka, and I run this establishment. What is your name?"
"Kanal. My name is Kanal Westpoint."